You made me do it!

Never let your husband cut his own hair.

Just don't.

I did. He told me he was going to. At first I laughed. When I saw that he wasn't laughing with me...I swallowed and said, "Alrighty then."

He needed a strong comb. Not the strong one that we already had...the one that I use on our boys all the time. Nope, he needed a new one. Oh, and a hand mirror.

Before he started, I asked him, "Are you sure you want to do this? Do you think it is a good idea?" I used to cut his hair. I started off "Pretty Bad". Moved up to "Not good." I am now at "Could be worse." It was time for him to get professional help.

And he has. Apparently his place of choice gives him a head and shoulder massage along with a hot hand towel on his face. I should probably feel a little uncomfortable about that, right? But whatever, I was just glad it wasn't me doing the cutting anymore. Plus his hair looked great. But it was also costing $30 every 3 weeks. Those massages haircuts are expensive.

So like I said I made sure before hand this was what he wanted to do. "Yes. Yes. I know what I am doing. I can do this. It's no big deal." And with that he headed up the stairs.

Five minutes later he hollers, "I messed up!!" I walk up the stairs and into the bathroom. It was slightly uneven, but it was fixable. The problem was that instead of starting with the  #6 guard or #5 guard, he had decided on going with the #1 guard. You know, the attachment that is one step up from scalping yourself. That one.

I told him that it could be fixed. He wanted to cut the top first before he tried to finish up. So I went downstairs to help with the circus happening there...always happening there.

About 5 minutes later he stomps down the stairs fuming, scowling and all around ticked off.

"What happened? Are you okay?" I cautiously asked.

"No! I am not okay!! Look! Look at my hair. You were supposed to come fix it! And you didn't come. Now look what I did!!" he fumed. He was mad alright. At me!!

What? How? Why is it my fault? I am not the one with the clippers in my hand. If I remember correctly, I was not in favor of this arrangement. I don't remember casting one of those "Why-don't-you-try-trashing-your-hair" spells. At least not recently.

Can you believe it? Yeah...I know. I. Know.

I fixed him. His hair, that is. (Although he is fixed...so sorry...tmi...) I may or may not have left a stripe or two on the backside of his head...you know, for spite.

One thing is for sure: next time he decides to cut his hair...

...I'm outta here.


PS. I still love Hubs, short(er) hair and all.

Take your marks

Why? Why is this happening? Can someone please explain???

We have had Rufus, our dog, for 2 and a half years. He is a yellow lab. A co-worker of mine gave him to us...she is older and single and works a lot. He needed someone to play with. We have 7 someones to play with. I love him. He is a great dog. Great with my kids. Perfect.

Until...... 

Enter Rita.

Rita is the other dog that the same co-worker recently gave us. (Not sure why this co-worker is okay giving away her dogs. I grew up considering dogs part of the family. The only way they left was death. But whatever....) I was not super excited about Rita, but everyone else was and so now we have two dogs.

Since her arrival, Rufus has been peeing everywhere. I mean, I get that he wants to mark his territory. But come on!! Ugh!

I am usually the one who finds it. Mostly when I get home in the middle of the night. I walk into my room only to have my stockinged feet soaked with...well...his marking. There really is nothing worse. I would much rather clean up my children's vomit than my dog's urine.

But apparently there are places that he goes that are not in my path. Places I do not step. Places that I did not know about. Until it is too late.

Two days ago, when I walked into my room...it didn't smell right. I felt around the floor. No wet spots. I checked all the usual spots. Nothing. So I just assumed it was my over sensitive nose. I have one, you know.

By morning, the smell was overwhelming. I had to close the door so the rest of the house would not stink.

Lucky for my my sister has shampooer. Even more lucky for me she was willing to lend it to me. Lucky for me it got the smell out. All the way out. No more stink-age.

Until this morning. It is less, but it is still there. Help!

Why? Why is he peeing? In my house? In my room? Make it stop, people. Make it stop!!!


On a happier note, this is what my son and I had on our date this past Saturday.


And the bonus is that I just found the recipe. Paradise indeed!!

Breezy on top

There are just some things that shouldn't be done halfway.

