folly

Dearest Facebook,

You seduced me with your whimsical invitations and promises of untraceable stalking opportunities. You have replaced my addiction to WebMD with your more traditional wisdom like daily tarot card readings, horoscopes and color personality tests (if only you had fun game for diagnosing "which virus do you carry?" I might never have to seek the attention of my PCP ever again). I know so many things about people that I only kind of know and I can honestly say, that my children are centimeters away from becoming wards of the state as they are now internet orphans (no, not REALLY). I have a considerable amount of control when it comes to posting and sharing and getting "secretly re-acquainted" with people from my past. (I do hope that you never develop a reliable tool that lets people see who is searching for you because, well, let's just say, I don't care to know and I don't want that boy that turned me down for the sadie hawkins dance freshman year of high school to know I was doing research on him. I was just checking to make sure that he was now sad and lonely and fat and ugly.) In your honor, since I am not always very good at updates my status in "real time", I have comprised a typical mini-list of my usual daily activities and thoughts, in case you were wondering:

5:18A - awake
5:19A - kids demanding milk and food rations
5:27A - do Ghiradelli squares count as a square meal? They should.
6:45A - took shower and got dressed
6:49A - back into shower to rinse out conditioner from hair
7:14A - kids are still in jammies, won't eat vitamins and I just saw the dog sniff
his own poop
7:59A - can't find baby's other shoe, she'll have to wear galloshes
8:35A - caught the bus with seconds to spare, chatted with other moms, realized I forgot socks again
9:04A - wonder if I can still fit into my wedding dress?
10:46A - sheets in wash, vacuumed boy's room, cleaned guinea pig's cage, found where all mysterious glitter is coming from, still can't locate missing size 6 shoe
11:15A - I think that my whoopie pies are better than Hannafords, should eat the other 1/2 to make sure...
1:30P - movie is in for small child, time to start dinner, finish vacuuming, make bed, unload dishwasher, etc.
3:00P - got distracted with online window shopping and trash on TV, must do chores in next 22 minutes or else having cereal for dinner and sleeping on bed with no sheets... COL (Crying Out Loud - just made that up, should try to remember - it might be big!)

Anyway, you get the gist. My life is wicked cool and because of you, FB, I can share every detail with the world, or at least my 143 friends (used to be 146, but I had to unfriend some people (thanks for that option, too)).

Sincerely, your pal (wink, wink)

hohoho (hum)

The 2010 holiday season is undoubtedly upon us and I, for one, pledge not to be unprepared, unhinged and unwrapped. I shall commit to buying more while spending less, to staying organized and mostly sane, and, hopefully, by the grace of the bearded man himself, finally get those dang lights strung up on the outside of my house. To keep myself on track, I have adapted a good old favorite carol that I will sing joyously (off key and quite loudly) – it shall be my theme, my mantra, my gift to you…

The traffic outside is frightful,
But the mall is so delightful,
Since we’ve got a great parking spot,
Let’s Go Shop! Let’s Go Shop! Let’s Go Shop!

Now that I have a tune in my head and a solid shopping plan, let the preparations commence. I will make lists and more lists and lists for my lists and I will be steadfast and furious and the first in line for the great deals of the day. There will be no repeats from last year’s ZhuZhu pet fiasco (numerous late night store visits, daily calls trying to butter up the “big wholesale store” employees to get the inside scoop on the delivery schedules so that I might hijack the truck en route, and finally spending 4x as much on eBay to score the coveted rodent squeakers). I have my eyes peeled for the next hot ticket item and I will definitely buy it early and minimize my stress while on the hunt for the hard to find items. I consign to staying on budget (hello Microsoft Excel, my dear, old systematic friend) and to “wow!” my family, friends, coworkers and my children’s teachers with the most thoughtful, fantastic goodies they could have ever even dreamed. Crowds of cranky shoppers will part like the Red Sea when they see me coming as I am the merriest, most mirthful mum filling bags and checking off names. Complete with toddler in tow and before the school bus returns home at 3:30P, I vow to succeed despite the frenzy of colored, blinking lights and tall piles of unsent greeting cards.

tryptophan-tastic

It should really come as no surprise to anyone, but like most overwhelmed, overextended mums, I have a difficult time sleeping these days. I am quite capable of passing out 3 seconds after my giant melon hits the pillow, but I wake up in the wee hours of the darkest time of night with worries (Did I lock the front door? Are all of the kids snug in their beds? Do we have enough coffee for the morning? Do I have any clean pants to wear or am I going to to have to put on the same jeans that I have worn for the last 9 days in a row?). I am restless and anxious about not being able to recover my lost time until I finally drift back off to Lala Land only to be rudely clobbered in the face by a Mickey Mouse and a Minnie Mouse and several other stuffed critters that came into my bed with my best toddler and another youngling on the other side who wants to snuggle, but can't get comfortable, despite 25 minutes of thrashing effort. The dog gets rolled over on and then the husband noisily gets up to start his day. The demands for food and attention begrudgingly lure me from out of my cozy spot and my feet hit the floor like bricks - clumsy and heavy. It's like Groundhog day - everyday.

