It's beginning to smell less like Christmas

You know it's time to mop the kitchen floor when...

sweeping no longer makes much of a difference...

and the dustpan was full...

and the baby's eating homemade Nutella bread croutons...

and mysteriously colored goldfish.

Okay, the fish were still gold--I'm not that bad.

Almost.

Oh, I highly recommend checking your air ducts occasionally:

I've been finding spoons petrified coatings in mine.

Boys.

Have I mentioned my house won't ever be clean again?

Just a warning for when you come over.

I'm going to go try and cover our odor with fudge smell.

Real fudge.

Tomorrow a realtor is coming over to see for how much he thinks our house would sell.

Think we can get away with asking more for mysterious smell?

Kidding.

Sewing and Burlap

I pulled out the sewing machine yesterday to be creative. Everyone's ears were burning from that endeavor--but I did refrain from detonating French bombs.

My kids also got creative. With toilet paper and Scotch tape. There is no end to the creativity that abounds around here. I like to find new words to replace my usual choice phrases. They like to discover bigger let's-make-the-hugest-mess-ever potential.

So, the sewing. My goal was new curtains. Until I realized (after cutting the panel) I had to hem around all four sides, not just the top and bottom. That project came to a screeching halt. Enter half-finished project #43. Then, I decided to iron my wrinkled burlap--the fragments that are left from the eight yards I bought last summer. You read that right. Relax, I had a coupon. It was for a surprise anniversary party we did for my parents that was kind of a bust because it rained and all our plans centered around being in their backyard. I made those jar lantern thingies and had buckets of sand for candles to keep bugs away and everything and we had to retreat to the church that doesn't allow open flame. At least those were finished projects. Yeah. So the burlap was to cover the church tables we were using. My big plan was to disguise that they were church tables, as if the narrow, oblong-ness of them weren't dead giveaways.

Anyway, a child spilled on the burlap, so instead of just washing out that part by hand, I put the whole 8 yards into my washer (yeah it's messy) and air-dried it all on the trampoline--folded over a couple of times. Oh yeah, I was kind of pregnant last year--envision a big burlap-hairy belly. Did I just ruin your appetite?

Now, when you wash burlap, it wrinkles. No worries, you can iron it. You just need to pretty much soak it. Joy. My husband discovered this when I charged him with ironing the whole length and he came up with an ironed section and an empty water sprayer (because our iron is ghetto and doesn't spray it's own water anymore. Because you wanted to know).

So, I had some cut out stocking pieces and some squares from a Relief Society dinner centerpieces I came up with (yeah I used wrinkled fabric for the dinner, love me) and I put them in the washer to rinse and drain them. Which frayed the edges big time. Which automatically shrunk the size of our stockings before I'd even sewn them together. But now they'll be easier to work with and wrinkle-free. Too bad I didn't free the wrinkles before I cut them out because they're all skewampus anyway. I better be happy with these stinking stockings when they're finally finished. If they get done (unfinished project #47. A few snuck in). Maybe by then, I'll be able to post pictures again, but rearranging all our computer crap in unfinished project #33.

There Are No More Babies

At our house.

The Rocker turned one.

And is still a baby. Hopefully THE baby. Ha.

Can I say what a delight this little surprise-third-boy is? He's been smiley from the beginning.

He's been laughing almost since he was born (he'd laugh in his sleep when a couple of weeks old).

He's a ham. He likes to go around the house with funky things sticking out of his mouth.

He has perfected the half-crab crawl.

He's not a bit interested in walking. When we put him on the floor, he puts his legs up to sit (like the S-man did).

He likes to sleep with his face flat on the mattress, or with a blanket pulled over his face. Sometimes the face is covered and the little crossed ankles are sticking out the bottom.

The stinker has already figured out how to open the fridge.

He said 'mama' once, but now prefers to say 'dada', and even more prefers to say 'stop' and 'don't' and 'no'. Mostly to Mr Destructo. Complete with a flat-handed shove.

