Self-esteem is definitely not a problem with this one

A quick quote from Hannah, as I was doing her hair this morning:


"I feel sorry for myself when I was younger. I just didn't know how pretty I was back then."

Um, yeah. We don't eat the humble pie for breakfast around here, as you can plainly see.

Should I be worried?

Nah. Middle school will knock her off that high horse pretty darn quick, I'm afraid.

Sending you elsewhere

I have nothing for you today, my friends.

Still wallowing in the self-pity that is sick kids, bad weather, and absent husbands.

But I know someone who does have something good for you. Go here, and visit my cute cousin, Liz. LOVED her post on parenting and felt it was spot on for my life right now. I'd bet you'll feel the same way, too. It was beautifully written, brought a laugh to my soul and a tear to my eye.

Just what the doctor ordered.

Plus, there's a gratuitous photo of her darling baby boy. That alone is worth the trip there.

I'll try to find something exciting to tell you tomorrow. Even if that means I have to make it up.

Random thoughts on this pretend Monday

1. Worst weekend in a long time. Let's just blame it on strep throat, the Husband getting stranded in Grand Rapids, muddy footprints, and chocolate that refuses to stay out of my mouth. We'll leave it at that.

2. Anyone happen to catch this on the freak show channel Discovery Health Channel?


I find myself truly sorry for anyone in this situation, but have to ask one question - if you're bedridden due to your ginormous size, who is bringing you enough food to enable this situation to continue? If you physically can't get out of bed to get your own food, then what are you eating? Wouldn't you be bound, theoretically, to eat what was given you? And couldn't you then be put on a very strict diet, against your will?

It boggles the mind.

3. I am so over the winter. I don't know if it's because we had a taste of spring last week or because I've immersed myself in planning our vacation to Hawaii this summer, but I can't bear the cold any longer. I'm done. I've had it. HAD. IT. Hear that, spring? Get your lazy a$$ up and get over here already.

Yes, I know it's only mid-February.

No, I don't think I'm being ridiculous.

4. Big shout out to the Husband who came through with flying colors for Valentine's Day. Thanks to him, I will be escaping the cares of my exhausting life (ha ha) and heading to the spa for a day of beauty and relaxation. For that alone, he is forgiven the unpardonable sin of not reading this blog on a daily basis. (Yeah, he still has not caught on to the alleged make out session spoken of earlier. Pity, isn't it?)

5. There is nothing more thrilling than watching your two boys whip up a batch of chocolate chip cookies on their own. I feel their future wives will thank me for instilling in them a competency in the kitchen. Every man should know how to cook, even if it's only cookies.

6. I loathe cleaning the bathroom. I don't even know if loathe is a strong enough word. What's worse than loathe? Hate? No, I feel even stronger about it than that. And in this house? I have four bathrooms that all need a good scrub down. I think it might be time for a cleaning lady.

That is all. My condolences to anyone who bothered reading this far. Disappointing, I know.

Happy Tuesday, interpeeps.

Best Valentines Ever (you'll thank me for this one)

While trolling innocently through my blog reader yesterday, I stumbled upon the most genius of all genius ideas.

Meet Alissa. Amazing photographer, mother of four beautiful babies, and blogger extraordinaire.

Now meet her genius idea (seriously, go check hers out).

And now see my literal rip-off of her genius idea:



I frantically grabbed my camera and caught the kids wherever they happened to be, and in whatever state they happened to be in. Two of the three were in the sandbox and totally filthy.

I honestly didn't care, so enamored was I with this idea.

I uploaded the pics, added the words in Photoshop, and then sent them online to my local Sam's Club. Within an hour, I had the photos in-hand. I made small slits at their fists with an xacto knife, inserted the lollies, and BAM. Best. valentines. ever. Total effort on my part? Maybe 20 minutes.

And that counts the break I took in the middle to get a snack.

Because sitting in a chair using an xacto knife? Totally nutrient draining.

So thanks, Alissa, and hats off to you, sister. Were it not for you, I would have been resigned to the tacky crap I hate at Target with pictures of Sponge Bob and Sleeping Beauty. These pictures are so much better.

See? All the pretty soldiers, lined up and ready to go:

Now hurry. There's still time to get yours made.

And yeah, you're welcome.

Cause and effect: The BB gun version

Question:

What happens when you take this:

And combine it accidentally with this?

Give up? You get this:

Which, thankfully, turned out not to be broken.

Instead, there was a hematoma [due to the blunt trauma of the thumb being smashed in the cock of the BB gun].

Have I mentioned before that I loathe blunt traumas of all kinds?

The urgent care doctor had a special tool that he used to burn a hole in McKay's thumbnail, to release the pressure and alleviate his pain. This caused a giant explosion of blood all over the examination room.

Which caused Chase to beg and plead to keep the special tool.

Which caused me to make a mental note of leaving Chase at home next time.

End result? Nearly all the pain is gone and McKay has a gross wound with which to scare away all the girls on the playground. He's very thrilled.

P.S. On a side note, I think the Husband has not been faithfully reading his wife's wonderful words this dumb blog. Thanks to my friend, June, and her brilliant idea, I am going to put outrageous lies in here until he calls me on them. Like today, when I made out with Angelina Jolie. It was so hot.

Prisoners of my disease

To my three babies,

In light of a certain situation that took place this afternoon, I feel compelled to issue you a public apology and a pledge, from the bottom of my heart, to be better.

You see, in case you didn't know it by now, your mama has a touch of the OCD. And because I automatically know that Hannah's next question will be, "What is OCD?", I will tell you. OCD, loosely translated, means I am incapable of dealing with messes in our home -- in any way, shape, or form.

This is not your fault.

It is mine. Some may call it a disease; while others look at it with envy and wish they had it, too. But for me, it is the core essential of what makes me who I am.

However, from this day forward, I will try harder to let the natural children inside of you be allowed to come out and play. I will not roll my eyes and exhale my breath loudly when you go outside and the fresh grass clippings cling to your tiny feet.

I will be glad you are playing freely in the fresh air, instead of moaning at the mess I have to clean up.

I will be more understanding of your so-called "leaf collections," and admire your profound interest in nature. Even when I find pieces of them all over the carpet upstairs.

I will realize that most people (your father included) don't spend hours a day thinking about magic erasers and mop kits. Or get excited about new ways to organize closets, or search for ways to make laundry more efficient.

And I definitely will not yell at you for playing chef in my kitchen (especially if you asked me first), even when you break the garbage disposal while dumping your creation down the sink. Yes, you snuck a fast one in there because you asked me in the middle of my Sunday afternoon nap.

And we all know that I'll pretty much say yes to anything when I'm half asleep.

But I promise to try and not complain when you return inside with flushed cheeks and happy hearts, even when I look down to see all the mud you have brought in with you. Because you know what? I love you more than my clean floors.

And that, my darling babies, is really saying something.

Love,

Mama