Shaving your legs.

Painting a room.

Landing an airplane.

Pulling a hangnail.

Running a red light.

Birthing a baby.

Getting a haircut.

I can never resist shaving the top part off and leaving the sides long. At least for a moment.  I bust up when I do it. Every time.

My kids don't think it's as funny as I do. But hey, I'm the one cutting hair for free. And if they ever protest too much, I just leave it.

Halfway.

...my Eggo

I grew up with girls. Six of them. Oh right, there was that one kid on the end...I think we called him brother. It's a little blurry, you know, with all that estrogen and all.

Anyway, our home was mostly filled with girl toys: dolls, dress ups, kitchens, tea sets, stuffed animals, more dolls. It was a great way to grow up. Unless you were that boy named brother.

Boy toys were pretty foreign to me. The only Legos I knew ended with "...my Eggo."

Not so much anymore.

Remember, I have four boys. Oh, right, and that sassy little thing they sometimes call sister. But with that many boys...Legos are a way of life, something to step on in the middle of the night. Unless you pick them up, which we do...and yet they are still there. Always there. Always.

I live with Legos because they can entertain my kids for hours. Hours, people! All except that one girl named sister. She won't even touch them. I am not joking. She refuses to pick them up with her hands if they are in her job...and they are always in her job because, Hello!, they are Legos.

My friend is so good with her Legos. She even takes inventory of them. Annually. Yeah, I vaccuum up Legos. Daily. She might just lose her mind over here. (At least I'd have company.) 

My sister buys them by the pound. Lots and lots of pounds. She has wised up, though, and pulls out a bed sheet before they are dumped....makes for easier clean up. And probably less mess. In theory...which is another way of saying, "Yeah, right. They are Legos."


And so today, I dedicate this here post to those hours of entertainment, vacuum-clogging, stepped-on boy toy that everyone hates to love: Legos!

Do you have 'em?

 

 

So I Married a Deaf Man: Can you hear the ringing?

Hubs and I have issues.

Who doesn't, right? However, our issues are of the phone kind.

Yes. We have phone issues.

First off, the ringing. When a phone rings, you answer it, right? I mean unless you are praying, or you are screening, or when you are...well...you know. So not answering. But most of us will answer it when it rings.

Hubs doesn't feel that urge. Yes, it is because he can't hear it. But still....

We will be chatting and the phone will ring. (Chatting. Not deep in conversation. Just chatting.)
"Hold on a sec. The phone is ringing, " I will inform him.
"So. Just ignore it," he will say.
"I can't ignore it. If I do that it will just keep on ringing," I say.
"Yeah. And...."
"And it could be the school informing us that our child has just vomited all over his classmate. Who wouldn't want take that call?"

I do have a solution to this issue, because I am a thinker. Yup. You see, for Hubs' phone, there should be a light....a strobbing light...hooked up to it so that when it rings, the flashing begins. Light flashing...not people flashing. Just to clarify. I say should because at the moment it is not hooked up.

Don't look at me. I have left all the accessibility gadgets to him...I don't do 'fix it up,' 'hook it up,' or 'make it work.' I just make babies. That's it. I push, they come. End of story. Okay, so it's actually the beginning of a really long novel, but whatever. I am good at that.

Hooking up flashing lights, not so much. It's all him. He, too, is a little less of a handyman and apparently doesn't feel the need to 'see' the ringing and so there is no light...or ringing for that matter.

But what if...for one moment in time...I hooked it up. And then called his phone....and let it ring. Okay...wait..this one is even better. What if I hooked it up, put his number on speed dial, then started up a conversation with him and then secretly called him. Over and over and over again.

"So, did what do you want for dinner?" I ask.
"I don't know...maybe pasta..." he will consider.
Flash! Flash! Flash! (That's what a flashing light sounds like, in case you didn't know.)
"What the...that light. Is flashing? Do you see it?" he will ask..
"Why yes. Yes it is. Just ignore it though. So, dinner..."
Flash!! Flash!! Flash!!
"There it is again," he will say. "Who is calling me?"
"Eh, not important. Pretend you can't see it," I will say.
 Flash!! Flash!! Flash!!
"I think I should see who it is. You know...just in case..." And there you have it. He would give in.

