Helpful hints

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Things not to ask me about today:

Discovering the next door neighbors were cutting down a tree at six a.m. this morning. Yes, with a chain saw. At six-freaking-o'clock-in-the-morning.

The pain in every part of my body brought on by the trainer I pay to torture me every week.

The laundry that is not done.

The baseball game that I barely got my son to (because I'm a moron and thought it started a half hour later than it actually did).

The temperature of said baseball game hitting a high of 43 degrees.

The three hot chocolates I had to buy at the baseball game to keep little fingers warm (and the subsequent spills that made it a major waste of money).

The mac and cheese three little people might be having for dinner tonight, and its lack of nutritional value.

The trip I am taking in two days and am nowhere near ready for (and still have NO IDEA what I'm going to wear).

The blog I have been ignoring all week, much to my chagrin.

Things you may ask me about today:

My new spray-on tan that makes my pasty-white skin look slightly brown. And therefore less full of freckles.

My new mascara(s) (thanks, Nicole!)

Cookie dough (always a favorite subject)

Guess that's it. Any questions?

Pride Cometh Before the Poor House

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I have an issue that I'd like to complain about today.

School picture day.

I. ABSOLUTELY. HATE. IT.

There is something so cheesy, so tacky to me about the faded blue/gray background and posed child with a fake smile. It is the same no matter where you go. Granted, the school photographers are shooting anywhere from 500 to 600 kids in a day and, therefore, my kids only get one shot to look their best in the photo. I understand they're not going to spend the time it takes to get that one perfect shot.

Believe me, that task is next to impossible. I've spent the time it takes.

I have had to beg, demand, cajole, and even resort to paying my children in order to have them pose for me. I usually shoot about a hundred pictures, and will be lucky to get one or two that I like. There is no way the best of my children will be captured by the school photographer in one shot.

And yet, I feel compelled to purchase a package each and every time (which is twice a year in our current school). Not compelled because I want a collection of these ugly, stiff pictures, but because I refuse to have my child be the one child in their class who doesn't buy a package. I will not have them look longingly at their friends' ugly pictures and wonder why they don't have an ugly picture of their own. I will not have teachers and classmates think we cannot afford to buy a photo package. And that pride leads to us to spend a large amount of money every year on pictures that look ridiculous.

Here are just a few from my hidden collection:

I ABSOLUTELY KNOW that my children are the most beautiful children ever created, but these photos do not remotely capture anything other than stiff, awkward, serial-killer like expressions. I hate them. I don't send them to grandparents. I most certainly do not put them up on the wall.

You must be asking yourself then what pictures I do deem worthy of putting up on the wall? I am a photo snob, and I'll admit it. Here are some of my favorites, taken by me, of them:







See? You see what I mean now, don't you. Here is a picture of our photo wall with my favorite shots blown up.

And so, next week when I enclose a check in the Tacky-Photos-R-Us envelope for Hannah's ballet pictures, please know that I do it very begrudgingly. But I'd rather waste money than appear as though I have none.

Please tell me there is someone out there like me. I can't imagine that I'm all alone in my insanity. Right? RIGHT?

His and Hers Perceptions

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The Husband is generally not around during the week as he travels a lot for work. He's not privy to my daily routine, and I am not privy to his. I'm sure he has his own ideas about what happens around here.

Here's what I think his perceptions are of how I spend a typical day:

7:00 a.m. The alarm goes off. Yell at the kids to get out of bed, then fall right back asleep.

7:50 a.m. Rush out of bed and shove the kids out the front door for school. When they ask about lunches, tell them to just share what the kid next to them brings for lunch. Feel good for teaching them how to share.

7:51 a.m. Eat my own hearty breakfast of donuts, brownies, and chocolate milk.

7:55 a.m. Scratch rear end with long poking stick.

7:59 a.m. Yawn. Consider taking a shower. Go back to bed instead.

11:45 a.m. Wake up and shove Hannah out the door for the kindergarten bus pick-up. Remember her need for lunch and throw a pop-tart at the bus in the hope that she catches it.

12:01 p.m. Go through McDonald's drive-thru and order a Big Mac, three orders of fries, and a large milkshake for lunch. For myself.

12:12 p.m. Rush home to watch several soap operas while gorging on McD's.

2:00 p.m. Take a much-needed nap.

3:20 p.m. Greet the children at the front door with strict instructions not to disturb my second afternoon nap. Tell them to do their own homework.

5:00 p.m. Wake up from nap, order a pizza, and ignore the large pile of dishes in the sink.

5:30 p.m. Feed the children. Eat remaining donuts from this morning when the children aren't looking. Laugh when the children ask for vegetables. Force them to eat greasy pizza instead.

6:00 p.m. Send the children to bed.

6:01 p.m. Begin five hour nighttime television marathon involving TIVO'd episodes of soap operas that I missed while napping.

6:30 p.m. Consume remaining eight slices of pizza. Wash it down with some diet coke and feel good about my low-calorie drink. Feel deep sense of satisfaction for making such a healthy choice.

