Shootouts and resolutions.

I awoke this lovely New Year's Eve morning to the sound of guns blasting and people screaming.  I could soon hear the police reading somebody their Miranda rights. 

So, maybe I failed to mention that the blasts were mostly mouthed sounds and the guns were Nerf guns, but either way, I decided to roll out of bed.  With shootings going on the house, I thought it would be best if I was sneaky, so I slid against the dark walls of the bathroom, through the laundry room and then peaked into the living room.  Officer Kyler was putting criminal-Mae into couch-jail as Officer Kenny stood nearby with a gun pointed at her, just in case.  Once she was securely...well, secured, they decided to go look for other criminals.  Kenny said he thought he'd heard one coming from "that direction" (points toward our bedroom) and they took off, Kenny limping from a leg wound he endured when Mae shot him while she resisted arrest. 

As the brave and noble policemen exited the room from the north, I slinked in from the south and committed my very first ever jail break.  Except things didn't go as I planned and I made too much noise as I laughed insanely while abetting my partner in crime.  The two officers were able to shoot me straight in the heart at least three times and I fell to my shocked death (of course, only after seeing Mae make her great escape).  And this is pretty much how every day has gone since I started my 'Staycation' and the kids began their Christmas breaks from school.  Kenny has received many 'surprise' days off of work and we have been having the time of our lives with all of our the kids' new Christmas gifts. 

Being the last day of the year and all, this is typically where I would type out my resolutions for the upcoming year.  I've been thinking and thinking and I just don't have anything major to resolve.  I suppose I resolve to be happy?  And be fair?  And live?  And laugh?  And love?  Just like every day?  Last night, Kenny got on the subject of resolutions and said that maybe this is the year that he will quit smoking (we call this a reoccurring resolution).  So he will "quit" smoking and I will just love him no matter how many times he sneaks out the back door and leaves it hanging wide open for the cold air to filter in.  As the smell of smoke wafts throughout the entire house and fills my lungs (gag), I will remember to be fair.  I used to be a smoker.  I did the same thing.  So there it is.  My resolution is to endure Kenny's soon-to-be failed resolution with kindness and endearment.  (Not that I don't think he can't quit smoking, but he's already started in on the "after this pack" and then "no, after the next pack"...and we have maybe been through this thirteen-thousand times already. 

Life is good and swell.

It's a great day to be me.  Heck, it's a great month...no, YEAR to be me.  My most recent biggest problems consist of: I can't find the nail clippers.  Seriously, life is just so very good.  I either endured some horrid multi-tragedies in my last life, or I'm in for it in my next life.  Either way, all I can do in this life is smile and try not to wonder too much why that saying 'Life is Good' pertains so much to me. 

So, what have the Bigley's been up to?  Well, I'll tell you.

Kenny enjoys entertaining me in the mornings and early afternoons with a series of song and dance, including but not limited to:  his best high-pitched woman-voice, enthusiastic clapping and foot-stomping, exaggerated facial expressions and on special occasions, he parodies songs to fit the moment.  And sometimes he even has a dance partner (poor kitty).  I'm not sure what he's so darn excited about lately, but I'm happy that he's happy.

Kyler continues to do thorough research on every rock, animal and plant that he crosses paths with.  For the longest time (I'm talking years), I really just assumed that when he called animals by their actual names, he was simply making these names up as I had mostly never heard of them.  But now he checks out books at the library just to prove to me that these names are not just in his head.  Huh.  Who knew?

Mae, like Kenny, has been very sing-songy and dancy lately.  You should hear how her voice roars throughout the house during bath time!  Somehow, she thinks that nobody can hear her.  When she walks out of the bathroom and we all start singing the song that she'd been singing in the shower, she looks shocked and says something like, "That is SO weird because I was just singing that song in the bathroom!"   She has also been very busy creating and wrapping Christmas presents for Kenny and me.  Her room has been strictly off-limits for nearly two weeks now.  She has smuggled a roll of last year's wrapping paper and the underneath of our Christmas tree is quickly filling up with gifts that are the size of an 8x10 sheet of printer paper.  I get the feeling that my entire Christmas morning will be filled with me opening up gift after gift of sheets of paper that say, "I love you!"...but I'm quite okay with that.

The Dogs Bigley have a new home...the OUTDOORS!!  On Thanksgiving, they thought it wise to eat nearly one-hundred cookies that Mae and I lovingly made and had sitting across the counter tops.  This is not the first time this has happened.  Nor the second.  Nor third.  I was so angry when I woke up in the morning that I immediately drove to Tractor Supply Co., purchased fence, wire cutters, wire, cement mix, fence posts and a post driver and worked my butt off all the long weekend.  Oddly enough, they seem quite happy out there...except when a bunny hops by just out of their reach.

And me, well, I already told you that I'm doing just swell.  I have some pretty big surprises in store for Christmas this year.  As for Kenny's big super-secret surprise that I posted about a while back...well, the kids told him what it was.  I was a little bummed when Kenny told me that they'd spilled the secret until he said, "It'll be nice to have a push mower to get to the places the rider can't reach."  One:  that's a total lie. There's no place in our yard where the rider doesn't reach that a push mower could get to.  And two:  I didn't get him a mower.  What brilliant children I have!!  Kenny wouldn't quit hounding them about what I got him, so they totally lied and it completely threw him off. 

That's it for now.  Twenty short days until Christmas and I will be ba-humbuggin' if we don't get some snow soon!

Mae's theory on God.

We were driving home from Christmas shopping, just me and Mae.  We were excited and exhausted.  I looked in the rear view mirror to see Mae staring thoughtfully out her window, pondering away as she is so accustomed to doing.  I saw an idea spark in her eyes and she suddenly sat straight up (as opposed to her previous slunched-over postural position) and asked, "Mom?  Who decided that God gets to be God?"  I told her that I'd had that exact same thought many times.  She then asked, "And HOW did he get way up in the clouds before there were planes?"  I laughed but didn't respond.  She sat back and looked out her window again.  I figured she had already moved on to new and different thoughts and wonderments.

