Are you nervous?

Did something just feel off yesterday?
Kinda eerie, like the world shifted.
Fathers pulled their teenage daughters, closer.
Drivers gripped their steering wheels, tighter.
Pedestrians, hurriedly shuffled across the road.

It was almost, as if, something was let loose into polite society.
I could hear, a feirce growl of freedom, as a nearly rabid Bulldog, dug out of his yard and took to the streets....
with a mother's scream, faintly drifting in the breeze, long into the night.

Happy 16th, Two!



To the greatest, big brother, assistant baseball Coach and Official Tink-walker-to-the-concession-stand....
You carry tremendous responsibility, with ease.
Continue to strive to find your niche, with a zest that makes me proud.
You are the snappiest dresser, practically a model, for Abercrombie.
I wish for you, years of safe driving, a cute little girlfriend to grace your passenger seat and many hours of productive studying to earn that 'Good student discount'!
Most of all, I wish to turn this Bulldog into a Trojan....cuz your complexion and extremely stylish hair, were made for Kelly Green!
I hope your 16th birthday, yesterday (and yes, I really did know, it was yesterday) was a great one.
We love you.

Buy my Junk.

So...I am having a Garage Sale.



Yuck.
I am not a fan.
While, I do not mind, occasionally strolling past a sale, I have never desired to have a Garage Sale, of my own.
Yet, I am.

With my last little baby, quickly approaching her first birthday, it is time to purge. We need to make room for 'Big Girl' toys and clothes.

So bye-bye, bassinet, baby clothes/blankets, tiny shoes, baby toys and large ticket items.
Cleaning house!
What a relief.
Room for big kids to stretch out and play.

Except, last night, as I emptied bins...it hit me a tiny bit, Bye-bye to babies.
I am done, having babies.
D to the O to the N dot the E....DONE.
Three is my magic number.
I have not, been upset over Coco's first birthday, in the least. While, I love a newborn, I am really more of a toddler, kind of mom.
I am excited, for Coco to turn one.
I am thrilled to hear each new word, to have chunky learn to walk and save my back, to see her play with her sister and her friend Twelve. I say,
"Go Ahead, First Birthday...bring it on!"

Then why was I upset?
Because there are tiny little toys, jammies and blankies that belonged to my Eight Year old. My huge, giant son. I found my favorite little jammie pants, not even as long as his man-size shin.
So this is what I say.
Go ahead, Coco...turn One.
Go ahead, Tink....turn Four.
(She still won't be taller than a 2 yr old)
But, Eight...that is out of the question.
Too old.
If Coco turns Eight, Tink is Ten and The Kid is Fifteen.
(insert: crazy, weird, scared laugh)



The family member, most emotional over the sale?

First guess?
Wimpy, Coach?
Wrong.

Second guess?
Drama filled The Kid?
Wrong, again.

Tink. She is having a meltdown over the toys and shoes. Forcing Coco to play with things. Trying to squeeze Coco's feet into tiny shoes.
As I repeatedly, explained, Coco is turning One, she can not use baby stuff.
Tink replied (finger pointing to me)

"You hafta find a newb liddle baby for us. For dis house. In you belly."

Sorry, Tink. No go.
Maybe, I will buy you a new doll, with the proceeds.

FYI-
If you require any baby item, under 18 months
head to our home,
Thursday evening 5-7:30pm or
Friday 8:00am-1:00pm

Take it all...
Girls need a new Bunk bed.
And mama needs some money for the Cubs game.

Not cool.

Last summer, my parents took The Kid, to Niagara Falls.
Even the mention, of 'Niagara Falls' has been a constant thorn in our side since.

"Did you know that yada, yada gallons of water fall each nanosecond.."
"Did you know the largest ship that can travel the..."
"Did you know that 47 men have died since...."

Anyway...

No fact or story, could have been more beating.me.in.the.head.with.a.stick obnoxiously painful, than the school paper that was returned home, yesterday.

The few sentences are sweet, whatever...
but the portrait
the (Ouch) perfect drawing The Kid has rendered,
hit me like a punch to the belly.

As a matter of fact,
Reality has Jacked Me and the after effect, is stinging.

Look closely.
Very closely.



At my Father's...

PonYtaiL.

%$@@#*!!

