Colossal Meltdown

I guess I should have sensed it coming. The Meltdown that is. I mean, what with all of the goings-on on Indian Deer Road lately, it shouldn't have been a surprise. To me anyway.

We're going on close to a month, save for two nights, of not sleeping through the night. Mainly it's Bear Cub and her Two Year Molars keeping us up. If it's not her, then The Taz finds her way into our room. Most times, she just stands silently by my bedside, the sound of her thumb sucking and the feel of her stare waking me. But one night we had what I can only describe as an exorcism. Screaming, gnashing of teeth, convulsing body, attempts at eye gouging. This very night, Bear Cub slept like it was her FTJ. (Full Time Job.) Go figure.

Coupled with that, our entire brood has been coughing like we are 92 year old men with emphysema. Three weeks and counting on that front. It's gross.

Then, as if I didn't have enough horrible images saved up in my head to cause nightmares during the few hours of sleep I do get...I had the following conversation with the neighbor.

"Nikki, have you heard about the wild boar infestation we have in our development?"
"Uhm, no. Like. Real Boars?"
"Yeah. Scott saw a pack of 6 adults and 4 babies run along the swamp line last night."
"Like. Real Boars?"
"Yeah. I guess they've been bred with Russian boars, so their really aggressive.They're a real problem all over central Florida."
"Real Boars. Not at all like Pumbaa?"
"Don't worry though, they just hang out in the wooded areas, and only come out at night."

Then, because we're the type that like to kick ourselves when we're down, we upgraded everyone to big girl beds. No more toddler bed for The Taz and no more crib for Bear Cub.

So this morning, after craptacular night of sleep number 136, as The Taz started poking Bear Cub in the chest, ordering her around and telling her she was a stupid poo poo baby head, I could feel the sting start in my eyes.  81 fights ensued before the coffee was even finished brewing and I found myself incapable of any kind of parenting. There was only one thing left to do. So I let the flood gates open and I cried. I ugly cried. I sob cried. I cried on the floor. I cried in the bathroom. I cried on the couch. I cried on the stairs. 

I pulled myself together just in time to see The Taz hit Bear Cub in the face. So I put her in a time-out in her room. As I was walking away, she said matter-of-factly "Mom, I always hate you." I quit crying at this point and just bawled. 

I started in at 8:30am and finally dried out around 3:00 this afternoon only letting up to take advantage of the two free hours of child care at the YMCA. It was worse than the last Meltdown a few months back, which only lasted 40 minutes. As I type this, I know that this will be child's play compared to what is to come. God help us all when they are hormonal teenagers.

Ode to Sleep

Oh sleep

I miss you more

than my old belly button

My longing for you

heavy

like our very first diaper bag

I wear my badge

of undying love

under each eye

Come back,

I promise

not to toss you aside

like I did in my twenties.

Some things I've learned this week

By nature, I am a planner. I like lists. I like structure. I like knowing how things are going to play out. This is not to say that I don't love surprises, or spontaneous little adventures. (Although, if that spontaneous adventure would have been more fun if I had showered or had time to pack a snack, then it's definitely going to hamper my good time having.)  I also like to organize. I like to categorize. And I like things simple.

I also like to say "It ain't easy being me" a lot. Let's face facts. I've got a pretty sweet life, so when I refer to my hardships (fuzzy uncontrollable hair, inability to tan, being mistaken for an extrovert) I say this with sarcasm. But, how I am about to use it, I am completely being serious. It is not easy being me and having two young children.

Just because you buy 26 cute storage bins to strategically place around your house, does not mean things will be organized.

You can have all the categories you want, but nothing in your house will ever fit in the "clean" category for more than an hour.

You can have a list of To-Do's on your fridge a mile long. It does not mean you will ever get to cross anything off that list.


So what have I learned from all of this? It's really me that's driving me crazy. Thankfully, I've married a wonderful man that's promised to bring the childrens to visit me if I end up in The Padded Room. And I bet if I'm real good that week, he'll even bring me some of these delicious muffins I've been drooling over since about 3pm.

Miss Congeniality

I used to have a saying about how I felt after a really good party. I called it the Post Party 'Em Blues. Much like the blues you get after having a baby, only maybe accompanied by a headache and gut ache. Some people get the Post Party 'Em Blues after the holidays. I know My Mudda gets them for the entire month of February.

Well, it has been awhile since I had been to a really good party. That was until last Saturday.  The girls were invited to a Princess Party. There were games. There was dancing. There was tiara decorating. There was face painting. There was a puppet show. There was cake. There were glitter nails. There were chips and suckers and hot dogs cut to look like octopus. There were door prizes.  There were sweet little chairs with sweet pink ribbons tied on them. There were little girls dressed like Cinderella, Snow White, Ariel. It was all so sweet and fun.

We got home late in the afternoon, still high from all the sugar and giggles. There were no naps, and I knew the next day we'd pay for it. I knew the next day my two little Pixie Princesses would have the Post Party 'Em Blues.

And I was right.

This one was passed out all sweaty with her hand in a bag of chips. Who hasn't been there?