After a few minutes, she again shot upright, this time with a touch of wild in her eyes.  She exclaimed, "I KNOW!!!"  I asked, "Know what?"  And she said, "I know how he got up there.  God.  In the clouds."  I asked, "Oh...how?"  She explained, "Well, he's SO old, right?  So he must be SO old that he was here before gravity, just floating around and going wherever he wanted.  And one day he must have been in the clouds and that's when gravity showed up.  So he fell onto a cloud and he's been stuck up there ever since."

Mae crossed her arms, nodded her head and sat back looking quite pleased with herself.  She then moved on to new and different thoughts, having conquered her own confusion.

I really like her way of thinking.   

The fat Alpha Dog

It seems that I have taken a long and unexpected break from my blog.  Vegas will do that to you.  Somehow, I was the sole person in all of Nevada with no internet access.  I'm still not sure why that happened.  And as much as I'd love to blog about the time I spent there, I can't.  The slogan says so.

It's good to be home.  I missed my kids, my house, my dogs, my cats...and my PILLOW.  I've never been a fan of the smothering pillows piled across the beds at hotels.  No matter which way I lay, I can't seem to breathe and that just so happens to be very necessary.  And to let my pillow know just how happy I was to be home, I gave it a good hug and then slept like the dead for twelve hours straight.  Vegas will do that to you, too. 

Kenny is pretty darn proud of the ten pounds he gained while away.  It is the most weight he has gained in all the years I've known him, including the six months he added weight-gainer milkshakes to two meals per day.  Yeah, I know...poor guy.  He is putting in great effort to ensure the weight stays with him by spending much idle time on the couch with a collage of potato chips, lil' smokies and Nutrageous bars on his lap.  I, on the other hand, gained an equal amount of weight so while he is sitting on the couch coveting his new found fat (which is really just a slightly swelled six-pack), I am running and sweating and crying and dying on the treadmill, regretting every last calorie of last week's margaritas and endless buffets.

Settling back into normal life, Mae asked me sweetly if I would paint her left-handed fingernails today.  I agreed.  As I touched the polish brush to the first nail, she jumped back and screamed, "OOOUuuuuCHHH!!!  She gave me a very stern look and told me to be more careful.  While stunned, I agreed, though I had no idea what I'd done to hurt her.  So I slowly and gently pressed the brush to her nail again...and AGAIN she jumped back and yelled, "OW!!  MOM!!!  WHY DO YOU KEEP HURTING ME?!!"  I was completely baffled.  I apologized profusely and told her that I didn't mean to hurt her and if she'd just tell me how I was hurting her, I'd make sure it didn't happen again.  She said, "Well, it BETTER not."  And then, she smiled just a little and said very quietly, "Man, you can never tell when I'm joking."  She was SO pleased with herself.

The neighbors' dogs have been spending a great deal of time in our yard this week.  Since I am not a fan of german shepards, I have basically not left the house.  Common sense would tell me to just release our dogs outdoors to 'take care of the situation', but not me.  No.  Instead, I release the Kenny.  It is much more entertaining.  He runs after them, barking and growling.  He even chased one around the entire pond a couple days ago.  I sat in the window with a bag of popcorn and enjoyed every second of it.  And he gets the job done.  Those dogs go right home...except the one that was so terrified of him that she couldn't find her way home, so she went and sat outside of the gate for the duration of the day.  Kenny has officially claimed his spot as 'Alpha Dog' in our strange little country neighborhood.  Add that to his new fat and he's a pretty happy camper these days. 

And that's about it.  I have too many thoughts in my head that have yet to be un-jumbled so until that happens, I'll just call it good.

My children: polar opposites

Kyler and Mae wake up at the exact same time. 

Kyler feeds his cats and gets dressed before he even leaves his bedroom.  Mae mosies out of her room, wiping her eyes and yawning.  She fills the dog's water dish and spills at least half of it across the kitchen floor.  She feeds the dogs, also spilling at least half of their food across the kitchen floor. 

Kyler and Mae get ready for breakfast.  Kyler pours a bowl of cereal, adds milk, grabs a spoon and starts eating.  Mae sits down and in a whiny voice inquires, "Mom, what can I eat?"  I'm prepared for this and I answer, "We have three different kinds of cereal and two kinds of oatmeal.  You can make eggs.  You can make toast.  You can make eggs and toast together.  You can have a bagel or you can even make a sandwich."  She yawns again and says, "That's ALL?"  As Kyler's rinsing his bowl, she finally decides on cereal. 

Kyler brushes his teeth, puts on his glasses and checks his backpack to ensure he has everything he needs while Mae is eating breakfast.  She finishes and exits the kitchen, leaving her milk-filled bowl sitting at the table.

Kyler pulls on his socks and his shoes, then tells me he's going to read a book for thirty minutes.  Noticing the unusual silence, I walk into Mae's room to find her changing her doll's diaper.  She's still in her jammies.  I tell her she has thirty minutes until we leave and she should probably think about getting dressed.  She fires back with, "I don't have ANYTHING to wear."  I look toward her dresser filled with drawers of stretchy pants, jeans, skirts and skorts.  I then look toward her closet where multiple dresses and at least twenty shirts hang.  She notices this and says, "Well, I don't have anything I WANT to wear."

I go back to my desk to work and about five minutes pass before Mae yells from her room, "Mom, I need you to get something off of the top of my wardrobe that I can't reach."  I ask her if it's something she plans on wearing because all she needs to focus on at this time is getting dressed.  She replies with a simple, "Yes."  So, I go into her bedroom once again.  I see no clothing on her wardrobe so I ask what I'm supposed to retrieve for her and she says, "My Magic 8 Ball."  I say, "You told me it was something you were wearing," and she says, "Well, it's going to tell me what to wear."  I roll my eyes and hand her the Magic 8 Ball.  She says, "Is my mom a big, giant turd?", then she shakes the ball and says, "Yes, it is certain!!  Mom, you are!  I KNEW it!!"

I go back to my desk.  About ten minutes later, Mae comes out of her bedroom and by some sort of Thursday miracle, she is dressed.  I tell her, "Now brush your hair and brush your teeth," and she puts her elbows on my desk and her hands under her chin and says, "Tell me about the day I was born."  I give her a look and she decides she better just listen this time, so she heads for the bathroom, though all hunched over and dragging her feet.