Even typing the word, just hurt.

Since retirement, my father has decided to Stick It to The Man, My Pride and my husband's profession by growing his hair out.
Fine,
FINE,
when I have to see it drawn out, by my child's hand...
Not fine.
Not cool, at all.
Not even hangin out at the same Burger Joint with Cool.

(I must quickly, point out, the eerily accurate depiction of my Mother/Cindy Crawford, skinny jeans, long flowing hair, contact lenses. It is really remarkable.)

So the question remains...

When do you know it is time, to cut your ponytail?

Answer:

A.) When your grandson, draws it on his school papers, as if it is the most normal thing in the world?

B.) When you daughter puts her desperate plea, on the Internet?

C.) When you are a man, who is growing a ponytail, in the first bleepin place!!!?

D.) All of the above.


By the way Dad,
Thanks for watching the kids!
No hard feelings!
Just blog humour.
Ask Coach, it is fun.

Career Choices

Following story, on the Internet news, this morning.

Bullfighter in intensive care after severe goring

One of Spain's most famous matadors was in stable condition in intensive care Sunday, after being severely gored during a bullfight in Mexico.

Video from the bullfight at central Mexico's Plaza de Aguascalientes shows Jose Tomas being carried out of the ring, his thigh soaked in blood after the bull he was fighting upended him and tossed him several feet.

He required reconstructive surgery to his femoral artery after the bull's horns tore through his leg.

Um, Mr. Bullfighter....
while, I am very sorry for your injury, I must ask,
You are aware, that the desired effect of your chosen profession, is to in fact, encourage the bull to become angry and chase after you....with his horns?

Did someone, not fully explain that, when you applied for the position?

I hope,

A.) You have a good health care plan.

B.) You were wearing a very strong Cup.

C.) You take this hiatus, to reconsider your career.

Once upon a time, my life's light was slowly drained by the fluorescent underground, of a large insurance company. After reviewing, the severe 'gorging' it had taken to my soul...I realized the flower, that is my creativity, hope and wonder....would flourish outside of 'The Ring'.

Just think about it, Mr. Bullfighter.

We don't call her Tink for nothing.

As an excellent follow up to my last post.

I ask you...
How do you make the cutest little Gap skirt, look ridiculous?

By pairing it with another, cute little Gap Skirt, thrown over your shoulders like a shawl. Of course.
And then, march yourself outside, just like wearing two skirts is the most sensible fashion statement, a girl can make.



(Belly view)

(Back view)



Coco, went for the more subdued look, of just wearing a plain white onesie, no pants, no socks, on the driveway.
Unfortunately, I can not really blame her, for the lack of clothing.

Just a few hours earlier....
Tink, dressed cute as a button, picked Lilacs to take to her (high-school sponsored) pre-school teacher, The Bride.
At first glance, this may appear sweet and innocent.
And yet....



The Bride's father, just recently moved across the street from us.
This fashion parade, took place, as he manicured his already very perfect yard. Even his garbage cans, look clean.

Tink and I both fear, it is only a matter of weeks, before this man bellows across the road...

"For God sakes, woman, can't you even pretend to try to take care of your children?!!"

And I would love to reply,

"I am doing my best, they are very spunky and eccentric children"

except, we all know...

I could probably try, just a little more.

But I had a new US magazine and Oprah was on.
A mother has to prioritize.

Until, Oprah has retired and celebrities have stopped making news, we will continue to butter up various, potential DCFS phone calls...with pretty flowers.

Just an idea.

So, I have spent some time thinking about this lady who sent her Russian adopted son, back to Russia on a plane.
It is totally repulsive and I am completely against everything she has done.

That said,
I am just wondering...
Tink, was born an hour away from our home.

What if, I tossed her on a train, headed South, with a note attached to her shirt that read...

"She Mean Like a Pony."

How do you suppose that would go over?

Like I said, just thinking out loud.

Why is Church so early?

An example of my inner dialog, Sunday morning, while preparing for The Kid's First Communion.

Alarm goes off at 7:50am.
Mass begins at 10:30am.

Coco is crying. I snuggle back into pillow. Coach brings her in to bed. Ugh. Except, she is so cute. Tink follows, We yell into Kid. He yells back.

I'm not going. Why is church so early??