He likes to sit on the floor and spin himself.

He has an obsession with buckles and snaps.

He likes to eat the bottom of flip-flops. Before I can get to him.

He screams like a banshee. Hello future hearing aids for mom.

He pumps his fat little legs as fast as he can when we're holding him--like he's practising his sprint. Once he did it in his baby float and propelled himself around the pool.

He's showing promise as a dancer.

He's too smart for his own britches.

He's got us all wrapped around his little fingers.

We love you, Rocker-man. Happy birthday.

(Sorry I have no pictures. We have a new hard drive and haven't put any programs on it and I don't know how to download pictures to it yet. Wait for that in the distant future.)

C.H.O.A.S.

So, who's familiar with Flylady's little Can't Have Anyone Over Syndrome thingymasystem about keeping your house clean so you aren't too embarrassed to have people over? Well, it doesn't work for me.

I was thinking about it yesterday when half the kids were at school and I was mopping the dirtiest non-dirt floor on earth lamenting that no one but I would enjoy--or even see--it. Not even my husband (who wonders what I do all day. Yeah, me too--other than damage control) because it got sullied as soon as Mr Destructo got home and the S-man tried to pop himself some popcorn that of course doesn't stay in the bowl as you eat it.

Anyway.

Inevitably, when things are at their worst over here at the circus (which said name should denote lack of perfect cleanliness nor good fumigation), people come over. And when I clean it? No visitors. In my defense, sometimes it isn't picked up and put in order until ten at night and the rascals around here are very adept at un-ordering it before 7 of the AM. When only the crazies are awake and perky.

Oh and the bathrooms? When they are hairless for a party, no one uses them. When they're at the most filthy? Everyone suddenly has to pee or rid themselves of their Dr. Oz S-shaped you-know-what. Which, by the way, at our house we close the lid after going. Mostly because I have a paranoia about things falling in the toilet that don't belong there and I may want to use again, like my last non-ouchless rubberband (because the ouchless ones leave much to be desired in effective hair-holding). And I don't like looking in the toilet all day. Plus, it's a bonus seat. But since I watched Oprah yesterday and Dr. Oz said that when you emit you S-shapes and flush them it sends up a cloud of fecal matter bacteria-whatever-he-said-it-was and it gets all over your toothbrushes, so if you're using my nasty, hairy, things are growing out of the drain bathroom, please close the lid before you flush because we like to keep things clean. Ha. At least I do. I don't think anyone else around here cares. Plus, it would be devastating if that last hoarded non-ouchless rubberband was lost forever, like the good sense of Goody.

So if you come over and the house looks like the toy bomb went off and hurricane Mr Destructo passed over and tornado S-man cruised through and the Rocker tropical storm left a path of mayhem in his wake (yes he crawls and is fast and figured out how to open the fridge today [?!]) don't be offended. That's how we welcome you. With utter CHAOS. I should rename it. CHAOSWAD. Oh that's charming. It stands for Can't Have Anyone Over Without A Disclaimer. Because I can't afford to pay your lawsuits if you fall on a toy and break your neck. Or ankle. I'm not picky.

Costco

So. We finally did the dirty earlier this year and bought a membership to Costco. I'm pretty sure they're in league with the devil--or the government--to break us financially. It has nothing to do with me and my finely-honed money-spending self-control. Ha. Today I went there and dropped a mere $200. I think I hold the record amongst my friends for spending $410 one day and still managing to come away without furniture. I blame it on the coupons. On that trip, it should have been a sign I was spending too much when I had to have my husband fetch a second cart and both were overflowing a little. And if the Rocker--who is almost always content and happy--is screaming before you get to the checkout, you know you've spent too much time at Costco. Or maybe he likes to get his cries out in bulk. I'm thinking my kids will hate me when they find that their inheritance is gone and they've been wearing it on their buttomauses.