It is almost time to go now so I tell Mae that she needs to check her backpack and put on her shoes, socks and jacket.  She completely ignores me, looks at Kyler and says, "Kyler, you NERD, are you actually reading in the MORNING?!"  Kyler's maturity level exceeds even my own, so he just ignores her and continues his reading.  Seeing that she cannot get a fight out of him, she decides that now is a good time to stare in awe at her new ant farm.  After a very long moment, I tell her, "Backpack, shoes, socks, jacket.  Now."  She says, "I tried to eat an ant once when I was little.  It was a black one.  I never told you about it."  I set her backpack, shoes, socks and jacket right next to her and give her a one-minute warning. 

Kyler now has bookmarked his spot in his book and is fully ready and waiting to walk out the door.  Mae slowly pulls her socks on, complaining that they are not the ones she planned to wear today (yeah, like I'd ever believe that she PLANNED something) and as Kyler and I stand there watching her, she says, "What're you guys staring at?!" 

We finally make it out to the Jeep, get inside, start driving and Mae says, "Mom, I forgot my assignment book!"  I slam on the brakes and she runs inside to get it.  We start the leaving process over.  Halfway down the driveway, Mae says, "Mom, I forgot my homework!"  I slam on the brakes again and let out a long sigh and say, "You've GOT to be kidding me!"  I put the Jeep in reverse and start backing up when Mae says, "Yeah, I am.  I didn't even have homework.  You should know that."

Every morning that we make it to the bus stop before (or at the same time as) the bus, I am amazed.  I wonder if the bus driver knows just exactly what it takes to make this happen.  We're almost always somehow on time, so he probably has no idea that each and every school morning is a roller coaster for us.  Are there other 'Mae's' out there?  Do other parents deal with this constant morning drama every single day?  I'd like to know.  Maybe we could start a support group.  PORFF:  Parents Of Refusing and Resistant Children.  We'll meet in secret and  work on our coping techniques together.

Super-secret mission is cause for super-human strength.

I have a super-secret mission to accomplish today.  I can't fully tell you what it is, but it requires sole use of the Jeep.  Nope, not taking the kids mudding...we did that two weeks ago (on accident).  I just need to pick up a very large Christmas gift for Kenny and it won't fit in the trunk of the car.

Kenny woke up less than one hour before he had to leave for work today.  He paced around the house, drinking his coffee and talking about the day ahead of him.  When there was less than thirty minutes to go, he caught a glimpse of the headlight bulbs sitting on the counter that he had purchased last night.  This caused him to remember that the driver's side headlight in the car is out.  He grabbed the new bulbs and decided that now was the perfect time to take on this project.  He walked out the front door and I could already see that I was going to have to fight for the Jeep, and without giving off any notion that I need it (remember: TOP secret.) 

Five minutes later, Kenny stormed inside, slammed the door and proclaimed, "I'm taking the Jeep today.  The stupid headlight won't come out and there's not room to fix it unless I take the whole battery out and I don't have time for that right now!"  That's actually only part of what he said, but I had to edit out all of the swear words.  This is a family blog.  (Also, he whines just like Mae).  His plan was to just leave the tools outside and the hood propped open until tomorrow, when he has more time. 

Alarmed at the thought of him taking the much-needed Jeep, I clocked out for an early lunch.  Not wanting to look suspicious, I told Kenny, "Well, it has to be fixed before you leave because I have to take the kids trick-or-treating."  I pulled on my rain boots (to avoid the hassle of tying laces)  and raced outside.  Since this was basically a pressing emergency, I took full advantage of the extra adrenaline that flowed within me and quickly shimmied the headlight out.  It took approximately two seconds before I was popping the cap off to get to the bulb and unscrewing the screws.  Kenny, who had been watching from indoors, then came outside and announced that, "I can take over from here"  and, "When did you get so strong?"  He looked afraid, and rightly.  If I had felt the dire need to jump directly through a brick wall at the moment, I bet I could have.  That's just what happens when a woman needs to get something done.  I shuddered a little when he said, "Wow, you really want to take the kids trick-or-treating, don't you?" 

So, tragedy averted.  The Jeep is mine and my secret is still secret, except the kids will have to be a part of this mission so they, too, will know.  And most likely blow the surprise before Christmas.  But at least it will still be a surprise at some point.

Llamas always lick if your name is Mae.

From where I sat, my favorite Saturday night brain-snapshot looked like this:  Kenny was sock-sliding into the kitchen with a plate filled with freshly grilled burgers and hot dogs.  My brother was spinning the swivel chair as fast as he could while the cat hung on with all her might (and all her claws).  My niece was laughing hysterically at herself because her motto is: It doesn't really matter if anybody else thinks I'm funny; I KNOW I'm hilarious.  The kids are all gathered around the food because they know that in order to earn smores, they must first endure real food.  And the dogs are both tangled amongst the kids' legs, waiting eagerly for food to drop to the floor (which, of course, it did).  And I like to just sit and watch sometimes because these people and this house and these days just make me so happy.

Then it was Sunday.  It was more than apparent that the weekend was coming to an end and the dog was NOT happy about it.  On Saturday, Mae and her friend, Grace, had dragged Mae's mattress off of her bed and into the living room.  They then set up a tent around it, filled it with comfy pillows and blankets, found a flashlight and had a 'secret sleepover'.  We won't tell them that every word they whispered echoed throughout the house. 

On Sunday morning, when the tent was taken down and the mattress was stripped, Teeyl-doggy let it be known that she was not having any of this.  It is still Saturday and it will always be Saturday and the smell of grilled food and laughter donning the entire house is vital to her very existence.  She placed herself onto the mattress in such a manner that she thought we could not move her.  And it turns out that we couldn't, but mostly just because we were doubled over with laughter:

She stayed like this for a very long time, all limbs sticking straight out and making her body as heavy as possible.  (We didn't have the heart to move the mattress until it was getting dark outside.)