He gets up. Gets in bed with us. This is cute, except our bed is not big enough for all these kids.
Coach, starts making Cinnamon Rolls. Pillsbury celebration. We all follow. Cinnamon Roll morning, has lit a fire under them.
I start to pull out all their clothes. Coach retreats to bedroom to dress himself.
His Outfit #1: Stupid, stupid 9 year old white cotton shirt from Rue 21 and jeans.

Um, no, you can't wear that to First Communion.

He changes.
I start icing rolls. Apparently, I am the only adult present, educated in the proper icing technique. Secret, perfect cooling time to icing thickness ratio. Enhanced by cheating those kids out of my extra icing. I keep the center roll. I deserve it. They don't know the difference. Give a roll to Coco. I'll bet this is how childhood obesity starts. Oh well, she can starve/exercise when she is older, like the rest of us.

Outfit #2: Coach walks out in his very nice suit, with stupid white shirt under it. No tie. What is he, Miami Vice?

No, that doesn't work. Lose the white shirt. In fact throw it away.

Coach retreats back to bedroom.
Tell Kid to get dressed.
Why do the Communion girls wear tiny wedding dresses and he wears a lame white shirt and black pants? I don't get it.
Emergency, run Tink to the bathroom. Why does she always wait to the last minute? Will she ever be tall enough to get herself on the toilet? Will I be helping a 9 year old, Tink, hop up on the potty?
Tell Kid, to get dressed, again.

9:00am. Take my first look in a mirror. Still in jammies, not showered. Why is my face exploding? Do I have to look like an infected leper for the communion pictures? Couldn't it explode on a plain Tuesday?

Why does it take The Kid so long to get ready?

Kid, put your shoes on!

I can't. I hate these shoes, I hate how they squeeze the top of my toe on the right shoe. I hate brushing my teeth. Why is church so early?

Me: (In my low, scary, intimidating voice) You better, get those shoes on right now or I am canceling your party and you can give back each present that....

Interrupted by Family Friend, walking into house, to drop off dish for party.

Coach yells from bedroom (still picking out an outfit) Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you, Tom is stopping by with food.
Awesome. Love that I am screaming crazy at my kid, with my exploding face, in my pajamas. No bra, not that it matters.
Thanks for the heads up, Husband.
Tom leaves. Resume yelling at Kid.
Outfit #3: Same stupid White Shirt, khaki paints, brown tie.

Coach: How about this?

Me: Take off that stupid white shirt, don't show it to me again or I am giving it to Goodwill. Stop being a little girl and pick out an outfit and help me with these brats!!

9:25am.

Outfit #4: Khaki pants, blue suit shirt and cute tie. Fine, wear it. Does it even matter? He can wear jeans and be cute in his radiating awesome Coachness. Meanwhile, I haven't even showered. Screaming at Kid, turns high pitch. He wants to take a book to read.
He finally, prepares to leave early with Coach for pictures. Make Coach, take Coco with.
Tink remains plopped in front of TV. Oblivious to life.

9:34am.

Finally, enter the shower. Bathroom door opened, so I can listen for kidnappers entering home. Check out mirror again. Hate Coach for not reminding me someone was walking in our house. Hate Coach for never having an exploding face. I will have to be like a Professional Make-up Artist today. Shower in about 3 minutes. Freezing, with door open. Think to myself that just maybe, I was more pretty in New Orleans because I didn't have to spend 2 hours making the 3 kids cuter than myself.

Look into closet. Hate my clothes. Why do I only buy yoga tank tops and pajama pants? Grab black pants, only black heels, some kind of double shirt combo that may not match. Will color enhance or distract from The Exploding? Throw clothes into dryer to get out wrinkles, no time to iron.

Frantically, start to slop on makeup. Not working! Why didn't I exercise this week? Why did I eat cinnamon rolls? Crappy breakfast, guilt.
Except, I am still hungry.

Me: Tink, come here, I need to do your hair!

Tink: I can't. I can't neber go to church.

Me: Tink, now!

Tink: No danks.

Grab her. She is wearing her bike helmet. Why does she have to look so 'special' all the time? Brush her hair. It is time for another pixie cut. She fights to put helmet back on. Explain, she will not suffer a serious head injury at church.

