It could be worse.

Almost all my children are celebrating it this week, and I didn't even know it was a thing.

Did you?

Did you know it was "Pee in Your Bed" week? Yeah. I know. Or rather, I didn't know. What are they teaching in school these days.

Three of my five children observed it this week. One of my children has lost all control (quite literally) and has wet the bed three...yes I said three...times this week. Party animal, that one.

That is five bed changes this week. Plus wet, stinky clothes. All happening around 2-4am. I am sure you can imagine how thrilled I was to be dragged into the "Pee in Your Bed" week celebrations.

Not Hubs. He apparently wasn't invited. In fact, he has managed to sleep through all the festivities. Grumble grumble. However, I have threatened to bring the party to him if he doesn't put at least one of my pee-ers in pull-ups this evening.

Don't get me wrong. I am a girl who loves a good party; key word being good.

But this is one holiday that I don't wish to observe. That and "Poo in Your Undies" week.

It could be worse.

Ehhh

I am lacking motivation.

Why?

Maybe it's allergies. IN MY LEFT EYE! Seriously. That's it. It's all in my left eye. No matter what I do, the leaking persists. Seriously considering plucking it out. Only there is no guarantee that the leaking will stop and then I'd be out a perfectly good eye. Drat.

I'm all over the place. With track, Scouts, dance, soccer, more soccer, school, work, shopping, doctors, dentists,... I am literally all over the place. Okay, so I am not across town at that spa getting that hot rock massage that was on sale through Living Social. Wish I was all over that. Nope. 

Packing. Who is highly motivated to pack? Really? Come on over. We are buying a house...our first home...yeah, kinda exciting. It would be more exciting if I didn't have to pack. You see, in the last 13 years, we will have moved 10 times. You would think I was good at packing. Ummm...nope. Not at all.

Hubs didn't get the job we were hoping for. Bummer, huh. What's that? Why are we buying a house...when Hubs doesn't have a job? Shhh, don't ask that. Okay, we asked the Lord what we were to do, and, well, that's what He told us. So, here we will be staying. For the long haul. But the point is, we were bummed. But do not fear. All will be well. He has never left us. So we carry on.

Indeed, motivation is lacking. So please, if this blog is neglected...know that I am folding clothes somewhere...thinking of you all. Not entirely true. Mostly I am wishing for sleep, a job...that will move us...down the street, my kids, and also sleep. But after all that, I will be thinking about you all.

And my lack of motivation.

A little pillow talk

Most the time, when I lay my head down at night, I am out within seconds. And I am not kidding. Most the time what I lay my head on is of no consequence.

But when buying a pillow, or when I am given a choice,  or am awake enough to care, I will always choose the non-feather pillow. Always!

I hate feathered pillows.

First off, they don't hold any form. You put your head down and you immediately sink to the mattress. What is the point of having a pillow? If you want to be comfortable, you have to fold the pillow in half. But when you do that, the feathers start poking through the fabric and any hope for a good night sleep is out the window. Plus you now only have half of a pillow.

Feather pillows are for the birds!

I prefer this pillow:


Don't these pillows call out, "Sleep on my! I am the best!" to you?? They scream "Jump on me! Throw me off the bed! Then jump on me some more!" to my kids, but that's a irrelevant to this conversation.

Foofy pillow (that's what I call them) are my favorites because they actually support your head. They don't poke you in your sleep. Plus, and you might think this is gross, they keep my smell. Yeah, I know. Weird. Even better, they keep Hubs' smell. Nothing like rolling over in the morning and cuddling up to Hubs' pillow.

What?? It doesn't have morning breath. Not that Hubs does have it, though I am not denying that he may, on many occasions, be avoided in the early hours of the morning. Okay, moving on.

Can you tell I am tired.

What's your preference?

It's just and egg...right?

Alright, my chef-like friends. Maybe you can solve the mystery for me. What is the trick for taking the shell off a hard boiled egg? I really would like to know.

Tonight I was attempting to make "deviled eggs". By the time I was done they looked like "What the devil kind of eggs are those?" eggs. They white parts were totally trashed...not beautiful. Not perfectly formed. Nope.

Don't get me wrong. We still ate them. And they still tasted great.

So if you know....what is the trick? What is the secret? How do you peel and egg shell from the egg beautifully?

Do tell!

Maybe a little too much T.V.?

"Did you always want to be a mom when you were little?" asked Camden from the backseat.

"Yeah, I did. Being a mom is the best job ever," I answered. And it is.

"Well, I don't want to be a policeman. They have to drive fast and I wouldn't like to do that," he informed me.

"Well, that is true. They do have to go fast when they are chasing bad guys. So if you don't want to be a policeman, what do you want to be?" I inquired.

Without hesitation he said, "I want to be a green ninja."



Alrighty then.

Behind closed doors

Hubs and I were going through the toys upstairs....there are many of them. Too many. Hence the "going through."

Briggy, our baby, was also going through the toys. For different reasons. We were trashing.  He was salvaging. Such the little helper.

One of the things he salvaged was a gun. No, not a real gun. What kind of mother do you take me for?? It was a Nerf gun. The cheap kind. The cocking mechanism was broken, meaning if you pulled it back, there was no guarantee that it would stay cocked.

Briggy found this out the hard way. You see, he isn't quite strong enough to cock the gun using his hands. Instead, he uses his mouth. And since the cock didn't stick, he pinched his lips with the gun. It was painful. He bled. Then he cried.

Then he tried it again.

Hubs tried to explain to him that he needed to stop so that he wouldn't get hurt. Then he tried it again. I tried to reason with him. Then he tried it again. After a little while, he walked into his brother's room and locked the door.