Unsure what to do with our Sunday, we headed to Lincoln to drop Grace off and purchase food that required us to do nothing more than eat it (pizza).  We then decided that even though we're not your typical pumpkin patch kind of family, we'd give it a go this year.  It wasn't until we'd already arrived at the pumpkin patch and paid that I realized I was not wearing proper pumpkin patch footwear.  Walking through the corn maze in high heeled boots was less than pleasing, and Kenny called me a 'bad example' when he caught me cutting through the corn toward the exit. 

Speaking of bad examples, please enjoy the following photos of Mae and Kenny showing us how children do as we do, not as we say.  I would like to add that before Kenny came climbing up the haystack (rather than using the wooden steps provided), Mae was sliding down the slides happily and properly.

See how Mae was all ready to go down the correct way, until she spotted her dad swooping down the INCORRECT way?

You can't hear him, but when this was taken he was saying, "No, Mae, you shouldn't go down like that..." as he was fully ready to catch her.

And one last picture, just because it makes me laugh.  Mae has a way with llamas.  At the fair last year, she was licked from chin to forehead by a llama.  This photo was taken right after she was licked in the back of the head as she turned to say, "Mom, look, this one didn't lick me!"

We picked our pumpkins and purchased snacks.  I ate my very first caramel apple and I shouldn't have.  It was delicious but really, my bad habit limit is pretty much full and I shouldn't be trying to add more.  I suppose it can be a once-a-year deal.

When we got home, we ate makeshift leftover supper.  The kids took showers and got their backpacks ready for school.  They were both fully asleep by six o'clock.  I guess they can only handle so much weekend.  Fun is exhausting!

After you finish that nap, DON'T take out the trash.

Sometimes, I sit here without a thought in my mind that I want to share.  I go to my blog, click 'New Post' and just let the blank page sit there and stare at me.  My brain finds this unacceptable and quickly comes up words to fill this space.  Something is triggered, we'll call it the need-to-write-stuff-in-case-I-die-too-young part of my brain, and funny/happy thoughts fill my head.  Like a lightning bolt, these thoughts whisk right through my arms and into my fingertips, released only by keystrokes on my computer.  Now, if I could only figure out how to also trigger the need-to-clean and need-to-save-money parts of my brain, I'd be set.

Halloween is fast approaching.  Mae announced that she wants to be a cat this year.  Before she could change her mind to something that would cost me more money, I raced to the store and purchased a pair of cat ears and a tail. 

Over the weekend, I needed to do some grocery shopping and Mae wanted to tag along.  We made it through almost the entire store before she walked in front of me and I noticed that she was wearing her tail.  No ears, no whiskers painted on...just a tail with her regular clothes.  I suppose it could be worse, like the day she wore roller skates to Wal Mart and I didn't notice until we got there.  Or the day she learned the f-word and spouted it proudly to every person that passed her in the store no matter how many times I scolded her (she was two years old; this wasn't recent).  As I was born without the neeed-to-save-money part of my brain, I am quite sure that Mae was born without the I-get-embarrassed part of her brain.  It just doesn't happen.  Ever.

I feel like I don't report Kyler stories nearly as often as I write about Mae, but he is our sweet boy who always does (almost) everything that he's supposed to do, when he's supposed to do it, how it's supposed to be done and without complaint or worry.  He's so honest that I trust his words more than my own thoughts.  Just yesterday, he told me that he's worried that he has lost muscle mass since he didn't participate in football this year.  With the wrestling season just around the corner, he decided he needs to do something to make up for it.  I suggested that he could run a mile on the treadmill each night and do some push-ups and sit-ups.  He took that in, thought about it for about three seconds, then hopped onto the treadmill for exactly one mile, followed by push-ups and sit-ups.  See what I mean?  He just does what's right all the time in a way that I am very unaccustomed to.  You want me to run?  Then I'll sit.  You want me to work?  I'll roll down a hill.  Clean?  Take a nap.  I believe that everything that is requested of me is a form of reverse psychology, like people are trying to trick me into doing good and I won't stand for it unless it's on my own terms.  And then I wonder why nothing ever seems to get done.  Maybe if I was constantly ordered to take long naps, make large messes and embark on multiple vacations every year, I would counter those orders and be productive.  Yeah, I'm sure that's what would happen.

I reNember the day you stepped on your own hand.

It has recently occurred to me that my kids no longer use kid-talk.  Mae doesn't 'reNember' things anymore.  Kyler doesn't ask me to 'back-forward' (rewind) the movie.  And neither of them ever use curse words  because they are fully aware of which words will get them into trouble.  I can't pinpoint exactly what day this happened, but it seems to all have happened at once.  They are suddenly big kids and it makes me sad.  I wish time didn't have to be so straightforward.  I mostly like living in the here and now, but it would sure be nice to hold my babies again. 

Okay, enough of the emotional baby stuff.  Here's a good reason that I LOVE the age that my kids are:

Last night, we were enthralled in the longest game EVER of Uno.  I told Mae that she should go pop us some popcorn and she got really excited because she loves popcorn.  As she eagerly tried to stand up from the floor while at the same time sprinting to the kitchen, she somehow stepped on her own hand and went somersaulting into the kitchen.  She was laughing, but didn't want to lose any time so she gracefully rolled out of the somersault and jogged to the microwave, leaving Kyler and me to wonder what had just happened.

A few minutes later, as Mae walked back into the living room with a large bowl of popcorn, Kyler and I were still trying to reenact her folly.  She said, "No, you're doing it wrong.  It's like this."  She then was able to show us exactly how she had stepped on her own hand while twisting into a jumping run.  She asked me quite seriously, "What, have you never stepped on your own hand and fallen down?"

I can honestly say that in all of my thirty years, no, I have never accidentally (nor purposely) stepped on my own hand and fallen down.  That takes true talent.  Mae revealed to me that this was not the first time it happened.  Apparently, it also happened at school last year.  I'm not sure whether to laugh or feel sorry, but I do take pride in the fact that she can laugh at herself because that's really a great characteristic to have.

Stop laughing and start sleeping. (Impossible!)

