This happened…

I should know better.  I do know better.  Really, it’s all my fault, but for the love of gravy!!!

It was only two minutes.  A short phone call, I stepped away while Noah and Sara were innocently watching Dora.  There were entranced, I thought surely they could stay that way for just a minute or two while I took the call.

I came back to a horrific, disgusting, unbelievable mess.  This is the first thing I saw, confusing me until I looked around and saw the source of the mysterious white paste on my coffee table.

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At first I thought it might have been lotion or maybe baby powder?  But there is no baby powder in easy reach of the babies, and a quick glance over to the lotion bottle showed it to be untouched.  Scanning the room, I saw this:

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At this point, I knew.  Oh, how I knew.  Those little granules strewn about like confetti, the delightful paste on my coffee table.  It was cat litter.  From the litter box.

*barf*

It gets better.  The cats have a basket with a blanket that they sleep in, which also happened to be in the path of nasty.

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Isn’t that lovely?  There was cat litter EVERYWHERE.  I think it was mostly Sara, while Noah sat and watched.  As soon as I walked back in the room, he jumped up to go sit on the potty for a good long while, avoiding the, let’s say colorful language that happened to escape me.

lb4

 

That is Katie, wondering why we decided to keep the furless things that are so fascinated with kitty poo.

And now the mug shot of the nasty little girl that made it rain cat litter all over my living room:

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She doesn’t look very remorseful, does she?  See that sh*t eating grin?  It’s because she was literally eating sh*t.  Cat sh*t, covered in clumping cat litter.  You know how peanut butter gets stuck to the roof of your mouth when you eat it?  Yeah, well, cat litter clumps into a concrete like lump in the roof of the mouth and between the teeth.  That happy little grin on Sara’s face?  Yeah, that disappeared when I had to spend 20 minutes raking the litter out of her mouth and teeth.

Fun times.

 

Can we be friends?

It is with great trepidation that I even attempt to revive our friendship.  When I first met you, I didn’t know what to expect.  I mean, we are so different, you with your hard, poisonous shell, keeping the world away from your inner good.  I thought we were cool, we had fun, I looked forward to seeing you.  Then, out of nowhere, you viciously turned on me.

I didn’t even recognize you, how could you be so cruel, so unforgiving?  You spread your poison and you know what?  You made me afraid of you.  Our distance the last several months has  given me a lot of time to think about what happened.  I now know that it was all my fault.

Are you happy?

I admit, it was me that poisoned myself.  You didn’t mean for it to happen, you were a helpless victim, a byproduct of my mistake.

I want to try again.  I want to be friends, I want you in my life, in my family’s life.  I think you could be good for all of us, and if you are ready, I want to start fresh.

This time, I come into the relationship better prepared.  I know what to expect, and in turn, hope to avoid that nasty break up we had so many months ago.

So what do you say?  Is a friendship even possible?  Can we call a truce?  I can’t let you around my children if you turn toxic again.  I would never forgive myself.

I’ll let you simmer, think about it all, soak it in, and I’ll get back to you in about an hour or so.  I have great expectations this time.  Please don’t hurt me again.

 

I will be sure and let you all know how this relationship reboot goes.  See, I had a sort of falling out with lentils last year when I repeatedly gave myself food poisoning by eating them when they must have been under cooked.  That was a huge duh moment.  I haven’t touched them since, I have been too afraid!  But after a good long soaking, over a day to be exact, and much research on the internets, I have decided to try again.  I have a big pot of them simmering away on the stove right now, hopefully poison free!  Fingers crossed for no food poisoning this time!

 

The Incredible Shrinking Baby!

Our family decided to squeeze in a visit to the pumpkin patch this weekend.  It was one last Halloween-y thing that we hadn’t done yet that just needed to happen.  I wanted to get out the door as early as possible to avoid the huge crowds, so as you can imagine, with four kids scrambling about, well, it was chaos.

I saw a Halloween shirt in our bedroom and grabbed it so Abe could get Sara dressed as I did Isabella’s hair and instructed the boys on what to wear and assured Noah that yes, he did indeed have to go potty before we left.