I used to be able to take naps to ease the pain of the REM deprivation, but since my sweet baby doll has decided that she is prematurely done with mid-day snoozes and I really don't entirely trust her unsupervised for any length of time, I drink more caffeine and fumble through the day and live for 7:30P when I can, once again, crawl beneath the covers. Then when I was at my most desperate point, amidst the pressure of holiday shenanigans, a beautiful, wonderful, magical thing happened (usually only once a year) and it's called, "my favorite turkey coma". I am not sure if it was the fortuitous fowl itself, or a combination of 4000 wakeful nights and carbohydrate overload and boring football and DS downloads, but I passed out like a girl at a frat party (so I've heard...). I dreamt. I drooled. It was real, too, because I don't remember hearing little voices arguing from the other room or hollers at the TV when the Patriots won (they did win, right?). I woke up with tears in my eyes because it was so amazing - a solid 90 uninterrupted minutes of quiet time - not the kind of phony bologna teaser nap where you try to close your eyeballs and no mattter what, you just can't nod off, which, by all accounts is way worse than no shut eye at all. Methinks Christmas came early this year because that was, quite honestly, the best gift EVER. Either I made it to the Good List or somebody slipped something in my sparkling juice, I don't care how, but I would be pleased as punch if I could do it again!

the unhuman kind or the unkind human?

Today was a disappointing day. I don't expect everyone to live up to my crazy own self imposed standards, but I do strongly believe that people should at least be decent to one another.

My first exposure to rudeness was at the Gap Outlet this afternoon. Maybe there should have been more than one solitary register open in the store, but honestly, it is a Thursday in Freeport (not the day before Christmas Thursday or Black Friday Thursday, but a regular old Thursday). I stood waiting at what I would have designated to be the front of the line and some lady nearly knocked over my 2 year old with her giant old lady bag before barking at me that I was not actually in the proper area. I looked around, there were no other people waiting with arms overflowing and guess what? I was next so, whatever. But then, she grumps at the Gap girl to call for back-up (poor little Gap girl) and before I even grab my bag of goodies and my baby and the stroller and take a step away from the counter, she tosses her item in front of me. Grrr. I don't like my personal space or that of my child's invaded. The cashier then proceeded to ask if she can have her zip code and she retorts, "NO." She tries again, "oh, are you from out of state because..." Cranky lady interupts her with a nasty, "does it really matter?!" Truth be told, it doesn't really matter and if I didn't want anyone to know my zip code (it's not that personal) I could probably a) make one up or, 2) just say no, thank you. Oh, yeah, and she didn't hold the door for us when she stormed out of the door ahead of me. She must have been French (I can say that because I was almost fluent in French at one point and also, my husband's family is FrancoAmerican).

Next, the lady at a toy store (sounds like Lay and Plearn) is no Mr. Magorium (remember Dustin Hoffman with funny teeth and pants and hair?). The store is closing and there is a whopping (sarcasm inserted here) 20% off sale on the remaining bits of scraps that reside in the store. (FYI, don't bother.) She complained loudly about customers the entire 16 minutes that I walked around. Needless to say, I left empty handed - partially because there wasn't anything good, but mostly out of principle. I am chock full of principles, you know...

And for the piece de resistance (see? French!), I was driving home when I came upon a rusty old pick-up truck, directly past the railroad tracks, parked askew on the side of the road with a young blonde shorts wearing woman standing next to it. I immediately assessed the situation for safety and when I realized that there was not a gang of carjackers hiding downwind, I pulled over and inquired if she was ok. She was, but the old (he was 97 if he was a year) man was not. He lost his wheel - the entire wheel - when he drove over the tracks and she saw it roll 1/2 mile down the road and retrieved it and his hearing aid wasn't working and he couldn't remember his son's cell phone number and he just had some kind of surgery and was doing work in the barn today - "you know, with the animals" (he was very chatty). Anyway, he got ahold of his boy and he was going to rescue him tout suite (more French). This was neither unhuman or unkind, but guess what was? Do you know how many people stopped to see if everyone was ok? That's right - only me and the other toothy blonde. I bet I saw 20ish cars speed by (and not even slow down) and most of them were big, stupid, truck driving men (not saying all men that drive trucks are stupid or big, but in the instance, they were). What the heck? Where is chivalry? Common courtesy? Human kindness? Holiday spirit? Good will? Ba humbug!

malfunction (or 2)

So, did I mention to y'all that I am involved in community theater? I am making my theatrical on-stage debut this Friday (shameless plug) in a Carol Burnett Variety Show. But enough about the program details - the real juicy bit is that, well let's just say, there are no more Sarah secrets from the cast. I have this dress, this utterly ugly old lady dress, that is a great costume, but a completely awful fit on me. So, in one of my weaker, vainer moments, I set off to find something a skosh lovelier. And - yippy! - I found a replacement in the dress-up wardrobe for the middle school! Here's where the extra, super fun begins:

Fashion catastrophe #1 - apparently, the audience can see up my johny and bathrobe when I am on the stage. Ok, we're all adults and, need I remind everyone, actors. No big deal right? Right say the cast members on stage left. I am a bit embarrassed, but on with the show, until,

Fashion disaster #2 - I put on the new found dress, go through the rehearsal, bow, go through the rehearsal again, bow again, curtain closes and then, only then, do they (my favorite fellow actor pals) caution that I might want to reconsider the navy blue undergarments! Hello! Why didn't they mention, as a professional courtesy, this when I first emerged from the dressing room? We have no mirrors backstage, so I am relying on them to tell me if I am look alright. Nobody hesitated to tell me to wear sparklier earrings. I haven't been as exposed since last winter when I was trying on jeans at the Loft and the slippery toddler escaped from underneath the stall and ran out into the store and I had to also run out into the store in my undies - and not the cute, "I wouldn't mind being seen in these undies" undies, but the end of the laundry cycle maternity undies that I always say I am going to throw away, but never do and then I wear them just one more time because they are so comfy and they don't dig into my sides, and chase down the child, that has cost me my figure and my senses, into flurry of salesladies and holiday shoppers. Egad.