Totally out of time to fix myself up. Hair still wet. What just happened to the last 3 hours? Remind myself, to keep exploding face and wet hair, out of pictures. Last minute, clean the bathroom, shut bedroom door, pick up miscellaneous mess. Coach is ready, smiling, waiting by door.

Coach: Why does it take you so long to get ready?

Me: Bleep off.

10:22am.
Leave for church.
End scene.



Congratulations, to my son. From the moment we left for church, during mass and the cook-out following, went beautifully. It was a lovely day.
Just maybe, not a lovely, early morning.

Sunday Funday

Tell me,
is there any better scent,
in the entire world...
than sunscreen, blended with the outdoors, sprinkled with your little child's sweat, swirling around their wind mussed hair?
I Heart that.

My Vacation

My vacation was essentially the same vacation as Coach, minus the 'Can in the Bag'. I took a little more class, to New Orleans.
But...just a little.

1. I am as Young as I once Was...
I proved, that I can lighten up.
After a very long Saturday of packing, tearfully telling our children goodbye, flying South and Wide Eyed walking Bourbon Street...we turned in by midnight.
Except, after hearing the bands play on and on, I declared "Let's Head Back Down".
I am crazy, wild.

We spent another 2 hours, dancing, laughing and lovin life...in my glasses and a pony tail.
Cuz ImmaBe awesome like that.

2. Hello Brangelina.
After, some mild Internet stalking, I was able to locate Brad Pitt's home address in the Quarter.
Casually prepared with a mini map, we nonchalantly strolled passed their home and I accidentally leaned against the outside, for a quick 5 minute photo shoot.
Even though, I believe they were in Italy, I felt their home exterior and I shared a moment....I am pretty sure they will be calling us to hang out.
After we purchase the adjoining building.
Holla back, Angie.

3. Blue Shutters.
I LoVeD the French Quarter.
Loved the homes, the architecture, the cast iron railing with ivy trickling down.
I want, want, want to live there.


And when I do:
I want Blue Shutters.

If only, I knew an Artist, who was familiar with paint colors, and could help me pick out the shade of blue that would look pretty with my boring, brick home.
If only,he were coming to my home on Sunday, and could bring some paint swatches with him.
If only...

4. The Garden District.
Loved the Streetcar.
Loved the Cemetery.
Loved Coach trying to find one deceased with his Irish last name.
Loved when he realized SEVERAL bodies are stuffed in one DeadBodyCoffinHouse together.
It is creepy fantastic.


The ginormous homes are beautiful.
Touched Nicholas Cage's fence.
I don't think we are going to hang out.
We didn't really have a moment.



5. The best part of my vacation?
Coach was mine.
Puke, gag, barf...I know.
Yet, I NEVER and I am saying NEVER, really get me some Coach.
His six jobs, his idol worthy sports, his family, our family, his friends, his just being nonstop superfly cool always have a piece of my husband.
But this weekend, for the first time ever...
Coach was all mine.
And,
I
Loved it.


6. Confession.
Did I miss my children?
Honestly...
Not too darn much. I love my babies. I neber, eber, leave them. We are together all. the. time.
On day three, I was ready to return. I soaked up their happy hugs, I noticed they were even cuter, but I was pretty comfortable with their well being.
They were exactly where I had left them....



What?
I left plenty of food and water in bowls around the room.
The Kid can change diapers.
No biggie.
.
.
.


Seriously,
Thanks to Grammy, Pop-pop and Uncle for all your hard work. We appreciate you.
And to be fair,
I admit, the kids did not miss us, either.

Looks like we'd better plan another trip.


FYI- I apologize for the use of the Country Song.

Coach's Vacation

Part One of a Two Part Series.

For the first time, in over five years...Coach and I took a vacation, Alone.
Just the two of us, no children, no pregnancy, no friends....just us.
Three nights in New Orleans. It was the first trip to The Big Easy, for both.
Here is a recap, of Coach's favorite observations.

1. The food.
Coach loved the food.
He is a spicy/sea food guy and this town was made for him.

In three days, he ate Craw fish, shrimp, alligator pasta, alligator pizza and Cajun everything, with extra hot sauce on the side. He could not get enough. At home, last night, he put his newly purchased spices on his spaghetti.
Not me.
My belly was ready for some Ragu.