Sara’s shirt seemed a tad large, which was strange.  She is only one year old, but has been routinely wearing 24 months to 2t.  When I saw the shirt was a bit big, I assumed I had gone up a size and bought a 3t, but I was in awe at how one size up could appear so much larger.  In general, it fit well enough, and we were off.

Now, I will point out that we do a lot of hand me downs in our house, what with the large and growing brood we have, it’s just economical.  The first thing Matt and Bella said when they saw Sara was that they recognized the shirt as one Bella used to wear.  I brushed them off, told them they were wrong, that I had just bought this one for Sara.  They didn’t put up much fight, but they had that annoying look in their eyes like they didn’t believe me.  If you have kids, you know that look.

Whatevs.

Fun was had, it was chilly, but there was a lot to see and do, and by the end of the trip, Noah and Sara were both crying so, it was past time to leave.

Fast forward to this morning.

I go into Sara’s room with some laundry to put away.  Ugh, I hate putting away laundry.  But I digress.  I opened her closet to grab some hangers, and there, right in front of me, is her brand new Halloween shirt, tags still on, staring back at me.

What the what?!

I go over to her little hamper and pull out the shirt she wore on Saturday.

Do you see where this is going?

That shirt she wore, the one that was only slightly too large, the one the kids recognized, and the one that I said was brand new?  Yeah, it wasn’t brand new.  It was an Isabella shirt that she actually wore a few weeks ago.  I had washed it and upon looking at it, decided it was too small and needed to be packed away.  That’s why it was sitting in our bedroom.  That’s why it was too large for Sara.  That’s why the kids recognized it.

Wanna see something completely crazy?

I decided to take a picture of the two shirts, side by side for size comparison, just to prove that I am not completely insane.  Partially, yes, but not quite completely.

 

Ignore the cookie goobers on the shirt on the left, it was pulled out of the hamper for this picture.  The cookie goober shirt is a Girls size 6.  The brand new shirt, tags and hanger still on it on the right, is a size 24 months!!!  Now come on!  Tell me it wasn’t an honest mistake, they are practically the same size!

Right?

Craziness.

I don’t have to tell the kids they were right, do I?  I would hate to lose my Mommy street cred.

Flushed Away

So, as Noah’s third birthday is fast approaching, I have found myself wracking my brain lately, thinking of possible Binky Fairy gifts.

You see, the Binky Fairy comes to take all of the pacifiers away to give them to babies that don’t have any, and in return for the generous, albeit germ and slobber infested donations, she leaves a small gift.  For Bella, she left a fairy book and a Tinkerbell bracelet.

We had her lay out all of her binkies on the night before her third birthday and sent her to bed looking forward to seeing what the fairy had left.  It worked like a charm, she never looked back or asked for a binky again.

I was having a hard time trying to think of gifts she may leave for Noah, but then something happened.  The terrible two’s pushed their way in and without even knowing it, Noah saved me from worrying about the Binky Fairy.  Well, until Sara is ready for her.

So what did Noah do to relieve the fairy of her visit?

It all happened so fast, and before my morning coffee even!

Apparently, Noah decided to flush a pair of underwear and his binky this morning.  In the toilet.

Yeah. So……

Honestly, I wondered how we went this long without the kids flushing things they weren’t supposed to.  Matt was the king of flushing inappropriate things.  Hot Wheels, foam bath toys, underwear, socks, you name it.  Bella never even thought about it.  Or, what she decided to flush was small enough to not require taking the toilet apart to remove the wedged items.

So since Noah decided to release his binky into the wild waters of the potty, I think it’s fair to tell him he is done with the binkies.  Maybe that was his ritual, his own way of saying good-bye to his trusty old friend.  Maybe he is just two and will lose his mind when I try and put him down for his nap without a binky.  Either way, the whole fun morning has made me fondly remember this Tiny Toons clip from back in the day.  Enjoy.

Friends Don’t Let Friends Drink and Type.