I am now humbled and much better prepared in the undergarments department for the actual show. However, for those in the front row and an extra $2... kidding.

hoopla

It's November - the beginning of the insanity. And you know what else is coming? Next year and past year's regrets. This holiday season, I am going to try to be more proactive so I can avoid the need to resolve myself with crazy resolutions. New Year's resolutions are the pits and I absolutely loathe those stinkers because:

1) I am already nearly perfect,
2) people take them way too seriously and,
3) I am just awful at follow through.

When I say that I am quite certainly, nearly good enough, I mean it in the most - nay, least - annoying way possible. I don't smoke or drink or speed or swear. I sometimes talk too much and too often and I have heard that I spend too much cash on clothing. Perhaps I could practice the art of silence and try to be a smidge less frivolous (darn you Boden) but, as I often remind my husband, I'm not all that bad.

Each January, we are bombarded with by TV ads luring us into the pit of despair. Clearly, we all let ourselves go to the bottom of the barrel over the holidays but, is it really our fault? From the time that the first leaf turns red through the last of the December holiday parties, we are stuffed with turkey and eggnog and pie. We wear longer sweaters and bigger pants only to be ridiculed by Jenny Craig and Special K and the threats of another summer just around the corner. We should not be surpised by the 5 extra pounds we open from far beneath the Christmas tree or disillusioned that we won't feel badly about that extra rum ball any more now than we were last year.

Also, I have tried the resolution route and failed miserably each time, only to feel like an even bigger, losery let down. I suck at sticking with it. I buy the Whitestrips and wear them for about 1/3 of the recommended time. I do a few walk/jogs around the neighborhood until I hurt my ankle or sleep through the 5:30A alarm. I try to eat healthier, but I adore sugar. I remember to take my vitamins sometimes. And I vow to be the best wife, mother and housekeeper EVER, let's just say, I gave it the good ole' college try.

I opt for this instead - let's dust off the decorations, turn on some fabulous Christmas music (starting today - really, really) and enjoy ourselves during this most joyous of seasons.

what up?

I have been feeling less-than-even-moderately motivated as of late. Change of seasons? Shorter days? Sub-par daytime TV? Bigger pants? Whatever the case (any or all of these), my housework seems to suffer the greatest. I always detest folding and putting away the laundry (don't mind the schlepping up and down the stairs with baskets and washing and drying and laying flat) and dusting always ignites a bit of an asthmatic episode. Dishes seem to linger a little longer in the dishwasher (clean and again, longing to be on their respective shelves) and vacuuming, well, let's just say that the Kenmore canister vac spends a good bit more of it's time in the hallway collecting rubbish on top of itself than actually inside of itself. Why does this seemingly, mostly put together gal lack the basic common drive to tidy one's home? Sure, I do love it when the I can see out the windows, but I don't really mind nose prints from the dog or fingerprints from the kids on the glass. I do require a clean bed and everyone needs to be regularly scrubbed and hosed off. My kitchen island is a clear representation of the inner workings of my brain - wiped clean, but insanely cluttered and littered with lists and magazines that I "sort of" read and legos and lipglosses and a penciled in events on my Martha Stewart calendar (so noncommittal and un-Martha like). Perhaps, I need to take a lesson from Mother Nature and turn over a new leaf (sorry - painful, but fitting pun). So far this morning, I vacuumed 1/2 of the house (and the vacuum), dusted a tad, washed a cage and recycled and chucked a lot of crap, baked muffins and entertained a couple of extra kiddos. Now, I think I might re-caffeinate myself, watch some trash and eat some junk before the afternoon frenzy hits... TGIF!

where's the beef??

Today feels like a good day to complain. Not any major, heroic complaints, but everyday, nagging, annoying gripes. Here's an adequate end of the day start:

1) Columbus Day - who was this guy anyway? I do appreciate that the children had the day off from school (kid count at my house topped off at 7), but I wonder if he is really a bloak that actually deserved a whole day in his honor. Why not Sacagwea Day? America was already discovered, right? He was a guy who got lost and happened to bump into a rock in Plymouth (forgive my historical errors). Big deal - I get lost and bump into stuff all the time.

2) Holiday traffic at walmart (will not waste capitilization on this rotten place) when I just need to find a stinking skateboard for my 8 year old. I swear that people sped up and tried to run me and the 4 children over in the parking lot either because they were desperate to find a parking spot in the sea of pick-ups or they were fleeing from the insanity from inside the smelly store. Whatever the case - danger!

3) Skateboards - I think that they are stupid and that they are just something else that I will trip over when I emerge onto the porch half asleep and under-caffeinated at 8A on my way to the bus stop.

4) No mail today. I really like the mail. Especially junk mail. Don't worry, I recycle.

5) Sand art. Not a cool birthday present. Will remember this for gift giver's child's next party. Both of you. There is brightly colored sand in my hair, in my shoes and down my shirt and possibly other places that I haven't checked yet.

6) Not remembering all of my other grievances. I know that I had more, but I have forgotten as I am totally defeated from the day. Grrr...