Sleeping.  We've been doing a lot of that lately.  Not sick-sleeping.  Not I-worked-too-hard-sleeping.  Just simply I-feel-like-sleeping-sleeping.  I'm sure it's the weather.  When the temperature drops, hibernation mode sets in.  And it seems to have struck every member of this household, all at the same time.  One minute, we were running through the yard, catching frogs and flying kites.  The next minute, a waft of cold air went through us and we were all laying across the couches, snoring and dreaming of running through the yard, catching frogs and flying kites.

And when I say every member of our household, I mean EVERY member:

Two nights ago, Mae, Kyler and I were all strewn across my bed top, happily reading our books.  It's a great way to wind down.  Kyler announced that he had read for enough minutes to earn a 'hunk of pizza' from the grocery store, so he would be retiring to the television to watch wrestling.  It must have taken Mae and I about five minutes to pass out, books still atop us.  When Kenny got home, he turned on the light, saw Mae laying there, pushed her into the middle of the bed and then flipped the light switch back off to dive into his pre-warmed spot in bed.  He whispered to me about his day at work, so as not to wake our slumbering little princess.  I whispered back to him about our day at home.  After a few minutes of this, Kenny whispered, "Okay, I'm going to sleep now.  I love you."  I whispered back, "Good night; love you."  Then, loudly, Mae said, "I LOVE YOU GUYS, TOO.  BUT WHY ARE YOU TALKING SO QUIET?"  Oh, that little girl.  It then became one of those I-can't-quit-laughing moments that went on forever.  Once I'd finally quit chuckling, Kenny would start and that would set me off again.

I love my funny, sleepy family. 

Parks are for playing, not sitting.

Yesterday, it was so nice outside that after swim lessons while the kids were still dripping wet, we were able to go to the park and play. 

Both kids immediately climbed the human-sized spider web all the way to the top and I began wondering just exactly how hurt they could get from falling off.  I decided it would depend on how many times they got tangled up on their way down, but the possibility of severe injury was very great.  And since this thought was in my head, Mae decided to go ahead and test it.  Except she fell more from the bottom than the top, as she was getting down, but she still caught her arm on one of the ropes on the way down.  She laid on the ground, scream-bawling and holding her arm.  I ran over to her and inspected it: scraped but not severed.  I decided she would survive.  Her screaming was very persistent so I told her that maybe we should go home and get a band-aid.  She abruptly stopped crying, said, "No, I'm not done playing," then jumped up to begin the uphill spider web trek once again.

After the web fun dulled, the kids decided to have monkey bar races.  They made me race, too.  I let them win, but they didn't believe me.  (Neither do I.)

Next, Kyler and Mae crammed themselves into the tire swing.  They're almost too big to fit at the same time.  I began spinning them around and didn't stop until they were both screaming like little girls.  When they finally did come to a stop, they both tried to exit the tire swing through the tire hole and got stuck: chest to chest and face to face.  They stood there like that for quite a while, arguing over whose fault this predicament was.  Every time one of them tried to move, they would end up bumping the other in a painful way.  They finally looked at me, told me to quit laughing and then left it up to me to fix the situation.  After carefully lifting Kyler out, Mae was free, too.

As the sun was setting and I was thinking we should be on our merry way, Mae told me that I had to try out her obstacle course.  I'm pretty sure she was making it up as she went along, but she sure was having fun so I just tried not to let her see me laugh ("Go down the slide backwards, then jump in the air and fart if you can.")  In the meantime, Kyler somehow got himself stuck on top of the rocking crocodile.  He was nicely asking if somebody would please help him and Mae said, "I will."  I just love it when they get along so well.  She walked right over to him, gave him a nice, big shove and watched him fall to the ground.  She said, "There, you're not stuck anymore," and walked away.  From where I sat, atop the monkey bars, I could see Kyler give Mae his oh-no-you-didn't face.  As he heisted himself up off of the ground and ran full-speed toward her from behind, I made the decision that it was time to go home.  Announcing this aloud saved Mae by mere seconds as Kyler yelled, "Last one to the Jeep is a rotten egg!"  He changed his goal from sister-tackle to first-kid-buckled and the rest is just a memory. 

To be honest, I didn't even want to go to the park.  But I know that the day you let it be known that you don't want to go to the park is the day you become labeled 'old and dull'.  From a kid's standpoint, if you don't want to run and jump and swing and play, you may as well shrivel up and die.  What is life without a playground?  And I did have so much fun yesterday that my heart beat faster and we laughed until we felt tears stinging our eyes.  I never wanna not go to the park again. 

My life is a maze...ing.

Today is the one day each year that I go into the office.  Not to work, but for a health screening that is required in order to qualify for insurance benefits.  It is also the one day each year that I don't eat breakfast, which is terrifying for all involved because I am not good at being hungry.  It gives me a headache and makes me irritable.  But it is the afternoon now and the screening is over and my belly is full so I'm back to being normal.  But of course, since I left the house, there's a story to tell.  It's actually a pretty common happening in my life and I'm wondering if I'm the only one.  Does this kind of stuff happen to other people?  Repetitively?

I headed into downtown Lincoln and was already cursing all the traffic.  (Anything more than three cars in a one-mile radius is considered 'heavy traffic' to me).  As I neared my work office, there were NO parking stalls free.  I ended up parking two blocks away and I had exactly one minute to get where I needed to go (which changes every year so I had no idea where I was really headed). 

I walked the chilly two blocks to the front doors, wishing I had worn my winter coat instead of my hoodie.  I went straight for the escalators but...they weren't there!!  They were there LAST time, but this time it was as if they'd just disappeared into thin air.  The escalators were now a wall.  How do you take escalators out?  But I didn't have time to be baffled.  I hate elevators but I had no choice so I headed toward the one opened elevator, which contained a whole group of people who only stared at me as the door shut and I was running toward it.  Buttheads. 

I then noticed a big sign that said 'Stairway' and decided that sounded much safer anyway.  Up to the second floor I went, then through one skywalk.  At the second skywalk, there was a sign with an arrow on it that said 'Wellness Check' so I followed it.  And from there, there were at least ten identical signs, pointing me in all different directions, down two escalators (yeah, the escalators were still on the OTHER side of the building), and finally landing me in a foreign part of the building.  I was completely lost, but at my destination.  I looked out the window to try and figure out exactly where I was, and directly in front of the door...my Jeep was parked. 