English: QWERTY keyboard, on 2007 Sony Vaio la...

Do you want to hear something crazy?

As it turns out, spilling half a glass of soda on a keyboard tends to make said keyboard work a lot less.  I might even say that it would break a keyboard, causing a person to go through computer and internet withdrawal as they try everything they can to try and fix the keyboard before they are forced to go out and spend money buying a brand new one and swearing to never drink anything anywhere near keyboards ever again.

Or…..maybe if the soda had been in a sippy cup….

Well, anyway, this post is brought to you by a brand spanking new keyboard.  One bought quite begrudgingly, and after several attempts to revive the old one.  Sadly, the old board just could not be revived.  It’s last words were “qqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqq.”  I think that roughly translates to “Thank you for the soda, I can die happy now.”  Fulfilling life long dreams, it’s what I do.

Mice are icky.

I’m sure whether you care to admit it or not, you have probably experienced a mouse or two in your house from time to time.  It has nothing to do with cleanliness, rodents, and bugs for that matter, are resourceful little boogers that want to find a way into your house and they will.

We have had mice come visit our home uninvited a few times over the years, but having two cats, and the growing population of stray cats in our neighborhood has greatly reduced that number.  The last time we had a mouse inside our house, our two cats found it and kept it trapped until Abe came home to catch and release the little intruder.

Mice carry diseases, they are gross, filthy little things.  Have you heard about the bubonic plague making a comeback?  Seriously.  2012, and bubonic plague is still around, kickin’ it medieval style.

All this said, we grow up watching adorable little cartoon mice on television, begging us to love them.  Mickey Mouse anyone?  So, it seems natural that when confronted with a mouse, though totally grody as mentioned before, that something inside of you, whether you like it or not, will tend to think that it looks like a sweet little creature.  Something not to be feared, but to be adored and protected.

No, we don’t have a mouse in our house, but the kids did find one outside last week on the way to the bus stop.  Now, as you may recall, they recently found a very dead mouse, while digging around outside.  Probably something that a cat found, played with, chewed a bit, and then left for dead.  Cats are evil like that.

The mouse they found last week was alive, but barely.  I’m pretty sure it was also a kitteh play thing.  We found it wet and not moving much.  I hate to say it, but it was adorable.  Tiny and helpless and just precious.  You know, in that gross you know you aren’t supposed to think this thing is cute kind of way.

I told the kids not to touch it and we went off to catch the bus.  On the way home, I couldn’t help but stop and look at the mouse.  Not wanting to touch it with my hands, bubonic plague!, I grabbed a small stick and gently prodded it, seeing if it could move.  The poor thing seemed scared to death.  He moved, which is a good sign right?  I saw no obvious injuries, no bloody tooth marks, nothing that hinted at what may be wrong.

The thing is, where he was, right out in the open, well, he was easy prey to any cat passing by.  And as I said, we have quite a few cats that pass through our neighborhood.  So.  I coaxed him with the little stick, my home made mouse prod, over to where I thought he would be safer.  I thought to myself how insane the Wildlife Rescue people would think I was if I scooped up this little mouse and brought it to them to save.  I tried to remind myself of how icky this thing was, no matter how cute it may be on the outside.  He could have the zombie virus for all I know!

Probably not, but mice are icky.  Right?

*sigh*

Wanna see the icky mouse?  I took a picture.  It’s what I do.

 

Look at those tiny little paws!  The itty bitty whiskers!

I am such a bleeding heart, bubonic plague be damned.

I resisted the urge to name him and make him a pet, but I worried about him all day until Abe came home and I told him to check if he was still out there.  I asked him to tell me he was gone no matter what, and if he was still there, to move him into the woods but not to tell me.  I want to assume in my goofy little mind that he got his act together, found his way home, and is living happily ever after, bubonic plague free with his adorable little mouse family.

I am crazy, I realize.

 

Discovering Things

This past weekend brought us gorgeous, cool,  fall like weather.  I very happily opened up the windows to let the fresh,  crisp air in, and just as happily kicked the kids outside before they had a chance to fight about anything.