7) Also whining, crying, nagging, tattling, budgets, my bangs, indecisiveness, the fact that candy is not a healthful dinner option, others constantly encroaching on my very own personal space, selective deafness, folding and putting away laundry, lukewarm showers and pumping my own gas.

nostalgia - not so much

I did it again. I said that I wouldn't, but, I was lured by the promise of fried dough. I was weak. I went to the fair. There are so many reasons that the fair only makes a stop in Cumberland once a year and the main one is so that we can all forget why we said that we will never go back there ever, ever again. My husband offered (actually, strongly insisted) that he drive, probably because he knew that we would get halfway there and I would pull a 180 in the middle of the road and bail on the whole outing altogether. He is wicked smart. My hand was on the door and I was ready to jump out of the moving vehicle and run all the way home (wee wee wee) until I saw the looks on the children's faces. I should suck it up and deal with my carnival issues and just go with the flow for once, right? Remember apple picking? I am never going to be the go with the flow kind of mom. As I was losing a battle with internal, nervous, neurotic Sarah and clutching the little hands of the blonde kids that I adore so much, the ticket lady waved at me with her dirty sausage fingers and invited me in to have fun. Please keep in mind that I am an equal opportunity person and that I, in no way, shape or form believe that I am better than anyone else on the entire green planet, but when I say that I am in awe of the people that I saw last night, I am in awe of the people that I saw last night. Do they travel with the fair? Were they beamed here from outer space? A large man with a ratty ponytail and an embellished Fedora sped past me on a Rascal scooter. I saw a toothless man with a lime green fur trimmed leopard spotted cowboy hat blowing bubbles (bubbles!) into a ticket booth. The air was heavy with funnel cakes, french fries and pheromones (oozing from teenaged females in tiny clothes and boys with a single purpose). I took my girls on the carosel, carosHELL is what it should have been called. I think that since it was bracelet night, the carnies (small hands...) had to speed up the long lines by speeding up (30 go rounds in 37 seconds) the rides. I was afraid that the horse my toddler was riding on was going to come of the track and catapault her into Falmouth! Thing 1 and Thing 2 wasted the remainder of their tickets on the Tropical Rock (climbing structure on the back of a lowboy) and emerged with tears, a dislocated shoulder and something sticky in their hair. No amount of hand sanitizer could fix this, ew. The father of this brood got spit on. We almost left with a bunny. We wasted time, money and nerves on this and do you know what? The kids can't wait to go back next year. No way. Nope. Maybe.

Newton's Law

You know when things always SEEM like a great idea and then (get ready for a real shocker), they turn out to be, well, not so great? We headed out for a super fun apple picking, perfect pumpkin choosing, get-the-best-family-Christmas-picture ever adventure. The weather was perfect (finally, sweaters!) and the kids were clean-ish (at least when we left the house), the cameras were charged and the moods were positively wonderful. As soon as we pulled into the crowded minivan filled parking lot, someone else joined the group - an uninvited guest. Do you know her? She looks nice enough at first glance, familiar even, but then, as the kids begin to run in different directions and she almost gets hit by a backing up Volvo and she twists her ankle 4 times tripping over rotten apples on the bumpy path that leads down to the ultimate selection of MacIntoshs, her left eye begins to twitch a tiny bit (the kind that only she can feel and no one else can see). She pleads to the short people to smile in unison for a photo and instead ends up with a memory card filled with "empty to trash" moments. A giant, pulsating vein pops out of her neck. The children fill a heaping bushel of fruit (a bushel is equal to 45 pounds and $93, I think) and now it's time for pumpkins and doughnuts and cider. The good old rule that we had when the offspring were smaller backfired on this day, because "if you can carry it, you can keep it" is more of a financial consequence when one's 8 year old has been taking his vitamins and he now has the strength of a full grown bull. (I think that the bumper of the van hit dragged on the pavement the entire ride home. On the bright side, we now have a viable entry for the heaviest vegetable category at the Cumberland Fair.) Crazy makes her final appearance in the form of eating a whole peanut butter whoopie pie in 2 bites and screaming to the family to "just get in the (insert silent explative) car!". So when I revisit the ideas of Sir Isaac Newton and imagine how he was able to draw such insightful, brilliant theories while sitting under an apple tree, I now believe that gravity was not discovered by mere accident. I think that he was beaned in the head by a small child swinging from the twisty branches high above him.

I don't even like bicycles...

Yet, here I am switching gears more often than Lance Armstrong in the thick of the Tour de France. This past weekend proved itself especially bizarro. I jumped from community theater practice (Carol Burnett style) to watching a suspense filled Jake Gyllenhaal flick to retail sales to listening to an 80's hair band (did you know that an 80's hair band actually means that these guys have lots of hair?? Complete with wind blowing machine even?) to more sales and then football watching (kind of). Everywhere I go and everything that I do lately, my first thoughts begin with my new favorite four-letter word: BLOG! I see myself pretending to be a phony invalid - blog. I see crazy mattress kicking customers - blog. Watching my mother watching the previously referenced movie - blog. Hair band and the groupies and the drunkards and the hair - holy Hannah, all the hair! - blog, blog, blog, blog. Also thrown into the loop, please insert: assistant wedding planner and chef, personal shopper, dog groomer and ballet costume designer. I am thinking that this checkered routine might look divine on my resume when I finally get a full-time paying gig in the workforce. What does everyone else do? Does anyone really only have one job anymore or do y'all have many hats that you wear each day? I function better in chaos, so this insanity suits me pretty well. I have to admit that I am horribly, easily distracted (I often joke that my little Emmy and I are like seagulls - if we see anything shiny or sparkly, we are gone!). I would like to think that I can focus and do just one something really well, but honestly, I don't know that I would ever be able to do just that. I am a loose synapse. I need a smidge of disarray. A splatter of havoc. And I need to blog it! Ooh - I found a quarter!

