Nothing Is Safe

We have a dog. His name is Rondo. Rondo is still technically a puppy and he has a chewing problem. He has a particular fondness for toys. And - apparently - no toy is tastier than a baby doll. Charlotte, being a somewhat typical three year old, loves baby dolls. She has quite a few of them. Their names are: Tiny Baby (because it's small), Naked Baby (self-explanatory), Glen Davis (she was formerly known as Big Baby, but Patrick renamed her and it stuck), and New Baby (a new baby - duh).

Recently, I posted a picture to Twitter of what happened after Rondo got to Naked Baby. This was all that remained:

Sophie, knowing my fear of dolls, thought it would be cute to leave the severed baby head at the end of my bed. Maybe she's been watching The Godfather, again?

Today, I stumbled upon a whole, new tragedy. Glen Davis (not the basketball player) is no longer with us. Now, Glen Davis used to creep me out all on her own. (Yes, Charlotte called the doll Glen Davis AND insisted it was a girl.)

Little creep giving me a thumbs-up

Now, we've reached horror movie level of scary:

Dear God, he pulled off the face!

GAH!

I see a resemblance...

My doll fears can all be traced back to Chucky, by the way. Thanks, dad, for never telling me "no" when I asked you to take me to a scary movie.

We're all a little traumatized by Rondo's latest doll massacre. Let's hope New Baby (a.k.a. Glen Davis, Jr.) can stay out of his jaws. I'll just be over here making sure all of the dolls are up high and singing Doll Parts by Hole. Wish me luck.

HEY! If you enjoy the blog, why not become a follower? I'm the one who's singing Doll Parts (much to my kids' chagrin). You can also stalk find me on Facebook and Twitter. Like the page and follow me!

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-->Do you think dolls are creepy, too? Or have an obnoxiously destructive pet? Feel free to share your story in the comments below...

Tuesday's Tip (#37)

Here's a tip for you:

Turn the music up. Loud.

Sometimes my job entails dealing with children who spend a good portion of their day with very little self-control. This makes coming home to a house full of children a little challenging. Oddly enough, my solution is to this problem is to cook dinner. When I cook, I kick everyone out of the kitchen and turn up the stereo. Loud. It drowns out whatever fun (or fights) my kids might be having. It also gives me a half hour without kids. Just long enough to decompress from work and be able to actually appreciate them, again. 

I've talked about our own little brand of music therapy before. It works. It's my little bit of "me" time. And, if the kids aren't getting along (or they're acting completely insane), it doesn't even matter. My stereo is great - I can't hear a thing they're doing.

Have a tip to share? Or great song I should listen to while I'm blasting my music? Feel free to leave a comment below...

...& be sure to check back every Tuesday for a new tip!

Snow Conflict

We've got a major conflict in our house when it comes to the snow. You see, I'm a teacher (& my kids are kids), so we always love an unexpected day off due to snow cancellations. What's better than a little vacation day midweek? The problem is PJ's job. As soon as it snows more than an inch, he gets called into work. 

Two weeks in a row, my school district has cancelled school for Wednesday before the snow had even begun. Both times, Tuesday afternoon or early evening, I already knew I had a midweek day off. For me, that felt celebration-worthy. Unfortunately, PJ already knew he'd be heading into work at 1 am to help manage the snow removal. On a normal day, he already has issues getting up to an alarm. Obviously, waking up at 1 am is going to be a real challenge for him. So, I set my alarm to help him out, and get stuck listening to the God-forsaken evil laugh that comes out of his Wake N Shake app. I've already talked about what that experience is like.  

After he leaves for work, I end up lying awake in the middle of the night (trying to shake off the scare that comes with his crazy alarm). Luckily, I have the luxury of sleeping in on a snow day, but it is a bummer that he can't enjoy the day off, too. We definitely spend the winter watching the weather for very different reasons. 

Don't tell PJ, but I hear there's another storm brewing for this Wednesday... {doing a snow dance}

That snow man was taller than I am!

HEY! If you enjoy the blog, why not become a follower? I'm the one who will be in school until the last day of June. You can also stalk find me on Facebook and Twitter. Like the page and follow me!

**And be sure to visit my Zazzle store. Don't you need a new coffee mug or apron?

-->Do you like snow days, too? Feel free to share your story in the comments below...

Tuesday's Tip (#36)

Here's a tip for you:

Change your name to Mary. Or Joe.

My name is Lissie. It's not hard to say. It rhymes with Missy. For some reason though, whenever I go to Starbucks, they really struggle with it. It's not like I'm asking for an Americano for Regina Phalange. I don't think my name is too unusual, but I can understand the confusion with "Lizzie."

(Not my name, but understandable and acceptable.)

I can also understand spelling it with a "y."

(Okay...not quite what I was thinking.)

Lately, though, they're not even close. I don't think I mumble. And I'm fairly certain that I e-nun-ci-ate.

Last week I had "Liney" and "Lieu." The same woman waits on me every day. She's very nice and wonderfully efficient. But, every day I say "Lissie." Then, repeats it back to me. I say the "S" and she repeats the "S." Does she just struggle with writing the "S"?