11:00 p.m. Begin to get ready for bed, and realize I am still in my pajamas from the night before. Smile wickedly at that thought and crawl into the unmade bed.

11:01 p.m. Fall asleep while eating a bag of Doritos.

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Oh, I wish. Here's how I REALLY spend my days:

6:28 a.m. Wake up. Hit the snooze button three times and wish it was a Saturday.

6:55 a.m. Get out of bed. Find two of the three children already awake. Wonder how I gave birth to such cheerful early risers.

7:00 a.m. Feed the children a breakfast of Eggo waffles, apples, peanut butter, and skim milk. Throw in the first of several loads of laundry. Pack lunches. Clean up breakfast dishes, kitchen, living room, and sun room. Vacuum entire first floor.

7:50 a.m. Hug and kiss the boys, and watch them walk to the bus stop. Wait for the bus to pass and wave them off to their day.

8:00 a.m. Hit the treadmill. Sweat and run to a re-run of Desperate Housewives. Silently be grateful there's a new Grey's Anatomy this week.

9:00 a.m. Read a few blogs.

9:20 a.m. Shower, blow dry hair, apply make-up, and get dressed. Change the laundry.

10:15 a.m. Assemble goodie bags for Hannah's birthday party this week. Play dollhouse with her. Listen to her excitedly describe YET AGAIN every character on High School Musical. Nod, and smile, and say, "Oh really, wow!" while secretly wanting to punch Sharpay and Troy. Go pick up dry cleaning.

11:30 a.m. Feed Hannah her favorite lunch of Spaghettios and goldfish. Force her to drink a glass of milk.

12:00 p.m. Watch for the bus with Hannah. Wave to her, even though she never looks or waves back.

12:01 p.m. Run to the grocery store, milk store, Target, and post office. Stop for a diet coke at McDonald's. Savor its absolute perfection.

1:30 p.m. Come home and unpack groceries. Change the laundry again. Go downstairs to office and transcribe three very long and boring files.

3:15 p.m. Greet children at the door and remind them to take off their shoes. Help McKay with his 4th grade math homework and find that it is too challenging for me. Try not to let him know this. Pretend to love math. Wonder when I lost so many brain cells.

4:00 p.m. Begin dinner. Remember laundry that is waiting and switch loads again.

5:00 p.m. Feed the children. Make them eat their vegetables. Feed self. Do the dishes. Re-vacuum entire first floor, most especially around Chase's spot, who wins the Messiest Eater Award every night at dinner.

5:45 p.m. Listen to Chase and Hannah read.

6:30 p.m. Fold more laundry. Put away laundry. Take out garbage.

7:30 p.m. Drive McKay to his baseball game. Cheer, yell, shout, and moan. All at the same time.

7:43 p.m. Take both Chase and Hannah to the bathroom, which is conveniently located about 14.8 miles from the field. Remind them AGAIN to go before we leave home.

9:45 p.m. Game ends. Congratulate McKay on his triple play. Avoid pointing out that it was errors and overthrows made by the other team. Be glad he is so happy about it. Take three tired kids home. Force them to shower against their will. Send them to bed.

10:30 p.m. Remove clothes, wash face, brush teeth, and climb exhausted into my neatly-made bed.

10:31 p.m. Fall fast asleep and dream about doing it all again tomorrow.

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See, honey? I think we all know what REALLY happens around here, even you. I'd like to say that I'm living the first life, as it seems to involve lots of donuts and naps, but unfortunately, that is not my life. This one is.

And it's not so bad.

Gotta run though. I'm sure there's a donut somewhere with my name on it.

Linky Love

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I have no humorous or poignant words for you today, as I am still bitter and angry at having to hand a small fortune over to my wasteful government yesterday. But I know someone who is funny and poignant.

My word-inventing interpeep Lisa, at Take 90 West, has written THE MOST HILARIOUS post. Seriously. You must go there. Right now. I laughed so hard, that I had to wipe the tears from my eyes to even finish reading. Seriously funny business going on involving man purses, European tourists, and American appetites. That's all I'm gonna say.

What? You still here? Go there. Now.

Oh, and when you're done there, stop by my adorable cousin Kimberly's blog and sign up for her Desperate Housewives Swap. You've only got a few more days to get in on the fun. Who doesn't want good mail?


Go. Now.

Come back here tomorrow. Maybe I'll be funny by then.

But probably not.

A letter to my government

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Dearest Federal Government:

Today, on the day in which you see the need to take half of my soul in taxes, I would like to make a plea.

If you must steal 35 percent of my husband's hard-earned money, can you please not spend it on wasteful things, as you have in the past? You know, like when you spent $13 million to help fund the World Toilet Summit in Ireland?

Oh, yes they did.

And you think that's the least offensive thing? Take a look at this.

Don't even ask me to pretend to understand it.

I ask you, good sirs, to take my money and do something good with it. Like fixing health care. Or making our schools safe, productive environments of learning.

Those kinds of things I get, and will unclasp this fist from my dollars a little less begrudgingly for.

Much obliged,

Stie