And if this little face doesn't scream out Party Blues...well then I don't know what does.

(It also kind of screams Sandra Bullock in Miss Congeniality where she trips while wearing her Statute of Liberty Crown. Only, The Taz was not as graceful recovering from her little falls yesterday.)

It's not easy being a Princess.

A bathroom prayer

Today I went to a discount store. Not The Boutique. The other one. Last summer I bought some towels there for $3 for use at the lake. I expected that for $3 that they would lose their color, become thread bare and just in general, kinda suck. Well, as it turns out, they are the best $3 towels ever. I use them as my gym towels, so they get washed two to three times a week. Now that My Chef has started working out too, they seem to always be dirty. So, today I ventured to the discount mart to see if they might have some more of these little gems.

It was my lucky day. Not only did they have these towels, they were "on sale" for $2.77. What a deal! I bought three of them. I don't know why. I tend to buy things in odd numbers. I can't explain that. Anyway, in all of my excitement over the very inexpensive but very durable towels, I needed to use the restroom.

I parked my ill steering cart and headed into the lou. As I was pulling out the protective liner from it's place on the back wall, I noticed some graffiti. It read:

God Help My Son

and right below it, in different penmanship and different marker:

I'm praying for him right now

Well, a person's gotta wonder a few things after reading this.  What mother is sitting in stall #4 at the discount mart digging around in her purse for a permanent marker so she could write out her prayer request above the protective toilet seat liner holder?  Or maybe she isn't sitting. Does she have her hands on the back wall while she contemplates a "reversal" into the toilet. Is she so distraught about her son that after purging herself physically, she needs to emotionally purge what's on her mind?

And what about the person who responded? She just happens to have a metallic gold marker in her purse? How many other people came into stall #4 and prayed for the son, but just didn't have the means to document it?

I found it all a bit odd, but maybe it was genius. I mean, here I am thinking about this gal's son, three hours later. I hope he's OK. I mean, for a mother to feel so convicted as to cry out for help in the bathroom of a discount store, things have got to be pretty serious. In the end, I hope it all works out.

Tuesday's List

Tuesday's List

(I'm on a real roll being punctual with this list thing. Let's not expect it to happen next week.)

Things That Prompt The Taz To Tell Me She Loves Me

1. When I give her sandwiches in bed. 

2. Promises to go to Sea World. 

3. After we spend time doing crafts without Maggie. 

4. Scratch #3. Any activity that does not involve Maggie.

5.  Scratch #1. Anytime I give her sandwiches period.

6.  After I clean the toilets.

That last one's a weird one. But I understand. Who doesn't love a clean toilet?
and
I'll take what I can get.

Looking for directions to the sting rays.

Dream Day. At Sea World. No Maggie.

Giving "high fives" to sting rays.

A girl's gotta have a goal

So, almost two years ago, I decided to get serious about losing weight. And by "serious" I mean that I stopped thinking that I could lose weight with wishful thinking alone.  A thousand times I planned on doing something that would help me lose weight. I'd plan on training for 10k, or buy a new bike, or buy an elliptical. And then I would make a plan - if I had this elliptical at home, I could wake up before the babies, get in my workout and start the day off right.  Then, by such and such a date, I would be in tip top form.

All of my plans involved exercise. I never really focused on eating right. Prior to having kids all I needed to do was work out for three months or so and I'd be at my prime "fightin' weight" (as we like to call it here at Chez Handeland).  I remember working for the resort, and spending the winters sitting in the office/concession stand of the pool building. I was young and single, so I didn't buy groceries. I'd go to work at the pool, eat a Snickers bar with my morning coffee, have an ENTIRE frozen pizza for lunch, and then throw down a bag of chips for my afternoon snack. All of this before heading to the local pizza joint for a pitcher of beer, aka dinner. I may have been unhealthy, but I was skinny (for me).

Anyway, those babies came along and I found myself 40 pounds overweight. So, I needed a plan. I'd sign myself up for a 10k. "I'm really going to train for this" I'd say. Ten weeks and no training later, the 10k would come up and I would find myself at the starting line of a race I had no business being in. 

Then I said, no no. I can't train for races with small childrens. I needed something at home so I could work out when the children napped. Then came the elliptical. I never used the elliptical as a clothes hanger, because that would mean I wasn't really going to use it. Which I never really did. Somehow, I thought that just having the machine in the house meant that I should lose weight.

It just seemed that I always had a plan, but never actually did anything with it. So I signed up for Weight Watchers.  I lost three pounds the first week. Then next week was Labor Day. I gained half of that three pounds back. This is when I realized that just having a new bike or exercise machine or being signed up for a program does not equal weight loss. I had all the plans, I had all the tools, but I wasn't using them. I was actually going to have to DO some work.

So that's what I've been doing the last almost two years. I'm 6 pounds away from my goal. I have a friend who started the program 6 months after me. She's also only 6 pounds away from her goal. Granted she's lost 102 pounds in that time. I'm a bit of a slow learner...also, have I mentioned that I married a chef? A chef that bakes cinnamon rolls and muffins on a weekly basis? Not that I'm making excuses. It's just that I'm a weak woman, especially when it comes to my baked goods baking chef. (Thankfully, he's recently started working with me. Things are always more fun when he's involved.)