Here's the scary thing: our house isn't so very large. The storage space is 90% less large. We will soon have bulk toilet paper/paper towel/Ziplock bag sculptures in the front yard. Because we must advertise to the world our Costco addiction. There's no hiding it in the back. Plus, Mr Destructo would climb on it to reach the sagging telephone lines whose connection is falling off the back roof that we cannot put any money into to fix because Costco has claimed it.

So far, my favorite thing sold in bulk at Costco? Trojans. And on the other side of the store, you'd probably find medicine cabinets big enough to hold them. Unless you have to hide them like we do. Can you picture that disaster? My kids would think I was one of those balloon-shape-making people holding out on them.

Last month I spent over $600 (see--you spend in bulk). I do not know how it fit in my storage closets (yeah--we don't have any storage rooms just taken-over linen closets) nor how I came away without a two-year supply of food for my whole family nor an entire new set of furniture for everyone. Then, on our trip to Albuquerque, my mom grounded me from following my cousins to Costco. What? We'd eaten an entire Costco-sized bag of Swedish fish, and two half bags of regular and peanut M & M's on the way down and had to replenish our supplies. The horrors of running out of necessities with Costco near at hand.

Now, reading through this post, I realize I've written "Costco" in bulk. Time to stop. Except for a challenge: anyone I know is is sort of poor like me but forgets it when they go to you-know-where and thinks that their ship has sailed in in bulk, I dare you to only spend $50 a trip for the next month. (That can be every week.) You can do it. Except maybe when the strawberries look good. And they have raspberries. And the blueberries look juicy. And you're sure you can eat that entire box of Spring Mix single-handedly in the next week. And they if they have Anne of Greene Gables or the new Emma on DVD you better grab those too before they're gone next time so maybe that shouldn't count on your $50. Oh, and buy yourself a bunch of flowers for being so good at not spending, and then go ahead and get some more Swedish Fish and both kinds of M & M's--they're only 10 bucks each.

Well done.

breaking news

After fourish months of sometimes mediocre efforts toward exercise, I've lost the baby weight from Rocker. Thank-you, Jillian. Except I've been working out a lot more than 30 days and am still not shredded. However my arms are begginning to slightly resemble Jillian's. Thanks to hauling a 23-lound baby. Now just have to lose the S-man weight. Off to keep shredding.

cool

I love driving past apartments and seeing their dishes on tripods.

Now that is commitment to your tv.

He Made It

Contrary to frequent maternal prediction, Mr Destructo has lived to see the ripe old age of 5. And miracles never cease: he has survived unstitched and unbroken so far. (Crossing fingers and knocking on wood.)

Let's talk a little about him.

He is our family's original booger-smear-on-the-wall artist.

He still sucks his fingers upside-down. I believe I'll be hearing about this from his Kindergarten teacher.

He likes to use the awning on the top of our swing set as a hammock.

I have no grey hairs yet.

He is fearless. And climbs on everything. The scissors on top of the cabinets and the child lock on the knife drawer are basically for show. We have to look like we're at least trying.

He'd eat a whole 32-oz. tub of yogurt in one sitting if I'd let him. Or cottage cheese. Or a pack of cold hot dogs. And he still looks like a skin-covered skeleton with biceps. And he loves ice cream--forget the cake.

He loves cars and trains and Legos (thanks Grandma) and his baby brother.

He won't let me throw away his Lightning McQueen crocs, even though the toe holes get bigger and bigger as pieces fall off.

When I pick him up from school, he's always wet or covered in dirt.

Sometimes he eats the dirt. Or the sandbox sand.

He's also my original gutter water drinker. Sprinkler run-off or rain-water, he's not particular.

He gives me kisses at just the right moment--he knows it earns him an extra ten minutes of life.

He's the first grandbaby that preferred Grandpa over Grandma--on both sides.

He's a good helper and rather obedient, believe it or not.

He's always asking me, "why?"

He likes to torment his siblings, then give me an innocent face and say he's doing "nuffing" and then grin.

He has the biggest smile and is happy and cheerful almost all the time and is eager to do anything.