It was much simpler getting out of there than it was getting in.

What is this confidence you speak of?

Yesterday morning, Kyler sat at the breakfast table with a big smile across his face, happily eating his cereal.  I asked what he was so happy about and he looked at me and said, "I don't know why I'm smiling on a Wednesday.  I don't usually care about Wednesdays but I'm really happy today."  And then, "...Oh yeah!  I get to present my habitat diorama to my class today!  That's why I'm in such a good mood."  I asked if that meant that he had to stand up in front of his entire class and tell about his project and he beamed, "Yep!  And I can't wait!"  Then Mae, who had been glumly staring off into space, chimed in, "Ooh!  I forgot!!  I get to present my finger-weaving directions to my teachers today!" She was instantly chipper. 

I tried not to show my shock, but I just do not even know where my children came from.  I mean, I know where they came from, but I don't know how they're mine.  They are so very unlike me.  I was terrified of the entire human race when I was their ages.  Parents, students and teachers alike.  They could all throw me into panic mode just by looking in my general direction.  And to stand up and talk in front of them?  No.  Way.  My second grade teacher once asked me to read a poem in front of my class and I started crying and told her that there was a heartbeat in my eyeball and I had to go to the nurse's office immediately.  I remember how she looked at me, dumbfounded, and I didn't even give her a chance to say anything before I found myself headed down the empty hallway to the nurses office.  I stayed there for over an hour, promising that there was something wrong with my eyeball.  The nurse eventually made me return to class.  I walked in and sat down, pretending like nothing strange had happened.  And my teacher never asked me to read anything again after that. 

When the kids got home yesterday afternoon, I approached the subject cautiously, worried that their presentations didn't go as planned (like everything I ever presented in my lifetime thus far).  Kyler said that it went well and he thinks he got a good grade.  But Mae...well, apparently her whole class thought that finger-weaving was really cool and they all wanted to learn how, so she was asked to teach them.  So she did.  The entire class, all at once.  Like a teacher.

It took me about twenty-two years before I felt comfortable enough to ask directions from a stranger.  And here's Mae, eight years old, teaching multiple humans how to finger-weave at the same time. 

The only thing that makes sense is that I must have paid it forward.  For every awkward moment I had as a child (which was basically every moment of my existence), my children get a glorious moment. 

Some people are proud of their kids when they win trophies or spelling bees or get a scholarship.  I am simply happy that my kids are able to speak in audible voices and have friends and don't freeze up when spoken to by an adult.  And when they do get awards, you'll find me hyperventilating in the corner, a mess of tears and sweat, so proud that I'm certain I will actually combust.  Watch out.

I run. You eat. Let's see who really gets the better end of this deal.

I've still been running, in case anybody's wondering.  Daily now.  It's become so simple.  Routine.  Yet, I'm still shocked that I can run.  I always envisioned my leg bones crumbling if I tried, but apparently you can spend years chain-smoking, drinking way too much and living on a diet of ho ho's and chocolate milk and then one day just say, "I think I'll be healthy now," and your body miraculously is okay with it.  However, I have learned that I'm not allowed to 'go back'.  If I try to drink even a few beers, I wake up with a very poundy head and find myself unable to fully open my eyes for the next twenty-four hours.  It hurts like I never imagined and makes me feel like I'm thirty years old.  (In case you're new here, I am thirty years old.)


So I am becoming something that I never, ever, ever, NEVER envisioned myself being: a health nut.  I find myself subconsciously tracking calories and reading nutrition facts.  Couch-potato Sundays are now roller-skating Sundays.  We've traded the all-you-can eat pizza buffet for Subway.  And this isn't a trial run.  It's already stuck.  The kids have taken to this way of life with stride and ease.  The only resistance whomsoever is Kenny.  He has a stash of Little Debbie snacks hidden under the bed.  (See my willpower?  I know they're there and I honestly don't eat them...except maybe one every now and then).  If he knows he's exercising, he refuses.  (He hasn't caught on that roller skating and biking are exercise yet).  He still smokes like a chimney.  He's never been a beer-drinker so at least he's good in that aspect, but I just don't know what more I can do for him aside from tricking him into exercising and healthy eating (which really hasn't been very difficult at all so far).

The saying is true:  Be a good role model for your children and they will follow.  However, it doesn't work on husbands.  I run on my twenty-dollar treadmill for half an hour, sweat pouring down from my forehead, and I see Kenny looking thoughtful.  He exits the room and for a moment, I think he is going to put on his jogging shoes and join me.  But then, ugh, then he returns with a freshly-opened bag of potato chips that he had stashed in his car and he plops down on the couch to eat them in front of me.  He licks all of his fingers after each chip and every so often, he looks at me and tries to smile innocently but I see right through him.  He's trying to avert his manliness (aka stubbornness...I am eating this chip to show you that you cannot change me and also because I know you are hungry and sour cream 'n onion are your favorite and now I will lick the greasy goodness off of my fingers and smile at you to show how sweet I can look but really I am trying to hurt your soul and it is working...) but I know that he, too, will crack someday and fall into the abyss of good health that the rest of us are in.  A matter of time, that's all.  If I have learned anything about Kenny in our thirteen years together, it's that reverse psychology works on him in the same manner as it does on a two-year old child.  Is that all you're having?  Chips?  I can make you some hot chocolate with extra marshmallows to go along with that snack.  And let me bring you an after-meal cigarette.  And the smile instantly fades from his face because he knows he is being tricked but he's not exactly sure how.  A sort of deja vu hangs in the air.  He puts down the chips.  No!  He picks them back up.  She wants me to put down the chips!  Did she just turn the channel to football?  What is this?!  I will not watch this.  She wants me to!  That's it, I'm going for a walk around the pond to clear my head!  And then he sets the bag of chips aside and goes for a walk, not sure yet if he's won or lost but knowing that he needs space to think.  And halfway around the pond, he realizes that he just abandoned his potato chips to go for a walk.  By the time he makes it back into the house, the chips are nowhere to be found and we're just getting ready to watch a family movie.