I asked him, "Briggy. Why are you locking the door?"
"Because I don't want you to see me biting the gun," he responded.

A few minutes later, he calls out,"I'm biting the gun again!"

The kid can't lie...or keep a secret for that matter. I love it!

They've got some nerve

I hate it when I come to work and I actually have to work. I mean c'mon...really? What do they think I am...an employee or something? Yeah, I know. The things I have to deal with.

I mean, I understand that Deaf people have important business to take care of via the phone: birthday parties to plan, pizzas to order, boyfriends to break up with, 911 emergencies to report. You know, the usual. I understand they need to make calls. I do. But I have needs too.

You know, like blogging. Hello! Don't these people know I ONLY blog at work? Obviously they don't read my blog. And thus they don't understand how important it is to my sanity that I get out some of this crazy bouncing around in my noggin'.

And books. I have books to read. Lots of them. Hundreds of books I got for $0.01 on Amazon. Yeah, the ones filling up the bookshelf in my living room. I need to read them. And anyone who has 2 kids knows how impossible it is to read a book with 5 kids around. Sheesh. Let me read my books already! 

I've got dinner to eat. Emails to answer. Blogs to read. Unshared soda to drink. Co-workers to chat with.

Sigh.

But until they understand the importance of me not working while at work....

...I have no choice but to work.

The nerve!

I blame the toilet

Sometimes all it takes is just seeing the toilet.

We have our youngest in pull-ups at night. Most of time he wakes up dry. But sometimes all night is too long for him. Heck, sometimes all night is too long for me...but this is not a post about me.

So naturally when we stayed this past weekend at my sister's house, he slept in pull-ups. And like most mornings, he woke up dry. Every morning. I love it when that happens.

One such morning of pull-up dryness, we headed up the stairs for breakfast. Once up the stairs, he decided that it was time to go the the potty. He opened the door, dropped his pants, spotted the toilet and that was it. Game over. Open the flood gates.

Whoosh!

All over the floor. And when I say all over...I mean all over and then some. There he stood....with his dry pull-up at his ankles. I hate it when that happens!

Sigh...

Funny thing is I think he would have been okay...

...had he not looked at the toilet.

Don't look!

"Don't look," he said as he stepped to the sliding door of the van and unzipped.

Like we wanted to look.

Two and a half hours in the car after downing 16+oz of fluid meant that he couldn't hold it any longer....not even the last 10 minutes. So to the side of the road we went. (Don't worry....we were still in the sticks.)

"Promise you won't look!" he repeated.

"I promise I will not look. This is me...not looking."

A few seconds later we hear, "Holy cow! (Giggle giggle) Look how far I can pee. (Hahaha!) Wow! That is far! Did you see that??"

So of course we all looked...you know, without looking. And let me say...that boy can pee. As in he could probably go all the way to nationals in the "Standing Man Pee" contest...if there was such a sport....(Though I wouldn't consider it a sport. Would you? I mean, how would you even practice for that? Would you need a coach?) Nevertheless, I am glad there isn't such an event.

All of us were laughing....Hubs was crying. He'd never felt so proud. Not really. He was just imagining the passing cars seeing the stream. Hilarious.

Ahhh, yes. Good, old fashioned, home grown entertainment.

See what happens when you aren't looking.

I'm a little tired so....

This has been keeping me away from you all:


Have you read it? It is oh so very good. My sister borrowed it from me before I had a chance to read it. (Yes, I have nice sisters) and she lent it to my other sister.

Now, after a year, this book and I have been reunited.

Only now the book is better. Why? It has been edited. Meaning, all the naughty words have been replaced with niceties.

I cannot put it down.

I am nearing the end. Another good book. No, fantastic book.

This is what my next love affair will be with:

 I have read this one before. So much better than the movie. Really. It is. You should try it.

Both of them.

Does this taste funny to you?

I love strawberries. Almost as much as I like watermelon. Almost.

During summertime, when strawberries are cheap, we always have them available...right next to the watermelon.

However, during the winter, the only place I am able to get yummy strawberries at a decent price is at Sam's Club. Tons of strawberries...big strawberries...without breaking the bank.

So guess where I went on Thursday. Sears. And then guess where I went. Yup, Sam's club. And buy strawberries I did.  "These aren't going to last very long once the kids see them," I informed Hubs.

In order to make them last longer, I decided to hide them. Waaaaaaaaaaay in the back....behind the milk, and yogurt and old sour cream. And then some...a deep fridge indeed. That's why stuff gets lost in there. Needless to say, the strawberries were safe!

Or so I thought.

Friday morning, I woke up ready to have myself some fresh strawberries for breakfast. I opened the fridge and was overwhelmed by a pickle-ish smell. "What the..."

As I dug my way passed the milk, passed yogurt and passed the sour cream, there sat my strawberries in a puddle of pickle juice. Apparently, between the time I placed my precious berries in the fridge and Friday morning, someone (other than me...because there is no way it could have been me...no way...), someone had knocked over the pickle jar....and it obviously had a loose lid. The pickles...not the person.

I hate pickles. Almost as much as I hate mustard. Almost. Why? They ruin everything they touch.

Strawberries are no exception.

The fruit on top wasn't as pickly. The flavor could be masked with sugar. The ones on the bottom, however...Ick...yack!! Blech!!!! I couldn't bring myself to chuck them, though, so I have been throwing them in my fruit shakes. (Because pickled strawberry and banana shakes sound delish!)

We are on Day 4 and still plenty of strawberries. Safe indeed.

Remind me to throw out the pickles (and mustard) next time I buy watermelon.