(Leei? How do I even pronounce that?)

(Lize rhymes with lies? I kind of like that. Say it slowly. It sounds fancy. "There goes Lize with her Venti Americano...")

So, I'm just going to change my name. Tomorrow, I'll have a Venti Americano for Bob. They can't possibly go wrong with that.

Have a tip to share? Or an unusual name? Feel free to leave a comment below...

...& be sure to check back every Tuesday for a new tip!

Crazy Town

I grew up as the youngest of two children. My sister is 6 1/2 years older than I am (don't listen to her when she tries to pretend she's the younger sister). My house was pretty quiet as a kid. We were just far enough apart that we entertained ourselves. This is why my mom's most frequent statement in my house is: "This house is crazy."

To some degree, I understand. The day-to-day routine with 5 kids and an obnoxious (& ginormous) puppy is much more hectic than a house with a 6 and 12 year old could ever be. 

What my mom doesn't realize is that, sometimes, it is legitimately crazy around here. My children are insane. They're great at entertaining themselves, but that just means that they've invented some bizarre new game. 

Here are a few recent highlights of these whack jobs in action:

Charlotte told me she's "pretending to be Baba." Baba is PJ's 90 year old nana who likes to wear leopard print clothes. A lot. Apparently, Baba's fashions haven't escaped Charlotte's attention.

Thanks to Rondo, the dog. I can only assume this is the aftermath of a puppy keg party. He really needs to learn to hide the evidence.

I'm assuming this look stems from a night of drinking, too. Or, Charlotte is trying that new topless ninja look that is all the rage. (Side note: why do my children have such an aversion to clothes?)

And then there are the photo edits they do to themselves (or each other):

Nice look, Lulu!

Lucy's interpretation of Sophie.

We've discussed my issue with dolls. They scare the crap out of me. 

This is one of Charlotte's favorite toys. It's also the creepiest. (Sorry, Grammy!) But there she sits - with her crazy crossed eyes - just mocking me with a big, old thumbs up.

At least Creepy Baby and I share taste in beer. (Is she making funny eyebrows at me?? {waggle, waggle})

If they're not acting crazy, they're sleeping crazy. Sean's either a yoga master or suffering from narcolepsy. Here he is sleeping face down on the carpet while 20 people yell and scream at the Patriots on TV. Impressive.

Charlotte invites herself, creepy baby, and the (not tiny) dog to join me in bed. She didn't want me to be lonely. How thoughtful!

Group coma, everyone!

One thing is for sure: being crazy certainly wears them out. So... at least I have that going for me in this insane asylum that I call home.

In case you're wondering what antics they get up to when left to they're own devices, here is a clip of what happens when Patrick & Sophie "entertain" themselves:

Big Box O' Crazy

HEY! If you enjoy the blog, why not become a follower? I'm the one who thinks crazy is the new normal. You can also stalk find me on Facebook and Twitter. Like the page and follow me!

**And be sure to visit my Zazzle store. Don't you need a new coffee mug or apron?

-->Is your house crazy, too? Feel free to share your story in the comments below...

Cookie Challenge

Alternate title: The Time I Had A Nervous Breakdown About Cookies

Alternate alternate title: I Have Too Many Kids

Last weekend was the annual holiday bazaar at my kids' school. It's a great fundraiser for the school. One of the more popular bazaar events is the cookie room. One can go into a classroom FULL of cookies, purchase a bag, and fill it up to the top with whatever tasty wares were donated by the parents at the school. In order to encourage participation in the baking of these cookies, each class enters the Cookie Challenge. The class with the most cookies baked wins a prize.

I have participated in the Cookie Challenge every year since my oldest was in Pre-Kindergarten. Unfortunately, (& I'm blaming this full-time job at a turn-around school, here) I forgot all about the damn cookies this year. Thursday morning, I received a reminder email from one of the kids' teachers about the cookies. It reminded us of the rules for the Cookie Challenge which are as follows:

• In order for a class to try to win, there must be 100% participation.
• Each family must bake 3 dozen sellable cookies, brownies, cupcakes, etc. *Store bought products are STRONGLY discouraged.
• Desserts must be brought in by Friday morning.

Oh, sweet mother of pearl. I forgot all about the damn cookies. I had been in work until 7:20 the night before, so I wouldn't have been able to make them on Wednesday even if I'd remembered. And I don't get home until after 5 as it is. Not only that, but I had already volunteered to make a cake for my son's teacher for her cake-stand raffle. On top of all of that, PJ and I had plans to go out on a date at the movies for the first time in months.

Have you done the math, yet? I was freaking out because I barely had time to make 3 dozen cookies. That's not the real problem, though, is it? Because EACH child is responsible for bringing in 3 dozen. I have 5 children in the school.

3 dozen x 5 children = dear God in Heaven, there's no way I can make 180 cookies (and a cake) in one night!