And that's how you do that.

Colorful Honey.

Kenny, Kyler and I were laughing about a story we heard on the radio.  Meanwhile, Mae sat looking excited and confused.  She was not laughing with the rest of us. 

The story:  Local beekeepers in France were shocked when their honey began turning different shades of greens and blues.  They began tracking their honeybees in an effort to figure out how this could be and they found that the bees were entering an m&m's plant and sucking on the colored sugar, thus producing colored honey.

As we talked over this and how strange, yet hilarious it was, Mae still sat looking excitedly confused.  I finally asked, "Mae, whatcha' thinkin'?"  She looked at me, fiddled with her fingers for a few seconds, then beamed, "I didn't know m&m's grew on PLANTS!!!"  and then much more quietly, "...but how do the m's got on them?!"  She knew it didn't make sense, but she so wanted it to be true.  Her face dropped (and her hopes) when I explained to her that the word 'plant' can also be another word for 'factory.' 

Oh, the wonderment of a child.  If only there truly were m&m plants, the world would be content.  And more colorful.  And probably very diabetic.

Cheerful, screaming, painful bliss. Yep, that's us.

As a child, I always wanted to be "that family".  You know, the one you'd see in movies or on commercials, driving around in their brand new car, singing cheery songs in unison?  Yeah, them.  But my vision was not meant to be.  For starters, it was hard to be cheerful while riding around in a very loud, orange Pinto that overheated about every third block.  Or at Dad's house, there was the car with the broken windshield wipers, so him and my stepmom created a hand-propelled system with thin rope.  Every time it rained, they would roll down their windows, grab their rope and demonstrate teamwork to us as they said, "One, two, one, two, one, two..." and the windshield wipers worked...though riding in the back seat with the windows rolled down while it was raining is NOT somewhere you want to be.  And unlike the actors on the big screen, my siblings and I did not actually like each other when we were all packed into the back seat of the car.  So many bloody noses!

But then; THEN, I got older and had my own kids.  Of course, when Kyler was born, I thought  this is really it.  With our shiny new car and our brand new baby, we would be "that family".  Except when we drove, Kyler didn't like my cheerful singing.  And the only thing he seemed to hate more than my singing was riding in the car.  HATED it.  In fact, we learned that the only way to keep him from screaming until he was literally turning blue was flipping the radio tuner to the spanish station.  And despite my four years of high school spanish classes, I wasn't able to sing along or even translate what a single song was about.  But this is what we listened to in the car together for the first two years of his life. 

And shortly after he turned one, Mae decided to join the family.  Except baby Mae didn't like the spanish station.  Or any station.  She just wanted to make sounds and she wanted everybody's undivided attention at all times.  And if she wasn't the only one making noise and being constantly listened to...well, bloody murder-like screaming would ensue.  So as you can see, no matter what we did, we had at least one screaming baby in the car at all times.  And sometimes it was both of them, which was almost (almost!) enough reason to want to drive off of a bridge.

But now they're older.  And they like music.  Except...well, it seems that none of us have quite the same taste in music.  Our car rides are a series of arguments over what to listen to.  And it's starting to make sense; the way my mom acted when I was a kid.  I always wondered how she could turn the music up, sing, and not hear a single word I was saying, no matter how loud I talked or how big my hand gestures were.  I do that now!!  Oh, I can hear them.  I hear, "This song sucks" and "Why can't we listen to Cyndi Lauper?", but like my mom, I choose to ignore it and just keep singing.  Every so often, the back seat quiets and sometimes (but you better not tell anybody, ever) I hear them singing along to my music.

So, as it turns out, I DO get to be "that family", if only for a few moments here and there.  And at the small cost of listening to only spanish music for two years and enduring many painful hours of ear-splitting screaming and crying.  It's all worth it.  I swear.

And while I'm on the subject of music in the car, I will say that the kids were not at all impressed when R. Kelly's 'Ignition' came on the radio the other day and Kenny and I busted out not only our best still-seated dance moves, but we also belted out the lyrics word for (mostly) word.  There was a long silence when the song ended, so Kenny and I both looked toward the back seat to make sure the kids hadn't jumped out and they both looked terrified.  Mae asked, "What was that?"  And Kyler told us to please never do that again.  (But we absolutely will when we get another chance.)

Micropachywhat?

The kids strolled through the front door at exactly four o'clock yesterday afternoon.  I announced that we would be dining out and Kyler said, "But not until I finish my homework."  He dropped his backpack onto the floor,  fell to his knees and pulled out his folder and pencil.  The assignment:  To write the name of an animal for each letter of the alphabet.  It's no secret that Kyler loves animals and does much out-of-school research about every being that has ever walked, hopped, swam or slithered this world.  This means there were no books needed to do this assignment, which explains why he was so eager to get it done.  I sat down on the floor next to him to ensure he was doing his work correctly.

Next to the letter 'A', Kyler wrote 'Archaeopteryx'.  I asked, "Is it okay to use dinosaurs?"  He replied, "Of course it is.  They were animals, too."  Seeing that his answer didn't ease my mind, he then explained that he had received prior approval from his teacher.  Good boy.  He got back to work and continued to scribble in answers of other dinosaurs as well as some exotic animals of which I have little to no knowledge about.

Midway through the assignment, Kyler looked slightly stumped on the letter 'M'.  I felt I should put in my ever-so-wise suggestion and said, "Mouse?"  Kyler rolled his eyes and said, "No, I just don't know how to spell Micropachycephalosaurus."  (Yeah, he can pronounce that but not the word 'pretzel'.)  After staring dead-faced at him for a very long moment, I told him, "It hurts my brain when you talk like that."  His eyes looked toward my laptop and I knew what he wanted.  Once again, Google to the rescue.  (And twice again, just so I could type this.) 
After the letter 'M', I kept my suggestions to myself.  The assignment was over before I knew it so we headed out to eat.  Then to the park to play.  Then back home for bath time and bedtime.  Mae passed out on the couch and I left her there.  Heisting her over my shoulder and climbing the ladder to gently lay her atop her loft bed is not really a reasonable option.  I've tried.  We won't talk about the outcome.  And due to her insistence that beds just aren't as comfortable as couches, when I walked out of my bedroom this morning, this is the first thing I saw:

When both kids woke up, we had a great laugh about this.  This is very similar to what Kenny looked like last weekend when I was unable to get a photo before he woke up, except he was facing the other way.  It was nice of Mae to recreate the moment for us.