That will solve the ringing issue.

Boy, look at the time. I guess I will have to share with you the other phone issues that Hubs and I have....but for now I must go....

...the phone is ringing.

Pic picks.

If you haven't noticed, I am trying to incorporate more pictures on my blog.

I am hoping it will encourage me to take more pictures. I'm the worst. It may come from the fact that there are I think three...yes THREE...pictures of me when I was little. My poor mom. She took the pictures, but we didn't have the money to develop them and by the time she did, the film was ruined.

At least that's what she said.

I don't want that to happen to my kids. Because I can't use that excuse. Everything is digital. No development necessary. 

So in an attempt to give my children some visual history, here are some of my favorite pictures from last year.  

I'm not sure what we are looking at, but whatever it is...everyone wants to see. Don't you?

He gets his fashion sense from his father.

Yeah, this was just plain a good shot. He was actually really mad. Fortunately he just looks really cool.

This is my house...everyday...for 4 months...for the rest of my life.

Boys: Beware. Hubs has a gun and isn't afraid to use it. That would be me...afraid to use a gun. But Hubs is not.  

It's like he is saying, "You've got to be kidding me. Really?" He wanted to go on Santa's lap, believe it or not. Walked right up to him. But there was no way he was going to smile at the camera. Uh-uh.

My little tow-headed conquistador.

Brothers. Friends. Same difference.

This picture rivals for the number one best picture of the year. At our family reunion this year, all the kids were randomly dancing on the stage. Kobe and his cousin were caught in a rather...ahem...awkward... position. (Kobe was actually moving his cousin's arms...like a puppet.) This one had to go in the books...you know...for later...when he needs a little embarrassing.

And the number one picture of the year...

Yes, my mother would kill me if she knew this was on here. Good thing she doesn't read this blog. Ever. If she did, I would totally be out of the will.

This one definitely wins the best picker picture of the year.

She says Dad had something red on the outside of his nose and he just couldn't get it. I'm not so sure it is the outside she is getting at. A special thanks to my sister for capturing this one and sharing it with me so I could share it with the world! 

Classic!!

Are you an Acapuc?

Before you read this post, you need to go visit my friend, Chawlie's blog post about Acapucs.

Raisins should never be cooked.  Never. Not ever.

Not in cookies. Not in bread. And most definitely not in cinnamon rolls.

For whatever reason, once they hit the oven they become fat and squishy and chewy and all together disgusting. The only way I can eat a raisin is if it is uncooked and covered with chocolate....because let's face it, everything is better with chocolate.

Even rabbit turds.

No, I haven't had chocolate covered rabbit turds. But my great aunt did. Good old Aunt Norma.

You see, she was a joker. She and her husband were always playing practical jokes on each other. On this particular day, she decided that she was going to take some of their rabbit droppings and cover them with chocolate and trick her husband into eating them.

Mean, right?

Once the poops were covered with melted chocolate, she filled a bowl full of these pieces of chocolaty goodness and set it on her counter. In plain sight. Where a husband walking by couldn't resist taking a handful.

Only she walked by first.

And couldn't resist.

And took a handful. (cringing) Yes, oh yes she did.

She ate them. (ugh) Knowing full well what she was doing. (stomach churning)  That would be eating the chocolate covered rabbit droppings...that she had made!!! 

I know. You can't make up stuff like this.

But then again... 

...she was not an Acapuc.

Wicked

Are your kids afraid you will poison them?

My kids are. I'm not sure where it comes from. Maybe from watching too many Disney movies...like Snow White and the evil step-mother giving her a poisoned apple? But I am not an evil step-mother. I am just plain mean-old mom.

I've never poisoned them before. I mean, that would just be begging for punishment because we all know who would be cleaning up that mess. I may have made them take a bite of a new recipe. But poison NEVER.

Well, this morning my daughter opened her lunchbox that has been in her backpack for a few days. "Oh. My. Gosh.! Why does my lunchbox smell like that?!!?"