2. While there, the French Quarter Festival was in swing. Coach loved the Quarter and the festival feel. And Grandma, your good Catholic son, even attended part of Sunday morning mass at the Cathedral.
Thankfully,
a little religion, did not hurt him any this weekend. Because...




3.Coach, loved the complete and utter lack of rules.
You are in a real city, in a real state, with real cops and yet..
there are no real rules.
People are smoking, EverYwheRe. In bars, restaurants, shops...it was very weird.
You can walk up to any ol' window and just order a drink.
They prefer cans or bottles be covered, which made it even more fun for Coach to walk around with a Big Can, covered in a bag.
Not his classiest moment.



4. Vegas, City of Sin? Not sure about that.
I have never seen so much sin, readily available on the street. The advertisements were both shocking and amusing.
Coach giggled, every single time, we walked past this sign.
Actually, Coach giggled, many times as we walked Bourbon St.

5. Coach, was happy to see his wife dressed in something other than pajamas and yoga pants for three solid days. He said, I was pretty, so often, I began to wonder if the 'Can in a Bag' was to blame,
Or
maybe, I should clean myself up a little more, on a daily basis.



Sorry, vacation over...jammie pants, back on.

6. The Hot Dog vendor.
Despite the variety of southern food, Coach consumed.
He still managed to become BFF's with the Hot Dog Guy at the corner of our hotel.
Coach made no less than 4 stops, in three days.
Eventually, becoming 'Head Nod Friendly' as he passed by the Vendor.

You can take Coach out of his element, and still...he is Coach.
Just as soon as we have a few hundred thousand, saved up....
we plan on purchasing a place down there.
Free Rentals to family!

Tomorrow...
My vacation.

Week-end Game

After, the Opening Day excitement had died down, as we were trying to ignore Coach (at least his wife was) a few of us began to play a little game.

What if....
my Blog followers just exploded...
and I became one of those blogs with 3026 faithful followers each day.
What if...
I became even crazy funnier.
(brief acknowledgement to 'funnier' barely being a word.)
And my family, provided me with even more outrageous moments.
What if...
they got even darn cuter.
(brief acknowledgement to that being impossible.)

and.... Hollywood producers, came knocking at our door, to make a Weekly Sitcom of my blog. Yes, I am aware that I am totally full of it, humour me.

It would be a little like Roseanne, only slightly thinner.



Game of the Day:

If, my blog was created into a sitcom.
And if, we had an unlimited budget.
And if, movie stars such as Julia Roberts and George Clooney, were willing to star....

Question:

Who would you cast, to be my main characters?

Main Characters, do not just include my immediate five. They include, Grandpa, Pop-pop, Grammy, Flag girl, Doc, Commish, Jackie....etc.

Please,
for all that is precious to the hilarity of my blog.
Comment!!
Even if you have been secretly lurking, comment under the Anonymous title
(as some funny guy, did while not calling me pleasant, nice guts by the way.)

I'll expect a full cast by Tuesday.
Then, I may possibly post my answer...
cuz, I had a crazyfunny answer for Warhol.
Though, I did not really mean it, sorry, adore you.

Now, Play.....
Cast my sitcom.

Pop of Red

Dear Mr Cardinal,


Good morning. I very much enjoy that your spirits are lifted by Spring. Mine are, as well. The children and I have delighted in watching you hop around, with your wife, gathering string for your home and searching for worms in the wet soil.
Spring has sprung, and your cheerful chirps are a pleasant reminder.
That said, I would like to question your decision to nest in the bush, immediately outside my bedroom window. To your credit, it is a lovely cover for your expanding family. Though, there are several very suitable locations on the other side of our home.
We are not really morning people. We are a sleepy bunch and your 5:00am song, feels a touch early. We would appreciate your singsonging Good-morning around 7:20ish am, if you would not mind.
Of course, when I say 'We' and I am referring to myself. You could fly smack into the window, lighting a firework and my husband would not stir. At least, that appears to be the case, when Coco is crying or Tink is screaming from a nightmare. He barely flinches, while I repeatedly kick him as his knee lifts the blanket up and down and up and down and up and down.....
Deep Breath.
And.... we're back.
Unfortunately, Mr. Cardinal, I require several hours of sleep each night. It has been mentioned, I am sometimes a bit of a grump. Actually, another not so nice word has been used by Coach, or even my mother, a few friends and occasionally an in-law. It is possible, they may be exaggerating and I am actually a very pleasant and delightful person...but I somehow doubt that.
Therefore, I would greatly appreciate an immediate relocation of your home. We would love to keep you. Your spot of red is exactly the pop of color our yard requires to remain fashionable.
However, I feel if you continue outside my window, I cannot be blamed for possibly ripping it open in a crazy morning-hair kind of rage that would result in hot water thrown onto your nest, each and every bright sunshiny morning until you leave.
Also, my husband has borrowed and never returned a chainsaw, and I am not afraid to tell him to use it.
Thank you for your time and attention.