down low, low down, no doubt

Most of my days revolve around music. I can usually wake up in the morning and immediately know my theme. Today felt like Gwen Stefani - a little edgy, a skosh cranky and going to get a haircut equals girl powered by No Doubt. I fumbled around through the stack of CDs that litter the floor of my silver bullet MPV (must remember to watch out for winding turns and turkey crossing or they slide under the gas pedal) until I grabbed the right case. Those things should have brail on them or something so I don't have to take my eyes off the road quite so much or maybe I should figure out how to work the ipod (funny story for that gadget: father-in-law found it in the back of a cab in North Carolina, owners never claimed it, Sarah got herself a cool treat engraved with a undying love poem for Ted from Amby). Here's the important part with music in the car (not always station flipping appropriate because what if you had a bad song on stun and someone heard it and thought that you liked it?) - you need it really loud, it's part of the parcel. And you need to sing along really loudly (your kids might complain, but if the volume is adequate you won't be able to hear them anyway). After a few songs or your favorite song a few times, you will loosen up and you will feel the stress and tension or sadness and anger just melt away. Sure, people might laugh and point, but who cares? I guarantee that your imaginary audience is was more critical than anyone in real life anyway. When I see people singing and doing complicated steering wheel drum solos, I applaud - Hooray for you Mr. Never Gonna be the Lead for Led Zepplin and Madame Janet Doesn't Really Sound Like Jackson and me, Sarah not-Stefani (my vocals don't really resemble the likes of Ray LaMontagne and Stevie Wonder and Norah Jones, but if the windows are rolled up, who's gonna know?). I bet there would be fewer crazed, neurotic, psychotic, road raged lunatics if more people indulged in a little theme song therapy.

reality bites

The troops are almost settled back into the school schedule (although the long weekend set us back a smidge) and, surprisingly, I am finding more difficulty with the change of pace than I bargained for. I feel a bit like a whirling dervish and I am spinning in oblivion. My focus is gone and my motivation to clean and be productive is nonexistent. I am adjusted to the getting up and the making of breakfasts and lunches and helping with the wardrobe selections and ensuring that they brush their teeth and board the bus, but after that, after 8:30A, I am lost. I notice that I am on the phone an awful lot and I can waste a fair amount of time online (thanks to Boden and Facebook). The baby and I count down the hours for the big kids to come home. I thought that I would be thrilled with the peace and quiet, but not so much. I have had the opportunity to reflect upon what I have learned this past summer - baby guinea pigs do not, in fact, like the tub. But, if you are going to live here, baths are not an option, right? Unfortunately, it does not speak English, so there is little to no consoling this fuzzy creature (by the way - 1 guinea pig free to a good home. Or any home. Takers??) Also, hanging plants don't flourish if you forget to water them for 2 months - I should probably just throw those dead guys away, but they might make good Halloween decorations if I keep them up a little longer and then throw some fake spider webs on them. They do match nicely with my driveway that needs to be mowed and the toys strewn on the walkway (so sorry neighbors). I have gotten my money's worth from the state park pass and I made it to the Lobster Shack before the end of the season. We have had tons of fun, played hard and slept well (except for the really steamy nights as we still have no AC - we're tough Mainers). I suppose it's time for me to hunker down, dig out the fall sweaters that I have missed so dearly and get ready for - wait for it - the holidays (only 108 days until the fat man drops down the chimney)!

inconceivable!

I am a girl that is easily amused, entertained and gladsome. I live for simple pleasures and I try to appreciate my life and keep my focus on the good stuff. This morning, on the way to the bus stop, I was nailed by a 6 year old for being "crabby-licious" (she was purple-licious, the baby was cutie-licious, the boy was stripey-licious, the daddy was fun-licious and the dog was stinky-licious). Clearly, I have been putting off the wrong vibes. With all the back-to-school preparations and the blistering heat, I have lost sight of the very things that I am most grateful for. That being said, I have trumped up a list (boy, do I love lists!) of some of my faves, in no particular order:

* free rides on the turnpike (yippy skippy this happened today!)
* 8P (kids in bed time)
* warm baths
* Ben & Jerry
* turning on the radio and hearing my entire best song (not just the last 26 seconds)
* pretty dresses
* trying on jeans that I haven't worn all summer and realizing that they still fit!
* Red Neck jokes
* man with no arms and no legs jokes
* trashy soaps
* a certain toddler asleep on my shoulder
* baking cakes
* morning cuddles with my sweet boy child
* best girl friends
* my little honey's blonde ringlets
* picture slideshows
* getting my hair did
* stripes & polka dots
* the smell of Play-Doh

Gosh, these seem to just gloss the surface of my otherwise dulled brain, but it's a commendable start. I challenge you all with the same assignment - create a manifest that inspires you to be contented and tickled with your humble surroundings. Keep it handy and refer to these goodies whenever you are in the downy dumps or when your children complain of your rotten attitude.

