"Holy Hello Kitty, Batman! She's four!"

Jenna, Jenna, Jenna...I cannot believe that you are already 4! Child, you are the reason there are rules. You are overly-dramatic, spirited, demanding, crazy, hilarious, and brilliant. One minute I am laughing hysterically with you, and the next, I'm hoping the gypsies come knocking at the door. You are a child of extremes. You are either laughing, or sobbing; being quiet and polite, or raising hell. I will let you know, that if I should end up in hell, I will be quite prepared. Thank you, very much.



You are fabulously smart, engaging, and totally, unmistakably YOU. Right now, you are really testing how smart I am. After school, you will tell me that you need a snack. Really, it's more like, "I neeeeeeeed aaaaaa snaaaaaack!" and I'll say, "But you just had one at school," and you'll look at me with a straight face and say, "No I didn't."
"Yes, you did."
"No, I didn't."
"They didn't give you a snack today?"
"No, mom. They didn't feed me today."
"They didn't feed you?"
"No. I'm starving."
"It looks like there's spaghetti sauce on your shirt..."
*gasp* "I don't know how THAT got there!"



Last week, your teacher told me, "Wow, Jenna's a real spitfire!" I always find this amusing when people just figure this out, so I said, "Really? Do tell." Unfortunately, the "bully" of Pre-K decided to take a toy away from you. Apparently, he didn't realize that although you are pint-sized, that you can deliver an ass-whoppin' like you belong in a steel cage match. So, Monkey, you walked up to that big boy, growled, pushed him down, and took that toy away. Rock on, little woman. You know how to deliver the SMACKDOWN! Now all you have to do is growl at him, and he runs away. Good for you, holding your own. It's a big, big world, baby, and you are going to take it over.



Jenna, although you are a tough little shit, you are my baby, and always will be. I know that there are several nights when you sneak into my bed, and I get frustrated with you, saying, "Jenna! You have your OWN BED!" Secretly, there is no greater gift than waking up to you snuggling beside me. You often tell me,"Mom, I just want to love on you." I know, Princess, I know. And I am SO happy that you do. I love you with such an amazing strength, that it's scary. You're becoming such an incredible little girl. Every day, I am floored at what you learn, what you know, what you say...



I love you, Jen, thank you for blessing me as your mom.
xoxox

Things that make you go, awwwww!

"Mommy, you're in my heart. You are always with me."

Checking in...

A little windblown, but safe.

Hunker down

"Get ready to 'hunker down'!"
"Make sure you have a place to 'hunker down'!"

I haven't heard "hunker down" since my grandpa passed away. Now I'm hearing it every five minutes.

I cleaned my house, you know, because a hurricane's a-comin'. I wanted to just open the back door and the front door, and let Rita clear it out for me, but the husband said no. Damn him. So I had to clean it the old-fashioned way: I took all the girls' toys and threw them in the closet. Sure hope we don't have to 'hunker down' in THAT closet--might end up with a My Little Pony in some uncomfortable orifice. Actually, i'd rather end up with a pony in an odd area, than take the chance of hiding out in MY closet. MY closet--where 60 pairs of shoes could possibly become fast-moving, airborne missles.

Right now, I'm spending the majority of my time worrying about friends and family--hoping that they're all in a safe place. Especially those with kids--can't get those people out of my mind. I'm a worrier by nature...

In other news, my neighbor is about to drop a kid. She's so very pregnant, and I can't help but think her stubborn, oven-dwelling child is just WAITING for the hurricane to make his appearance. Figures...boys are such troublemakers. She waddled over this morning, and we took a long walk through the neighborhood--enjoying the pre-hurricane weather, talking about marriage, marriage-issues, and of course, sex. Because that's what we do. It was discussed that her husband is my type, and my husband is her type, but we could never mess-around with each others' husbands--being that mine is a foot shorter than her, and her's is such a large man that his hand could crush my skull. And of course, chatting about that, led us to chatting about other men. Being the dirty girls we are, we have bestowed the honor of "FILF" to the father around the corner from us. The one that has 3 kids. The one that mows his lawn--without a shirt. ROWR. We were laughing so hard, I thought she was going to give birth right there on the sidewalk. I could've just walked up to the nearest house and said, "Excuse me, but could I borrow some boiling water and a pair of tongs?" so it wouldn't have been THAT bad.

So anyways...hurricane party's still on. Come on over once the winds start picking up a bit, but before they're so strong you lose your footing--I'm not saving your ass.