He's my little way-too-busy-and-full-of-too-much-energy sweet heart.

Happy Birthday, Mr D.

Mom loves you.

P.S. Today I caught him wiping his greasy popcorn-butter fingers on his shirt and told him to stop. He started cleaning them on his shorts. When I nixed that, he opted for rubbing them on his head. I'll take what I can get.

High Rollin'

Big news everyone: at the ripe old age of 6 months, the Rocker has finally mastered rolling from his tummy to his back. Let us all rejoice. Next comes crawling. We all know what that means.

huh

You know when you have a filthy, disgusting house with things growing from your bathroom shower walls, and the aftermath of a toy bomb in every crevice and you opt to clean the windows? Correction: one window. I have to spy on my neighbors. ha.

I better go clean something before the 20-lb. wiggly 6-month-old decides he needs re-feeding.

3

S-man recently hit the big 0-3.He was a pretty serious little man when he was born.

Now, he's kind of a ham. He shows off more than Mr. D.

Still loves to suck the thumb and rub the faux-hawk.

He's the only one in the family who actually comes and asks to have his hair done. He's been loved to death since he was born.



He's still so laid-back. And doesn't mess with nap-time.
He likes to have his nails painted and carry his sister's purses and dolls around, but we won't hold it against him in front of too many future girlfriends.
However, he loves cars, buses, trains, planes, helicopters, and tractors (the word he uses for any construction machine too).
Last summer, we passed a lot of construction on the freeway and S-man loved it. He'd say, "Loo Mom, tra-tors!" Or gasp and say, "Tra-tors!" (That's tractor, not traitor.)
One time when the front door was open and I was trying to herd kids inside, he was pushing his way outside to "see da airpwane" flying overhead.
I love when we drive next to a train on the freeway--S-man does the best train noises around. More than a simple "choo-choo."
I love it when S-man sings. The words don't always come out right, but the melody is dead on. I would think he was still asleep then suddenly hear him belt, "Eieioh!"
The latest song is Frosty the Snowman and Frere Jacques that comes out "Ferah ga-ga" but he's got the "sone le matina" and "Ding dang DONG" parts down, complete with bravado.
He loves his red crocks. I love that he puts them on backwards.
He tries his best to keep up with his brother and sister.

And puts up a good fight when he has to. (Mr D. has the bite marks to prove it.) He's the king of holding the Rocker for 2 seconds or 10 minutes--but not much in between.

He gives good kisses and hugs.
And is a good dancer.
To the sweetest, cutest little man around, Happy Birthday.
You were well-worth the extra wait.
I love you.

I'm going to be totally random today. Which is normal for me, right? So I guess announcing it is redundant. And now everyone is bored stiff, especially me.

So I forgot to mention that for Rocker's RSV snot build-up, we got to rent a BBG machine. It is basically a nose vacuum. It's kind of awesome, though the Rocker doesn't really think so. Here's the good part if I'd ever get around to it: BBG stands for--literally--Baby Booger Grabber. My dad would call it the Baby Brain Grabber since he calls bulb syringes brain suckers. My siblings and I are relatively normal.

Last night was one of those out of the Twilight Zone where dinner was eaten at 7:30 and the dad at our house didn't come home from work until almost 9 and in the meantime, amidst the chaos called Mom's-in-charge-but-not-really-in-charge, the boys colored on the TV with crayon. Now there's something I really want to know: what is so hysterically funny about waxy artwork superimposed over the show you're watching I would like to know because they didn't let me in on the joke. Have I mentioned I'm glad I have at least one daughter? She cleaned it off for me. And did a good job, too. I can't believe that before I had her, I was hoping she'd be a boy. SO glad THAT didn't happen.

Just ran of random thoughts.

Oh--Mr Destructo had the letter 'U' for show and tell today. Not wanting to be boring and send the expected umbrella, I sent him with underwear. Am I terrible? I think it was awesome.