thrown for a loopy loop

I have crossed the threshold from a little bit off kilter to totally loopy and it's only 7:30A. Wednesday started with an indepth analysis of the shody plot and lack of character development for the movie PeeWee's Big Adventure (thank you Netflix) by our resident 8 year old movie (and everything else) critic. I forsee that the rest of the day will unfold in an elaborate battle between Thing 1 and Thing 2 over everything, including, but not limited to: sand art, who can snap the loudest and allegations of "almost" doing things unkind to each other. This, of course, will be followed by bouts of SSR (sustained silent reading to the lay people), Quaker's Meetings and essays on how to make good (or at least, better) choices. I will wash, dry, and partially fold 14 loads of laundry, vacuum wood shavings and shredded cheese, make meatballs, and mop up yogurt spills, all while holding a toddler, stepping over (and sometimes on) a dog and refereeing the aforementioned squabbles. I predict that I will deviate from "it's already Wednesday?'' to "it's ONLY Wednesday?!" by noon-thirty and there will be a mandatory quiet time that will not really be very quiet as children will endlessly and noisily question the duration of the silent epoch. But, as 3 o'clock approaches, I will be renewed and refreshed and eager to spend one of the last few afternoons with my kiddos before they head back to the school grind. We shall converse like civilized people and perhaps, drink lemonade and snack on limited edition Oreos and I will once again, wish for a few more summer days. This, obviously, is one of the upsides of loopy - the abilty to forget (or the inabilty to remember) what occurred mere minutes ago...

you may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not (the only one)

Didn't think that it was possible, but I actually discovered a household chore that I loathe more than scrubbing toilets. It is called scraping an entire pack of Stride Shift Flavor Changing Gum Citrus to Mint out of the drum of the dryer (after the dryer cycle was finished drying the chewy bits to the clothes and the dryer itself). As I was waist deep into the belly of the sticky beast, grumping at my foolish disregard of a certain 8 year old's query, "have you seen my gum?", I thought that this might be a good hiding place. It's cool and it smells nice and since not one of my children typically offers to help with the laundry, it would probably be very quiet. I ran through this fantastic daydream scenario for a couple of minutes, but like most of my daydreams, it was tragically interrupted with the crazy, unhappy thought that I might get stuck in there for days (again, because it would be the last place that anyone would dare look for me for fear that there might be a clean and dried load that was ready to be carried upstairs). Can you imagine the repercussions of leaving 3 little people left unsupervised for more than 7 minutes? I pictured the toga party scene from Animal House crossed with Old School and a bit of the Chipmunks for good measure and speedily emerged from the Kenmore. Haunted by visions of a shaved dog, 24 devoured birthday cupcakes, and reckless rides around the house on the canister vacuum, I finished the task at hand in near record time (if there was a record for this olympic sized event, I would have totally beat it) thanks to my Sol-U-Mel (Melaleuca plug), I was able to remove the viscid residue and return to reality - I had cake and frosting and fondant flowers to tend to afterall!

this is not the Holiday Inn!!

Find yourself making empty threats and and spouting off absolute gibberish when dealing with your children lately? Show of hands? I find that I can barely jell a complete nonsensical thought in my brain. I am not sure if it is summer vacation or if I have been absent in the grown-up workforce for so long that I don't actually know how to construct complete thoughts anymore or if it has anything to do with the chemical fumes in Aisle 12 at the grocery store, but whatever the case, I have become a mush brain. I did go to college and I did work for a spell, but something switched when I first became pregnant and my grey matter seems to have dramatically deteriorated after each consectutive baby. I used to be smart, darn it! Those days are but a mere memories (on good day, a blur on the others), and I now hear myself threatening to take away video games and TV (a much more painful consequence for me because, now I need to find other things for them to do) and endlessly nagging them to do or not to do something - anything. I sound like the broken CD (who am I kidding - one of many) in my car that just keeps playing the same line over and over and over again (I should really just throw it away, but I am holding onto hope that it will miraculously mend itself during the dark hours). Or I ramble on about things like, "This is NOT the Holiday Inn! I am not the maid!" or, "This is not Burger King - you can not have it your way!" Who is this crazy lady? I really wasn't looking forward to sending the kids back onto the big yellow (although it always looks more like yellow-orange to me, but whatever) bus, but today, I can't wait! The thoughts of taking a shower by myself and cleaning the bathroom without interuption or watching trash on TV (weakness of mine - shh) are getting me through this day. I hope that I feel stronger tomorrow and I can appreciate their reindeer games, but right now, I want Calgon to take me away!!!

son of a beach - an evolutionary tale

You know what I love most about Beach Thursday? The beach (A+ if you guessed correctly). I love the smell of the salt water in the air and the sound of the surf lapping onto the shore and the feeling of the warm sand on my feet. The beach experience itself has evolved over the years (not my favorite). I have traded in the teeny bikini for a full coverage tankini (skirt optional) and the good old baby oil for SPF 9024. I now work on building sandcastles instead of my tan and the little voices of children laughing have replaced the cassette boombox that I used to drag around with me. My towels have gotten bigger and my time sitting down on them has gotten smaller. I can now carry 4 children complete with pails with shovels, lunch for a small army, a chair, first aid kit and my keys without dropping an item (or a kid). I can tolerate being kicked in the face with sand a dozen times and the seagulls stealing PB&Js out of my hand (they did thank me one day by dropping some good luck on my leg). I exchange harried looks with other moms and secretly curse at the delusional, self-absorbed teenaged lovebirds strolling past me. And often, a cold, wet, toddler wants to crawl into my lap to warm up and maybe pee, since I refuse to buy those stupid swimmer diapers (she loses 3 pounds when I take off the ocean filled cruiser). But you know what? It's still the beach and sometimes, even if it is only for a minute, I can close one eye and remember the days of too long ago when I went with only a towel and an attitude and I rotated every 20 minutes to make sure my color was even from front to back and I could poke fun at the frazzled mothers (much like me these days). It's been a great summer and I am looking forward to enjoying a few more Beach Thursdays after the big kids start school in a couple weeks, but it won't be the same. Sadly, I will miss the little stinkers and I look forward to next year's beach adventures. Although, it might be fun to sneak away by my lonesome some afternoon and throw rocks at the gulls. Anyone is welcome to join me...