The nasty hot summer had them stuck inside far more than they are used to, so I was determined for them to soak in as much outside time as possible.  With the windows open, we could hear them excitedly talking as they followed the trails of butterflies or hopped around after a large grasshopper.

Bubbles were blown, drawing were made with chalk, they played on the swing set, they even made discoveries.

Abe and I were inside feeding the two little ones, when we hear Matt and Bella very excitedly talking about their great “discovery”.  They had been digging around and were talking about discovering fossils, so I assumed they found a rock that they decided to pretend was some sort of dinosaur bone, or whatever.

They started talking louder, getting more excited as they tried to decide what creature they found and what they should do with it.  When Bella suggested burying it, well, my brain started imagining what they possibly could have found.

When they declared that it had sharp claws, okay, game over.

Bella was coming up the front stairs when she opened the door to make her announcement.

“Mom, I have good news and some not so good news.  The good news is our dig was successful.  Too successful.  We found a dead creature with very long, sharp claws!”

Oh dear baby Jeebus.

“Did you touch it?!”  Ick factor to the max!  I sent Abe outside to see what they had found and sent them to scrubbing their hands clean from the dead “creature” cooties.

Abe said it was probably a mouse as he headed outside, to which they adamantly disagreed.

“No!  It can’t be a mouse, it has long sharp claws!”

Well, I don’t know what they thought they found, and I certainly don’t know what part of their brains were thinking it would be awesome to play with a dead anything.  But here it is, in all of its icky glory:

 

Doesn’t that look like an awesomely fun thing to play with?!  Blech.  And yes, it’s definitely a mouse, probably the remains of some stray cat’s snack.

They came inside and played video games after they used up all the soap washing their grody little hands.  They did make the day interesting, I’ll give them that.

Good luck? Sure, I’ll take some!

Hummingbird

I was sitting outside on the back steps this morning, listening to the bugs chirping and admiring the crappy job the tree guys did when a very large thing started to buzz around my head.

I will readily admit that I am scared of bugs.  Hate them.  I possess the unique ability to be all chill and pretend that they don’t bother me around the kids, because I don’t want them getting my irrational fears, but I am slowly dying and screaming on the inside.

So I am about a millisecond away from jumping up and screaming, acting all a fool, when the ginormous thing lands on the fence, just a few feet away from me.

My heart stopped as I held my breath, prepared to see some mutated gigantic insect from hell, moments away from sucking my soul with it’s ghastly, buggy evilness.

As I opened my eyes through squinted lids, do you know what I saw?

A hummingbird.

*giant sigh of relief*

I let out a nervous laugh as the tiny, gorgeous little bird looked over at me as if to say, “Really?”  He sat for a few seconds and then flew away, probably to tell all his friends about the ridiculous loca mami that was so scared by the little hummingbird, she almost fainted on the back steps.

Soooooo…….

Completely ignoring the embarrassment of my little freak out, it is said and believed in many cultures that seeing a hummingbird is good luck.  Many Native American tribes and Mexican folklore tell of the hummingbird as having mystical powers, carrying our prayers to God and promising good fortune for those lucky enough to be visited by them, scared half to death or not.

Have you ever had a hummingbird buzz by your head before?  To be fair, they do sound like a massive insect, that buzzing noise their wings make, and their flitty, fast movements.  It’s not completely irrational to assume that it’s a bug.  I mean, it makes sense.  I see bugs far more often that I see hummingbirds.

Anyway,  yadda yadda yadda, good luck, yeah, I’ll take it.  Maybe I won’t nearly pee my pants next time I get buzzed by a hummingbird.  That really would be some good luck!

 

Self Diagnosis

English: Google Logo officially released on Ma...

You know those crazy people who avoid going to the doctor at all costs and anytime they have anything wrong with them at all, they simply Google the heck up out of it, self diagnosing themselves and making a plan of action based on their short internet research that they think somehow qualifies them to do so?

Yeah.  I’m one of those crazies.