Crazy

It's unbelieveable here. Even if we wanted to leave, there's no way we could get out. Every major freeway is at a standstill--packed with cars. Now, we just wait...

More peni.

That is the plural of "penises" isn't it? Peni? Pronounced, "PEEN-eye." On with the story. I actually wasn't going to post about this because it's pretty sick, but it's also pretty damn funny. No, it's sick. Just for the record, I think it's PRETTY DAMN SICK.

The bachelorette party was held at my mom's house last Thursday. Like I mentioned before, there were peni of all sorts, shapes, and sizes everywhere. The bride was drinking out of a penis-shaped sports bottle, there was a penis cake (thank you, very much), and a large penis on the entertainment center--which, was REALLY entertaining with the addition of the huge phallus.

The girls all left (me included) in the limo around 10 pm. My mom stayed behind and de-penised her home. Because it was late, she just picked up the random peni and stuffed all the penis-shaped balloons in a bag and threw them in the closet. The next evening, my children spent the night with my mom...

Saturday morning, I walk into my mom's house, and here comes Jenna--chewing on a penis-shaped white-chocolate lollipop. As I stood there, silent (for once), my engaging soon-to-be-four-year-old looks at me with those lovely green eyes, and says, "This is delicious! You wanna bite of my bone?" I looked at her, smiled, then opened my mouth and yelled, "MOTHEEERRRR!!" Mom saunters into the kitchen, looks at me, looks at Jenna, and says, "What? She thinks it's a dog bone."

Now enter Clairey. Sweet little toddler girl, waddles up to her sister, and hits her in the head with a 3ft penis balloon. At this point, I finally close the back door and stare at my children incredulously. There they are, my little cuties, each with some sort of penis in their hands. I flash forward 15 years...and nearly pass out.

I spent the next 15 minutes removing penis paraphanelia from the house--you know, putting away jumping penises, popping penis balloons, etc. Afterwards, i felt like the old lady on "Poltergeist": "This house...is clean." Last night, I was uploading the pics from the party, and Jenna was sitting on my lap. They upload, I click on one, and of course, it's the huge penis on top of the entertainment center. Jenna smiles, points to the monitor, and says,

"Hey, that's the big bone! That's the big dog bone. Man, that other bone was delicious! I like bones, mom."

Lord, help me.

Hurricane Party 2005

When: Friday 9/23 - ??
Where: My house

What to bring: water, canned goods, and lots of batteries.

Pictures

I have nothing of great significance to post, unless you want me to talk about how I had to play "Mousetrap" fifty-thousand times last night. Damn, I hate that game. So, you get to look at pictures! Exciting!!

My sister Shannon, and ME


The chicks


Shannon and my girls


The Wee Evil One

The ringmaster

We went to a wedding this past Saturday. It was at a gorgeous plantation, with huge oak trees, a lovely lawn, and fifty-thousand mosquitoes. During the ceremony, rather than moving down and sitting in the aisles of chairs they had created, I had to stay up on the porch of the house and keep an eye on the smallest of my two spawn. Explain to a new 2-year old why she can't scream during a wedding ceremony. It just doesn't work. Can't wait until the bride and groom watch the replay of their ceremony and hear a voice in the background whispering, "I am NOT afraid to beat you, little girl!" It should be fun.

My sister was the maid-of-honor. She looked gorgeous. Really, it's sickening. It's vomitous. She's beautiful. The good thing about her, is that she doesn't know she's that beautiful, and if you tell her she is, she answers with, "My hips are huge." Nice. There's always something, right? And, to top it all off, she is just a fantastic woman. Can you tell I adore my sister?

So, Shannon's the maid of honor--in charge of keeping things running smoothly, ensuring everything goes as planned, ecetera, ecetera, ecetera. The processional begins, Shannon glides up to the front, the bride soon follows, and the wedding party is standing up there in front of friends and family. The bride and groom begin to exchange vows, and Shannon realizes something. Something huge. The groom's wedding band is in her purse. Which is in the dressing room. Which is back at the house. The groom has no ring! Bwahahahaha! The bride looks directly at the preacher and says, "Oh, shit!" What to do, what to do? A quick-thinking bridesmaid pulls of HER wedding band and hands it to my sister, who hands it to the bride. They continue to exchange vows, and when they give each other the rings, the bride slides the ring onto her husband-to-bes fingertip. That's as far as it will go. I'm talking first knuckle. The preacher looks at her and says, "Go ahead. Slide the ring all the way on." The bride looks at the preacher and whispers, "That's as far as it will go..."