Mrs. No More Mr. Nice Guy

The sears repair guy was scheduled to come over this morning (Monday - the 4th worst day of the week after Tuesday and Wednesday but before Thursday, and then Friday). My dear hubby carries the title of is Mr. Fun Guy while I am defaulted the good old leftover Mrs. No More Mr. Nice Guy. What does this mean on Monday? Well, after not selling furniture all weekend (a skill that I have honed), I am greeted in the wee hours of the morning with children that would rather play with Daddy (except when they are hungry or tired or need to get the play doh out of a lego guy's foot or rescue a fallen littlest pet shop from far behind the TV). "Aw, is it Monday already?", they grump. First order of business - attitude adjustments. Enter the repair guy at precisely 7:58A (3 minutes earlier I would have still been rinsing the shampoo out of my hair because 8A-12P really means 3P, right? Wrong! I am the only person in the history of people that actually has a repair person arrive at the designated time.) at the side door - cue barking dog and panicked screaming toddler with stranger anxiety and, of course, Thing 1 and Thing 2 are wrestling in the middle of the living room over silly putty and a tiny blue plastic bird. Oh, and did I forget to mention that I was on the phone with a very important associate (well, friend, but it wouldn't have mattered either way) and I scream, "I will rip your hand off if you do not unleash those toys you beasties!" - outloud! I meant to just scream on the inside, but, it's Monday and I haven't adjusted the sensor just yet. (Pretty sure that when the man with the nametag reading Denny said he needed to go to the van to "get a part", he was really calling child services.) I apologized for the screaming, "hehe. Kids. Yes, that is an actual, real life guinea pig in the tourette of that toy castle. No, we aren't zoned as a farm or a daycare. And sure, I will answer a few survey questions." Good grief. I hereby relinquish my appointed duties as Mrs. No More Mr. Nice Guy and declare that I will be Invisible Emergency Only Lady until Wednesday.

all quiet on the FB front

I recently took an involunatry 3 week hiatus from my computer. I am quite sure that the black screen of death was the ultimate nail in the coffin of that relationship, but I prefer to remember that it was a mutual decision to not see each other anymore. The first few days were absolute torture - I would stare at the blank screen and beg to come back to life and then over the next few days, mourning turned to bitterness (stupid computer, I never really liked you anyway), to sadness again and then, finally, acceptance that my poor little HP desktop was no more. We replaced her and I was certain that there would be some crazy search party looking for me and wondering , "where, oh, where could Sarah be?", but alas, nothing. Lots of sales updates from my good pals at the Gap and Banana and my true love Johnnie Boden, but very few concerned messages from friends. Frantically, I checked the internet connection and Facebook and much to my disappointed surprise, life was still going. Slowly, shyly, I reemerged onto the scene like a 7th grader crosses the dance floor (painfully and pathetically and so uncertain as to what lies in the crowd of boys on the other side of the gym). It was like tuning into a favorite soap that I haven't watched in 8 years and finding that the same people were doing the same things to each other's cousin's uncle's brother-in-laws as they were before I was gone. It was like being home. Few things were different, someone I knew from grade school might or might not be a porn star, but most things were the same - kids were going to and coming home from summer camps and people were posting new pictures of their pets and days at the lake and it was good and I was welcomed back into the comforts of my friends (kind of like they didn't realize I was absent for a duration - weird). I am proud to say that I am actively back to facebook stalking (trying to confirm or deny this wicked porno rumor, and leaning more towards the confirming zone) and now with my new lease on internet life and all of the thoughts that I conjured up while I was deprived of my beautiful cyberworld, I am now writing my fun blog, which, by the way, is something that I have wanted to do for quite some time now, so hooray for me! (and all of you lucky readers!)

giant driving uterus

Since the promise of baby #3, I have become a minivan mama (sedans don't allow for more than 2 car seats because once you have crossed the threshold of 3, you don't qualify as a woman anymore anyway and you might as well just be a giant driving uterus). Gone are the days of free rides on the turnpike and obscene gestures from teenaged boys - I am someone's mom and even more ruinous, I am a mom to several, presumably, millions of short people. And so, with this outlook on my life (again, let me emphasize how very much I adore my babies), I carried on with my days of drop-offs and pick-ups and errands and other good motherly chores, until one fateful day. Stopped at a red light near the pet food store, I felt the MPV quake as an approaching wreck wallopped up on my right. Nice. I pretended not to look and instead concentrated my gaze on the margque across the way (why wouldn't I be totally interested in where to get wood pellets and pork chops?). As I was refocusing my attention to the red directional arrow, I quickly took stock of the reverberating beast - monster tires (check), Calvin peeing on something (check), gun rack (check), tough guy personalized plates (check), blaring ACDC music (double check). And then he honked. Don't look. Honk honk. Turn and look the other way. More honking. I flashed my left hand - hello, married, kids, minivan. Now yelling. Honestly guy, get the hint (although I did brush my hair today and put on a clean t-shirt...) NOT INTERESTED! Finally, after what seemed like a 37 minutes of this foolishness, his light turns green and he screams, "Hey lady! Your rear tire is low!", and he screeches away leaving me in the dust of his nudey lady mudflaps. Snap. Lesson of the day: don't take yourself too seriously and if someone beeps at you, pull over to the nearest gas station and check your air pressure.