See, sometimes I am pretty good at it.  I can look up symptoms, do the research and if need be, even tell my doctor, the one I avoid at all costs, what I think I am ailed with.  Sometimes it completely backfires and my hypochondriac tendencies come through, convincing me that I am dying from a rare tropical disease that I must have picked up from the mysteriously tan senior citizen that obviously just returned from a cruise to an exotic locale, infected with xyz and therefore infecting me.   No really, my brain works like that.

So what crazy self diagnosis have I come up with now?  Well, I’m pretty sure this one is right on the money.  It all started back in May when the boys got pink eye.  (Funny side note here.  I titled that post “You can’t get pinkeye from someone farting on your pillow.  Probably.”  Do you know, that is one of my most popular posts that bring people in via search engines?  Everybody is dying to know if the old myth is true.  Funny.  Also, if that’s how you got here and you are wondering that very thing, the answer is no.  Fecal material introduced to your eye can, however, cause pinkeye.  You’re welcome, and no, that’s not how I got pinkeye.  It’s also caused by bacteria and by viral infections like the common cold.  That is what is most common.  The more you know…)

The boys got it, and a few weeks later, I got it.  It was bad.  And gross.  I used the eye drops, wore my glasses, pitched my old contacts and case and even pitched all of my makeup.  I used Lysol religiously and cleaned sheets, towels and pillow cases like nobody’s business.  About 10 days later, after the infection was completely cleared up, I put in a fresh pair of contacts.  By the end of the day, I had what appeared to be pinkeye.  Again.

What the what?!

Repeated my original plan of action.  Meanwhile, no one else in the house was ever infected.  Also, I noticed it was different this time.  My eyes weren’t crusting over, but they were very heavily tearing.  Also, I still had discharge, but it was white, not neon green.  Tmi?  Well, you’ve read too much to go back now, haven’t you?

Wore my glasses for what felt like forever, mostly because I hate to wear my glasses.  Just two days ago, I put a fresh pair of contacts in.  Again, my eye became irritated, only this time, it hurts.  Like crazy.  Like, I woke up last night at 1 am, and was unable to sleep all night because of the gritty, painful sensation in my eye.

Call me crazy, but that motivated me to call the doctor.  But first, Google.  What I believe I have is GPC or Giant Papillary Conjunctivitis.  It can happen from several different irritants, and perhaps it is linked to the original case of bacterial conjunctivitis aka pinkeye.  What happens, is the eye lid becomes irritated and forms these little bumps that is essentially a rash on the inside of your eyelid that spends it’s time scraping the bejeezus out of your cornea.  That would explain the crazy pain.  Wearing contacts can aggravate it further, which would explain why I keep getting “pinkeye” over and over again despite my OCD cleaning and disinfecting.

So now what?  Well, I am calling the doctor as soon as the office opens.  There are drops that can help, and in the meanwhile, I will need to wear my glasses for several weeks until the GPC heals.  Afterwards, I should be able to wear contacts again, but most definitely for shorter periods of time to reduce the chances of this lovely condition ever returning.

Like how I already have myself diagnosed, treatment plan in place?  I’m not a doctor, I just play one in my head.  I could be wrong.  I guess.  All I know is that I would like my eyeball to not hurt.  And be all red and icky.  Yes, that would be nice.  So, very reluctantly I will be going to an actual doctor today who will hopefully make it all better.  I will update later today because I know you will be worried sick about me.  Well, you might be curious anyway.

Here’s hoping your day is filled with far less eye pain than mine!  Lucky duck.

Seriously.

I love my husband.  I really do.  Now, having said that, let me show you what he did.

See the sloppy mess on top of those Pyrex lids?  That would be overspill  from him filling them so full to the top that the mere act of placing the lid on top made them leak.  And that is how he set them in my fridge.  One, giant mess.  And opening the containers made an even bigger mess, spilling contents out the sides and all over the counter.

But at least he put them away, you say.  But at least he tried, you say.  He is 32 years old, I say.  There is no excuse.  Sorry.

I ended up filling another container, just emptying these enough so that they could close with out bursting.  I am annoyed.