So, henceforth, my sister is known as, "The Ringmaster." What a fun wedding memory.

If you don't want to hear about penises, then don't read this

Guess what, internet?! Yesterday was my birthday! Let me tell you--31 is not impressing me thus far. What really sucks about it, is that it's all my fault. Totally. Well, vodka had a lot to do with it, so if I see anyone with a nametag that says, "HI, MY NAME IS Vodka," I'll kick their ass. I had such big plans for my birthday. Such big plans.

When's the last time you went to a bachelorette party? I don't remember when. But from what people say, I went to one on Thursday. I'm ashamed to say, that I got stupid drunk. Oh yes. I did. I proceeded to drink as much as I have ever drank in my life, and then was forced into the consequences on Friday. Happy Frickin Birthday to you--here's your hangover. I have NEVER had to say this before, but I'm saying it now: I will never drink that much again. NEVER. I can't believe that some people get that drunk on a regular basis--WHY? Do they LIKE hangovers? Cripes.

I called my husband at 330am, and I don't know why, but he didn't answer the phone. So, I left him a message. I believe I said something to the effect of, "I'm home [at my mom's], I didn't drink too much, but i'm not good to drive. I'm sorry, I'll see you tomorrow morning." I went to bed at 4, woke up at 7, and drove home. I slept on the floor of mom's guest room--I let my sister and her best friend have the bed--wasn't that nice?

I've realized that the horror of drinking that much comes on slowly, much like a stealthy cat. I went from, "I didn't have that much to drink," to "Oh, yea...I forgot about that one..." to "Eeeeee, there were shots involved..." It's frightening. Again, it was Vodka and her sly sister tonic that did me in. So, actually, this drunken massacre was the fault of my best friend, Angel. Damn, damn you Angel! If you wouldn't have introduced me to the beauty of vodka tonics, i'm sure I would have gingerly sipped on ice water all night. Now that that's settled...

The party was a blast. I've never seen so many penises in my life. There's a whole line of penis partyware! Can you believe? It's like dirty tupperware. We were eating chips out of a penis-shaped bowl, we had a penis-shaped cake (complete with brown coconut pubic region), penis straws, penis cups--penis everything. There were even edible, penis candy necklaces. Oh, my virgin eyes. The limo picked us up at 10, and took us to this local club that the bride loves. There was drinking and dancing and eating-of-the-penis-necklaces, and more drinking. We left at 2am, when the club shut down, and people were yelling, "You and all your phallic-symbol-wearing friends, get out!" Not really, but that would have been funny.

The limo guy took us home, wherein he was probably bombarded with more penis-speak than he was comfortable with. But there were these cards, and they had naked men on them! With penis'! It was really kind of scary, so there was a lot of frightened screaming in the back of that limo. So, the penis extravaganza came to an end around 3am, and we all went to sleep.

I climbed out of my make-shift bed at 7am, hobbled past the penis punching bag that was lying in the middle of the floor, drank some water out of a penis-cup, and went home. I drove home in my pajamas. Thank God I have tinted windows, because I looked ROUGH.

I got home, turned on my laptop, and worked all day. How good is that?! I'm SUCH A DEDICATED EMPLOYEE THAT IT WAS MY BIRTHDAY, I HAD A HANGOVER, AND I WORKED! I should get a raise for that kind of dedication. At around 400, i started to feel a bit better, so I went and picked up the kiddo from preschool. Don't worry...I got out of my jammies and brushed my hair.

My mom offered to watch the girls that night, so we could go out with friends and not have to worry about getting home at a reasonable hour. Well, I felt like incredible crap, but we went out anyways. Me and the husband, and our very good friends went to a jazz cafe downtown. It was very nice, the food was incredibly tasty, and the jazz band was nice. Then, I ruined the night because I wanted to go home and go to bed. I'm such a party pooper. But let me tell you---that was the BEST decision I've made all week. I was in bed by 1130, and slept like a rock. Woke up at 815 without any small bodies in my bed, no peepee diaper by my head, no little feet in my ribcage--I kind of missed it.

So anyways, internet, I am 31.

Already Two

Clairey, on September 10th, you turned 2 years old. And let me tell you something: if you stick your finger into your diaper to show me that you have poop one more time, you're not going to see your 3rd birthday. Poopy diapers aside, you are a completely awesome kid. You are sassy, spunky, and mainly, pure evil. You're just like your mommy.