plastic Happy Meal penguin with infinite wisdom

I am a hoarder. Not one of those people on TV that needs an intervention or anything, but a packrat, nonetheless. I have also raised a trio of children that share my compulsive desire to save everything including, but not limited to, Happy Meal toys. Every once in a blue moon, I am struck with the chuck-it bug (archenemy of the aforementioned packrat) and so it was the other day that I was driven to rid my home of everything non-essential, when I happened upon a plastic Happy Meal penguin that I know I have thrown away before, but with 3 kids, obviously, I must have missed this little sucker. As I threw him into the rubbish, atop some egg shells and wood shavings from the guinea pig's cage, he spoke to me. He said, "Just smile and wave". Weird, I thought. That toy must have been at least 2 years old and I think that since the people at McDonalds don't always invest much time and effort and money into the quality of the Happy Meal toys, this must be a sign. But, whatever, sign or no sign - bye bye penguin. For the rest of the day, everytime I threw anything away into the trash and even as I was throwing the trash bag out the side porch door, I heard the penguin's desperate plee for my attention. Why are you tormenting me plastic penguin, I wondered? But alas, it finally occurred to me that this plastic Happy Meal penguin with infinite wisdom was trying to enlighten me and teach me a valuable lesson! And so here it is: Just smile and wave. Guess what? It actually works! It worked on the cranky customer that didn't want my help in selecting a new sofa this weekend (they didn't buy it, but they smiled and waved back, so - victory!) and I think that it worked on a neighbor that usually doesn't acknowledge me as we pass each other in the 'hood (got a wave back) and best thing ever - it works on the kids. I am sure that they will dull to this latest addition to my forever growing list of defensive tactics that I use to keep tantrums and crankies at bay, but for now, it's all good. They don't know how to react, which is fun, but it also gives me the extra minute that I require to finish washing the dinner dishes from the night before. So, thank you plastic Happy Meal penguin for your gift and may you rest in peace with the Strawberry Shortcake doll with smelly hair, somewhere near the bottom of the trash bin at the transfer station.

I got knifed

I dragged myself to the dreaded annual physical the other day. I should have been thrilled to be out of the house alone, but, honestly, this is not anymore exciting than getting the car inspected, which is basically the same thing, right? As I am the classic text book example of the most boring patient EVER (no smoking, no drinking, no dangerous extracurricular activities, etc.), I have to say that I was shocked when I became riddled with angst and feelings like I was being sent to the principal's office (which, I have heard, is miserable). Upon arrival, I felt compelled to explain to my doctor that this was not, in fact, my body. I was simply using this one as a loaner since my actual real body was tanned and taut and bikini clad and frolicking somewhere, like Bermuda or some other fabulous place. These aren't my stretch marks and this certainly is not my bottom (don't think he bought it) and gosh, there is no way that the 33 year old staring at me in the mirror could possibly be me. But, alas, it is me. And since it is me and that suspicious looking mole is on that arm that belongs to me, I was numbed and sliced and stitched and bandaged. And it hurt. But, I am ok and I know that it's better to listen to this body (hard) than to ignore it (easier). We should all take a closer (not mean and judgemental) look at ourselves and do what we can to stay strong and healthful and lead the lives that we would want our children to live. But, if anyone asks, I totally got knifed. That sounds so much cooler.

can I pull this off?

Last night, I went out with my bestest girlfriend. She is the kind of friend that needs no schedule of the night's events. More often than not, we tear out of the house while peeling a toddler (or, in her case, an old confused Papa) off of one leg and meet at the park-and-ride, just to get away. Let me preface this by first proclaiming the insane amount of love that I have for my sweet husband and my wonderful offspring. This being said, I sometimes just need a break. A break from being the maid and the short order cook and the entertainment committee and the dog walker. Just a short sanity break so I am not found rocking and drooling in the corner of the kitchen like one of those abandoned baby monkeys I learned about in Developmental Psychology. Somewhere between impulsively purchasing a zebra print skirt (so uncharacteristic of me) and realizing that we were looking at menus from a restaurant that we thought was a different restaurant, it dawned on me that I couldn't possibly be the only one on the planet that suffers from mom overload, memory lapses and momentary spells of poor judgement. And you know what? I am actually grateful for this dreadful awakening - I am slightly crazy. I don't know exactly what this means, but it feels good to be free (work in progress obviously) of some of the standards that I have painstakingly forced upon myself. So today, I will take an extra deep breathe instead of going off the deep end and I will be thankful that I have a great husband and terrific children (even when they are all annoying me) because when I look at the alternative - wow - way worse. And when I ask, "can I pull this off?", I have no other choice but to do just that - to step out of my comfort zone, take a chance in life every once in a while and wear the zebra print skirt proudly. I hope that if nothing else, loyal (wink) blog readers, I have offered you a smidge of perspective. I invite you to continue to let me regale you with tales from one mother to another...