Big Sickies

Well, so much for my resolution to blog every day. Ha. Actually, I have kept up with at least one. Ironically, the exercising. Biggest Loser DVD. Can I say something probably thousands before me have already figured out? I don't like Jillian. She's hard.

Anyway.

My jeans are a smidgen looser but that might also be because I've been wearing them for four (or five?) days and they might be just a little stretched out. Not to mention not too fresh smelling. See, I don't have much luck with clean pants. The last time I put them on, the Rocker's diaper leaked on them. Because I procrastinate that chore big time.

And do you think I changed the pants? No. I was determined to wear them the whole day, poop stain and all. And I did. To the doctor's office. To discover the Rocker had an ear infection, which was really just a tasty side dish to RSV.

Yes, when your baby has a yucky cough for four days it might just be more than a simple cold. The tricky thing was, I would never have guessed he has RSV because he has still been eating, sleeping, smiling and laughing like normal--in between the coughing spells.

Poor kid.

Many thanks to Mr Destructo who got everyone sick. Including me, who is part-psycho and got sick on purpose to give the Rocker my antibodies because I'm so tired of him getting everyone else's runny noses.

And the clincher? He started coughing the day after I took him in for his well-baby check. That's not a slap in the face. Any guesses to how much he weighs? Here's a clue: he's above the 95%-ile. The person who guesses gets to come carry him around for a day. Kidding.

Maybe I should let Jillian have at him.

Crescent

I have a bad case of the it-was-on-sale-itis. Who buys ten cans of crescent roll dough? If you didn't know before, you know now.

We don't even eat these very often (we will now). Maybe because every time I need them for a recipe they cost a lot, so this is my big vindictive revenge on the grocery store. And yet I can't freeze them. (I wonder what would happen if I did. Maybe that's one of those things best left undiscovered.) I hope I'm not the only ones who keeps these past their sell by dates. ha.

I never claimed ownership to great wisdom.

That chocolate milk was not on sale.

Clearly I had persuasive shopping companions.

Boys

Mr Destructo informed me the other day that bread is made out of paper, toilet paper and steam.

I wouldn't be surprised if Wonder is making it. Puts a whole new outlook on getting your daily fiber from bread.

Last night at dinner he cut out the middle man and was eating a Puffs with Lotion tissue.

Yeah. Tearing off big chunks at a time.

So, would that be a biscuit? And the lotion is the butter?

Boys.

After a while, his dad made him spit out what he was chewing and me in my eternal wisdom informed Mr D that the little wet chunks were spit wads.

I'm sure my neighbors and his preschool teacher thank me. This is their advanced warning.

The other day the S-man dumped baby powder all over his room while he was supposed to be taking a nap.

I took pictures. They'll come later.

He left no part untouched.

He's going back into his crib.

Also, the Rocker is kind of a stinker.

He absolutely refuses to stay a baby. When we lay him down, the little man lifts his head, trying to sit up! And he's a stander--I think he's bulking up for his all-too-near running days. (Lolly propped him up.)

In fact, I'm about to fire Lolly and her father as official helpers for encouraging the Rocker to walk. As in, they hold his 3 1/2 month old hands and "walk" him across the room. I don't want a walking 6-month-old.

(Think he looks worried?)

My mom recommends we buy a house with an unfinished basement and line the walls with pads and wrestling mats. I'm all over that one.

Oh, and the Rocker is wearing 6-12 months pants because anything smaller cannot be induced to get past his thighs unless I grease them with butter.

Or Puffs with Lotion.

Antibacterial Soap

I just saw a gnat in my dishwashing soap.

Does that mean the whole thing is contaminated?

I have no idea how long it's been there.

Not that I'd want to dispel anyone's ideas of my stellar housekeeping skills.

Or really make it appealing to come to our house for dinner. No worries--I always use the dishwasher's sanitize feature.

Think I should just fish the bug out?

Or, change the whole bottle of soap?

Just so you know, I'll probably leave it there until the soap's almost gone or the carcass drifts out.

We eat at 6.

Come on over.