Baby girl, you have taught me more about life in your 2 short years, than I have learned in my lifetime. You've shown me that my heart can grow even more than I thought possible, that I can love like never before, and that I have more patience that I thought.

Much like your big sister, you are a "spirited" child. But although you and Jenna are clearly sisters, you, baby girl, are a spirit in yourself. You're very independant, very demanding, and very sneaky. You enjoy ripping books to shreds, then laughing when you see the look of horror on my face. You throw things, then laugh and run. When you hurt someone, you nearly always refuse to apologize, but will somehow make it that you are the victim. Baby girl, you are bad, but you are so cute.

Nothing is sweeter than hearing you say, "Mommee! I luh you!" and when I answer, "I love you, too!" Your precious little voice comes back with, "Toooooo!" You love to sing your ABCs, especially, "lel-lel-lem-o-p!" You are a cuddly, cuddly baby--which is evident by the fact that you sleep in my bed every single night. Oh yes, every night. You start out in your bed, but end up in mine sometime before 5am. No idea when you do it, but you are stealthy. I try to lecture you in the morning, about how "you need to stay in your own bed!" but that never works. You usually look at me, place your chunky little hand on my face, and say, "Much, mommy, much..." which is your way of saying, "Mommy, I love you so much."

Clairey, it's going to go by so fast--so fast. You are my precious punkin, my boo-boo magoo, my sweetheart. Thank you, baby girl.

If my head wasn't attached to my body....

I have had one of those days. You KNOW those days. The kind where you forget the easiest and most simple tasks, the most mundane things, and the sports bra in your workout bag. You know, THOSE kind.

It's THOSE kinds of days--the kind where you have to wear your "this is not a sports bra" bra to your kickboxing class. Because, really, you COULD go braless, but you'd rather not be cited for eye-gouging. Those days where you work out so hard, that you're sweating like a beer in the desert and swearing like a sailor because you're quite sure that your legs are about to fall off. It's THOSE days that really get to me. The days where you take three exercise classes in a row because DAMMIT! that ass WILL shrink! It's THOSE kind of days.

Now, oh now, my sisters, you will not believe what has conspired from the "having to wear the work bra to kickboxing." I am FREEBOOBING IT. Oh, yes. You read that right: "FREE BOOBING." Oh, there's something there, but it's a "shelf bra." Right now, women all over the world are laughing, because really, what is a shelf bra, but a measly piece of material that covers your boobies with elasticity. Thank God I'm wearing a big, billowy, "peasant blouse" over this horrid shelf bra. My boobies prefer to rest in CUPS, thank you very much.

I'm turning Japanese

Things the fly on the wall heard last night:

-Get that chopstick away from your eye.
-Get that fork out of your ear.
-It's not sushi, it's fish.
-It's just fish and rice.
-Look at the size of that banana!
-It's a talking cucumber--what did you think it was?
-Well, honey, it's because tomatoes don't have legs.
-You are NOT a Spanish-speaking cucumber--you're a little girl and it's time for bed.
-Get your hand out of your pants.
-Mom, I need more food. MORE FOOD!

Oh yes, it was a night of sushi, bestial bananas, and Veggie Tales programing. Crazy, just crazy. I ate so much sushi that I am now of Irish-Japanese descent. And then, THEN, my neighbor calls, tempting me with this cheesecake that rose from the depths of hell. It was a cheesecake, but better than a cheesecake. There were apples and graham cracker crumbs, and carmel and oatmeal involved. It was too much for me to handle, so my kids ate it. Then there was the banana. The BANANA OF ALL BANANAS. This thing had to have been injected with some growth hormone. This was the largest banana I have every seen. So, of course, being two grown women, my friend and I sat at the table, cracking up over lame "banana" jokes. But seriuosly, people, this banana was SO worth the joking. HUGE, I tell ya, HUGE.

DL on the weekend aka a boring post

Hope everyone had a great weekend! We spent Friday cleaning out all of our closets, then drove a truckload of stuff over to a donation center near our house. We also emptied our pantry--a local boyscout troop has organized a food drive for Katrina victims.

Saturday, we went to my dad's house, so I could help him with his curtains. He has total bacheloritis--can't do anything for himself. It's funny and sad, all at once. I think we're going to buy a swingset for my dad's backyard, so the kids can have something to play with while we're over there.

Sunday, Scott went to my brother's to help him do something to get his house ready to sell. Me and the chicks washed the car. It was fun--the girls love to wash the car. In fact, Jenna loves the new car so much, that on Monday evening she was draped across the hood, and Scott said, "Come on Jen, it's time to go in." Jenna responded by saying, "Dad! I'm just loving the car!" She's a nut.