I'd like to reach my goal before I hit my two year mark. That's about 8 weeks away. Which co-insides with the start of family vacation. Which will no doubt put me right back to where I am now. It's a vicious cycle, but a gal's gotta have goals...right?

The Tazmanian Princess gets some new furniture

I've been doing two things the last couple of weeks.

1. Watching the Casey Anthony Trial

and

2. Painting furniture.

I found this little prize on the curb.

It was about to rain and then this would have been ruined.

It's my second ever curb poach.

It was in perfect condition.

No dents or dings

The insides looked like it was maybe a year old

It did not smell like cat pee.

The only thing wrong was a really bad paint job.

They didn't even prime it.

I had some other things I was going to paint up so we could re-do The Tazmanian Princess' Room.

This is not a DIY blog about how to rehab furniture, but I will give you one tip on the subject.

1.  If you can, avoid painting anything in your garage in the summer in Florida.

Here's the finished dresser:

I like it because when she tells me in three weeks that purple isn't her most favorite color in the whole wide world, I don't have to feel bad because this sucker was f.r.e.e. that spells free!

Mmm...Tastes like Chicken

Last night's chicken tasted different.

In a good way.

It was familiar, but...

I just couldn't put my finger on the marinade.

Then I found these pictures on my camera:

Peanut butter and jelly marinated chickens.

You could try this at home.

Wild Life

Tuesday's List

(And it's actually TUESDAY!)

Reasons we don't play in our backyard

1. Ant hills the size of Bear Cub's fist

2.  Creeping Charlie is not all that soft to "frolic" in

3. The Pond

4. The Things that live in The Pond

5. Birds that are larger than our children:

Momma, let's make bird feeders for the little birdies.

Let's hang it here so we can watch them from the house.

Here Birdie Birdie Birdie

Aw Ma, Why aren't the birds coming?

(Three months later)

Momma, I think we're gonna need a bigger bird feeder.



Trial

I'm not entirely sure if the whole world is wrapped up in the Casey Anthony trial, or if it's just because I live so close to where the trial is happening. All I do know, is that you can't go anywhere without seeing it on a t.v. or hearing it on the radio, or overhearing people talking about it. 

While I was at The Club today, I spoke to three different ladies about it. The first one asked me how to turn on the subtitles on her treadmill's t.v.  The second lady went on and on about how she is hooked on the coverage. Like it's a novel and she can't put it down. I agreed with her. And we both agreed that there will be no nice neat ending with all of the answers to our questions revealed.

The third woman came up to me in the locker room. Our locker room has a nice quiet sitting area with a plush couch that a person could theoretically take 30 minutes to an hour to sit and eat an orange and watch Kathy Lee and Hoda or some other mindless morning show, so as to get the full two hours of free childcare that The Club offers.  So I was sitting in said area, watching a little bit of the news, which just happens to be nothing but the Anthony Trial on all stations.  Today's witness, an expert on decomposition of human remains, just happens to have a bit of a speech impediment.

This third lady asked me if I was watching this guy. I said yes, ready for a conversation about how interesting the science was that he was explaining. She said "They're using a guy that has a lisp?" I narrowed my eyes, looked her straight in the face and said "I gueth so. They pwobabwy fought he wath smarth enough for people to overwook it."  Then she ran off, extremely embarrassed.

Ok. So that last part isn't true, because some days I am not so quick on my feet. But that's exactly what I would have said had my jaw not been on the floor.

Jazz Hands

Tuesday's List

(which never seems to actually get posted on a Tuesday)

Little Things That Make My Day

1. A brand new pair of sneakers, that make me look fast...or at least make me feel fast.

2. Being able to spend 3-5 uninterrupted minutes in the laundry detergent isle of the grocery store.

Stop to smell to roses? I say stop to smell the detergent.

3. Calling Bingo.

4. Seeing the animal control unit parked across the street from "the pond" waiting for backup.

5. Being in the car by myself long enough to listen to Black Betty at a volume loud enough to blow the speakers.

and

6. Stuff like this:

and this

Bluuuur

Do ever wake up and think it's Saturday only to figure out that it's Tuesday, but then you get going in your day only to realize that it's REALLY Wednesday?  Yes. That's how it's been for me since August.

And I just looked at the calendar to count down the weeks until our Minnesota vacation and realized that not only is it really Wednesday, but also that it is JUNE!

How did that happen? Was I really in a chocolate cupcake daze most of May?  I saw a news article today that said increased sugar levels effect memory. I don't recall why, or the majority of the article because I was focused on the handful of cookies before me. But if the part I do remember is true.... then that may be why it is all of a sudden June, and I can't recall most of...the past 8 months.

This one had my name on it.

So did these three.

All the ones I frosted looked like, well...piles of poo.

Bet you can figure out which one was frosted by the "professional"

Anyway. Happy May Day.