"Probably because uneaten orange slices and soggy peanut butter sandwich crusts aren't meant to be left in your box for days," I explained.

So she got a Lysol wipe and tried to clean out the smell...but it wasn't coming out that easy. So I got some Lysol spray and sprayed some of it in there.

Big mistake.

"Is that poison?" she asked.

"Ummm, no. If it was poisonous I wouldn't put it in your lunchbox. I am mean, but not that mean. You will be fine. It will be fine. Now pack up your lunch and let's skidattle." 

"Uh-uh. I don't want to get poisoned. If I put my food in there, I will get sick," she said.

"Honey, all of your food is in bags. Nothing will touch what I just sprayed. Plus you just wiped it out....again. It will be fine."

"It is poisoned, I know it."

Poison. Heh. Little does she know that if I really wanted to poison her I would sneak a little something on her toothbrush at night. No. Maybe some special icing on that cookie.

Or maybe in an apple.

Bwahahahahahaha.....

Potty party in the house!!

It is here.

I have put it off long enough. It's just one of those things that you can't put off forever. No matter how hard we try.

You guessed it. Potty training.

He is ready. Actually, he has been ready for quite sometime. But I haven't been.

Not because I love changing poopy diapers...because I don't. Really.

It just takes a lot of attention, diligence, energy, ...patience. Lots of patience. Oh, yeah, and laundry...lots and lots and lots of laundry. And in case you haven't noticed, I already have lots and lots and lots of laundry.

But here we are. It is time. One last time. And then I am done forever. Well, at least until Hubs decides to lose control and even then I don't think it will be training as much as damage control.

So get out the sticker charts. Bring on the candy treats, spot cleaner and really hot water rinses. Potty training in our house. 

Game on!!!

(He gets the "eating tomatoes like they are apples" from my mom.)

Pictures from this week

Yep, they are brothers. Cute ones
 

What's a girl without her sister? Since Kyla doesn't have one, a cousin will have to do.


He's just so dang cute!!


Okay, so is he!


I have the cutest kids, you know. Surprised?!
 
And those are my pictures for the week!

Sometimes, boys get all the fun.

Your opinion, please.

Yep...it goes all the way to the floor. 

So what do you think? 

Not to be confused with Butter

Everyone else is doing it. You know. Choosing a word.

One word. The word. The one that will encompass all change.

I have never been able to pin my overwhelming need to change all things in my life to one word. That, in itself, would take a whole year.

Only this time it didn't.

It didn't happen on purpose. I have been thinking about how I wanted to improve myself this year...yes, I know you are shocked that I could improve on perfection...but it is true. I made a list in my head...it was pretty long, my friends. I noticed a theme.

Better.

No, not butter...though everything is better with butter...but no.  Better...as in be better.

Be a better wife. Be a better mother. Be a better follower. Be a better me.

Not perfect. I'm really not into trying to accomplish the impossible. I have tried that...you know like a clean house, a skinny body, and children with clean faces. Nope, perfect is out of my reach.

But I do know that I can be better. Every day I can be better than I was the day before. And if I get better each day, think how good I will be by the end of 2012.

Better for sure!

Bring on the butter....er...better....ahem....both!

If tomorrow never comes....

I got the new Zumba videos. Exhilarate. Doesn't that just sound fun? Do I Zumba? About 3 days a month. I'm not any good, but I have fun. These videos are gonna rock my somewhat lazy body.

I think I am going to try them tomorrow.

You know, the tomorrow when my kids all go back to school. The tomorrow when I get to reclaim my home and my schedule and my time...bwahahaha...okay, who am I kidding on that one.  The tomorrow when I will officially start my New Years Resolutions that I will be writing down tomorrow because we all know that true commitment comes in writing them down. Just don't lose the paper.

Yeah, that's the tomorrow I am talking about.

I love that tomorrow.

Today is looking like my tomorrow may not come. Today, my 1st grader came down the stairs saying he wasn't feeling good. At first I thought he was just saying that because he knew tomorrow...my tomorrow...was a school day. But then he preceded to lay, sleeping, on the couch most of the day.

Sigh.....

...there's always tomorrow's tomorrow.