Sincerely,

A grand lover of Mother Nature and her splendid spoils.
Except, all and any species of spider, specifically wolf spiders and the indoor albino spider that chose to nap upon my bathroom shower curtain.
You are very, not splendid.

National Opening Day

Let's Play a Little Game called....
Are you really a Cubs fan?

Answer honestly.

1. You began planning your Opening Day Party/Opening Day Wardrobe, 6 weeks ago.
A.) Hell to the Yea
B.) Duh, no

2. You secretly wish the team colors were Navy/Red.
A.) That is sacrilegious
B.) Yes, bright blue does not work with my skin tone.

3. You buy your cable service, according to which carries WGN.
A.) Duh, of course.
B.) Why, what's on WGN?



4. You have named a pet or child after a Cubs player, The Field or the Cross roads it rests on.
A.) Wrigley is not just a dog, he is a part of the family.
B.) My dog is named Rex.

5.) You take a vacation day, to spend the afternoon swearing at the computer, while you try to purchase game tickets.
A.) Yes, and I got two games!
B.) Why, can't you just walk up the the gate and buy tickets there?

6.)You raise all of your children to be Cubs fans, similar to intentionally raising your daughter to become a submissive wife, with no career aspirations or educational goals.
A.) Yes, it will make them tougher.
B.) My children think a Cub is a baby bear.

7.) At least once, during each season, you declare, "I'm done with them." only to recant around Mid-January.
A.) Sorry, yes.
B.) I never started with them.

8.) You think this year, is The Year.
A.) Down with the Curse!
B.) The Year for what?

10.) At some point, you have puked, passed out or gotten lost around Clark and Addison.
A.) Sorry, wife, I have to answer yes.
B.) Who are Clark and Addison?

Bonus Question:
If you won, 6 free dugout tickets. What 5 people would you take with you? Do not answer, while following Married Couple Guidelines. Just pick the 5 people, you most want to spend 3 superawesomefun hours with.

Answer:
If you answered (A.) to more than Six Questions....
Sorry, you may really be a Cubs fan.
Good Luck.
I think this, may be their year!

Happy Opening Day, Clark.
We'll see you in a few hours, for your favorite holiday of the year.

Ariel's Flashback Friday

On this date in history...

On April 2, 1805 Hans Christian Andersen, one of the greatest storytellers, is born near Copenhagen.
Andersen wrote several plays that flopped, but he entertained himself by writing a series of children's stories. The first, (1835) included "The Princess and the Pea." Andersen released new collections every year, as he traveled widely in Europe, Africa, and Asia. His stories include "Thumbelina" "The Little Mermaid," and "The Emperor's New Clothes." He died in 1875.


Which is so oddly fitting, given that this evening, I will venture out to the Disney store. In search of little treasures to fill three Easter baskets. Essentials, such as washcloths that grow in the tub, beach towels, Tinkerbell flip-flops and other unnecessary junk.
All meant, to encourage tiny squeals of joy on Easter morning.
Because,
also, on this day in history...
Something kinda big happened with this guy....


And what better way to celebrate this moment, than with plastic colored eggs, children in bright matching dresses and baskets filled with non-biodegradable purple grass with Little Mermaid Sunglasses.

Happy Easter to you and yours. Mine and ours, will be about the cutest things you have ever seen at 8:00am Mass.
8:00am....dang, I really just put that out to the world....now, we kinda have to wake up on time!

Nothing like a small holiday message, mixed with a mini guilt trip, history lesson and discussion on the commercialization of spiritual events.

You are welcome.