Now, back to Sunday...later that day, we went over to our friends' home, and cooked-out with them. Good margaritas, good conversation, great time.

Monday, Scott mowed the lawn, I had a few tea parties, visited with my very pregnant friend across the street, watched our kids beat the hell out of each other...the usual. Mom came over, Scott and I ran up to the store to pick up a few things. It was a normal, lazy day.

Fun thing: we rigged-up Jenna's power wheels Jeep to pull a trailer. Now, Claire sits in the trailer with her bike helmet on, and Jenna drives her around.

Kids are so smart

Last night we taught the girls a lesson. And it wasn't the "this is why you don't run with scissors," "this is why you don't put your hair in your 'little kitchen' blender," or the "this is why you don't eat the cat's food" lesson. We taught them a lesson in love, community, humanitarianism, and caring--we donated about 25% of their playroom to the children of Louisiana. Claire wasn't totally enthused about sacking away her toys in an industrial-sized garbage bag, but Jenna began to understand about halfway through the process. She went from, "No! That's mine, mom! I need to keep it!" to "Here, mommy. Give this to the little kids--I don't need it." I was, and am, so proud of her. She started bringing me toys that I hadn't even considered donating, and saying, "Mommy, give this to a little girl without toys." She handed me several things that are practically new. Then I started feeling bad, because several times, I caught myself saying, "But Jenna, are you sure?" Then I realized that I was being taught a lesson by a 3 year old. So I just shut my piehole and let her put whatever she wanted in the donation bag. We're loading up the truck tonight, and driving the stuff to a donation center. Having a tragedy like this occur so close to home, you start to realize how much "stuff" you have that you don't need.

Blunken drogging

Hello! Hello, internet! Do you know how lucky you are? Do y o? I am drunken blogging. How fun is this? Not so fun. It's 1:50 on the morning, and I have to go to work tomorrow morning. Heavens to betsy, thank God that I keep my door closed and my light turned off. If only my desk lamp is on, people will think that I'm not there. Which, I may not be. My kid has a doctor's apppointment in 6 hours, and I'm going to drag her in there smellin glike a whino. Woo hoo! Can't wait for that. I just want to make something clear: I'm not a lush. I've been drinking this week because my best friend is an evil woman and has introduced me to evil+tonic (that would be gin and tonic, or vodka and tonic). They go down entirely too easy, and before you know it, you're sittin on your best friend's lap, telling her how much you like her boobs. It's all good. Let's go over the adventures of this evening:

1. Bad "Mex Mix" food. I mean, really, they put green peppers in their chicken quesadillas. I hate peppers. I also hate onions, and those were in there too. Bastard chicken quesadilla makers.
2. A totally crappy margarita. I order them "on the rocks, with salt" because I think they'll be better than out of the machine. Man, I suck so bad at thinking. It sucked. Really bad. So bad, that the fly that landed on the edge of the cup stuck his nasty little antennae in it, then flew away, looking for a piece of crap to land on. It was that bad. (I drank it anyways)
3. Vodka and tonic. My first one. EVER. Eh, it's okay.
4. The Irish pub. Usually, I indulge in Guinness, but not tonight--I'm in rare form. I'm trying the vodka and tonic here, too. Hey, I'm Irish, so I know, Irish people are good at everything.
5. More vodka and tonic.
6. I now have Romanian currency in my wallet. How neat is that?
7. More vodka and tonic. The Irish make good vodka and tonics.
8. Repeat step 7.
9. Repeat step 8.
10. Tepeat step 9.
11. Let's go to the adult Toys R Us, if you know what I mean. (Give a couple of girls a drink, and look what happens.)
12. Laugh hysterically at something called "The Penis Leash." Believe me, whatever it is you're imagining, is probably right. Scary, huh?
13. Leave the store with a "plastic wife" for a friends friend.
14. Go to another bar. (Baker Street--fantastic place, by the way)
15. Oh my gosh! Their bartender can make vodka and tonic, too!
16. More v&t. Sitting on your best friend's lap. Again.
17. More v&t. Talking to her about how it's "okay to kiss girls, but I don't like to watch guys kiss."
18. More v&t.
19. Um, one more time.
20. Go home.
21. Put kids to bed.
22. Husband goes night-night.
23. Wife stays up blunkin drogging.

I'm tired.