I wrestled with it all day until I finally decided that there was no way possible that I could make all of those cookies, so I was just going to let it go. I got home from work around 5 and baked the cake. PJ & I then went out for our date. While we were at the theater, I posted a picture to Facebook because the theater was TOTALLY empty and I was so surprised. Later, at dinner, I noticed that the picture had a bunch of comments. Two of them were from fellow moms at the school who were joking about why I was at the movies when I should be baking. These moms happen to be friends of mine. And every rational part of me knows they were only joking. But, they got me right in my Mommy Guilt bone. (It's located next to your funny bone - it grows in right around the time of the arrival of your first child.) I started freaking out about how my five kids would be solely responsible for all of their classes not winning the Cookie Challenge. I felt terrible. PJ was pretty well convinced that I was insane. He kept insisting that I either buy cookies at the store or forget about them altogether.

Instead, I set my alarm for 3:48 in the morning (I have OCD and my alarm times always have to be a multiple of 4.) I made my chocolate cookie dough and put a batch in the oven to bake while I was decorating the cake. All the while cursing the fact that I have so many kids. When I was done, I had made 60 cookies. 5 dozen. Not even close to the 15 dozen that was expected of me, but it was all I could muster before getting ready for work. 

I went to the cookie room on Saturday to buy a bag and fill with cookies. We went later in the day and the room still had tons of cookies. I think if I had made another 10 dozen, it would've been obscene. Next year, I'll remember to start on the cookies earlier in the week. (No, I won't. I don't remember anything, anymore.) At the very least, I'd like to propose a family cap on the cookies required. Can we say no more than 5 dozen per family? Either that, or PJ is going to have to learn to bake!

I was trying to find an image of "hundreds of cookies" and came across this blog post about a family who made 300 homemade cookies as a fun activity. These look amazing. And tasty. I'm going to have to hire this family to make our cookies next year.

UPDATE:

1.) Apparently, my sad attempt at reaching the cookie participation amount still worked because the 4th grade (my oldest son's grade) won the pizza party for the cookie challenge. Go figure.

2.) I should reiterate that the moms I referred to were NOT at all trying to guilt me into baking. They were being funny. I was being psychotic.

3.) Now I can let you in on the fact that I lied a little. My batch of chocolate cookies only turned out 44 cookies. I broke a few and the batch usually makes four dozen. I order to get it up to an even 60 (1 dozen per kid), I rifled around in my pantry and chose the Market Basket sugar cookies. So, there that is. I made 44 cookies and stuck 16 random store-bought sugar cookies in with them. Wtf. 

HEY! If you enjoy the blog, why not become a follower? I'm the one who's trying to bake through the guilt. You can also stalk find me on Facebook and Twitter. Like the page and follow me!

**And be sure to visit my Zazzle store. Don't you need a new coffee mug or apron?

-->Do you run out of time, too? Feel free to share your story in the comments below...

Why Do I Even Bother?

Here is a page from the chapter of my life known as "Why Do I Even Bother?"

On Monday morning, I decided it was time to get this ass out running (again). Because, really, it was about time this ass wasn't taking up so much space.

So, there I was, out running with the dog. It was pitch black at 5 am, freezing cold, and I was almost done with a really good run (and feeling pretty damn proud of myself). As I turned the corner at the end of my street, I was thinking how good I felt and how this was going to be the start of a whole, new me. That's when I my foot went down into a dip in the sidewalk. My ankle rolled under me and I had a full on party with the pavement. I ripped my favorite yoga pants sliding up the sidewalk. When the 1.5 seconds (that felt like 20 minutes) passed, I stayed face down in a pile of leaves. I was afraid to even turn over because of the amount of pain in my ankle. I was sure when I rolled over that my leg would be going one way and my foot would go the other.

Luckily, I decided to take this lovely little spill next to a chain-link fence. I crawled over and pulled myself up. This was the real test. I had to see if my ankle was going to hold my weight. This would determine if I could hobble up the street to my house, or if I was going to have to call PJ to drive down to get me. Thank the lord, Jesus, I was able to stand on my foot. I made my way, ever so slowly, up the street to my house. The dog trotted faithfully beside me while I limped home.

Apparently, the universe likes me a little chunky. I tried to go out running. Instead, I'm under doctor's orders to rest my ankle and eat Halloween candy. (She didn't actually specify the candy part, but I'm just assuming that's what she meant when she said to take something for the pain.) Unfortunately, this little injury coincided with me having not one, but two 10 hour days at work. And I'll tell you, it's not so easy to rest, ice, and elevate while you're teaching. It's generally frowned upon to lay back with your foot up while you're teaching the children. So, I'm working my gangsta limp for the week. I'm really getting good at it. I'm almost ready to be cast in 50 Cent's next video.

I had a lovely picture of my fat cankle and my bloody knee to put here, but then you would see my non-manicured toes. Trust me, I'm doing you a favor by omitting it. Instead, please enjoy this photo of my boy, 50.

HEY! If you enjoy the blog, why not become a follower? I'm the one who's trying to remain upright. You can also stalk find me on Facebook and Twitter. Like the page and follow me!

**And be sure to visit my Zazzle store. Don't you need a new coffee mug or apron?

-->Are you clumsy, too? Feel free to share your story in the comments below...