I'll still be laughing even if it DOES catch on.

Kenny woke up and drank his daily pot of coffee, which always sets his mind racing and makes for some good subject matter for me.  Today, while happily sipping away, he watched the news.  He learned that the quickly cooling weather has struck many children sickly.  Colds, strep and the dreaded flu are quickly making their way across the country, striking one innocent school building at a time. 

At the end of the newscast, Kenny shut the television off, looked thoughtful for a while, then walked over to my desk and declared, "I know how to end it."  I asked what he was planning on ending and he said, "Disease.  Sickness.  All of it."  I gave him all of my attention, just waiting to hear the secret cure-all that everybody in the world has been waiting for somebody to stumble upon.  And here it is:  "Forearm-bumping."

"Forearm-bumping?"

"Yes, forearm-bumping.  We need to eliminate handshakes and fist-bumps so that we quit spreading germs.  It's so simple.  Here, I'll show you how."

Before I knew it, he had pulled me out of my chair and was teaching  me how to forearm-bump.  He was so, so very serious.  I, on the other hand, had tears of laughter streaming down my face.  Half of them were due to Kenny's hilarious demonstrations and the other half were a direct result of the idea itself.  And it gets even better.  After I had mastered the art of forearm-bumping, he also taught me the proper way to high-five with feet.  Unfortunately, he was wearing shoes and I was not, but my stubbed toes did allow me to retire back to my seat to continue my laughter and try to catch my breath.

According to Kenny, I will be embarrassed about my laughter when this catches on.  Of course, teaching kids to cough into their elbows has caught on and I thought that looked extremely goofy when the idea began, so maybe Kenny's right.  Either way, change is always funny to me when it starts with Kenny saying, "I've got an idea!" and ends with, "Here, stand up, I'll show you."

Chalk it Up.

I headed to town to buy toilet paper and coffee.  We were nearly out of both and without them, I could foresee much sadness and destruction in our house.  So to the store I went.  Except I got distracted by a couple of garage sales.  And then I wanted ice cream so I had to go to Dairy Queen.  And then on my third attempt at making it to the store, I passed Mead Lumber and remembered that I needed paint.  But it takes a while to mix paint, so while I was waiting, I wandered the store aimlessly.  I didn't need anything, nor did I want anything beyond my paint.  That is, until I saw "it".  "It" is an aerosol can that sprays chalkboard.  No, really, they have that.  And I didn't know it.  I read and re-read the back of the can to ensure that what I was seeing was really true.  You can spray a chalkboard anywhere?  I immediately took the can to the paint clerk, held it up and demanded to know, "IS THIS TRUE?!"  She said, "Yeah, you can even spray it on your wall."  She then pushed my can of paint across the counter and told me to have a nice day.  After having a slight panic attack, I made my way through the check-out, raced to the store, then headed home.

When I arrived home, there were extra people here.  I LOVE it when extra people are here, especially when I have something incredibly awesome to show them.  My niece was standing in the kitchen, saw the bags I was carrying and asked, "What'd you buy?"  I immediately pulled out the can and proudly displayed it about four inches from her face.  She casually shrugged and said, "Cool."  NOT the reaction I was looking for.  I told her, "No you actually have to READ it."  She then read the can, put both hands on top of her head and screamed, "NO WAY!!!"  There's the reaction I was after.  Without any further hesitation, she held her arm out towards me and said, "CHALKBOARD MY HAND!!!!"  Can you tell we're related?

I now have to tell you the sad news:  I have yet to turn anything into a chalkboard.  See, what happened is that I bought the can solely intending to turn a used-to-be end table into a chalkboard table for Mae's room.  But since it was Saturday, I had time to think.  And thinking isn't always good when you're me (which you're not, so you'll just have to take my word for it).  I suddenly became very aware of all of the possibilities and they are endless.  And when there are endless ideas, it hurts my brain and I get confused.  Where to start?  What if I chalkboard the toilet and then decide that I would have rather chalkboarded the Jeep?  Why did I only get one can?  What if they run out before I can make it back to the store?  WHAT IF THERE'S A SHORTAGE OF CHALKBOARD-IN-A-CAN?!  So I've been clutching my can tightly ever since, knowing it won't be enough.  Ever.  I want to chalkboard my counters.  And my fridge.  And the siding on my house.  I want a whole chalkboard house.  We would never have to buy paper again.  Or pens.  And we'd never be bored.  I want to live in a chalkboard world.  But I only have one can.  And if I don't snap out of it soon, I will end up spending the entire rest of my life protecting this one can and never using it.  When I die, they won't be able to pry it out of my hands so then I will have to be buried with it. 

I told Kenny that he should never let me leave the house alone.  This is the kind of stuff that happens when I am unsupervised.

SOLD!

I love me a good auction.  Always have.  In fact, I still remember my very first auction.  I was six and my dad took me.  It was in somebody's back yard.  I remember looking around in awe.  So.  Much.  Stuff.  And the day was a success in my book.  By the time we left, I had suckered Dad into buying me a pink kickball for one dollar.  One dollar.  Yeah, I had the exact same pink ball at home already, but we paid two dollars for that one at the Medicine Chest.  I knew that a backup ball was a smart idea. 

To this very day, I still walk around in wide-eyed wonderment when I attend an auction.  There's just something about other people's junk that sets my heart racing.  I no longer buy for my own wants because I am still on my get-organized kick. Less is more.  It is.  So I now purchase for the sole purpose of turning a profit.  (Because less is NOT more when we're talking money).  And I love to do it.  I could make a living out of it if I only had more time.  And a trailer.  But over the past few years of becoming and avid auction-goer, I have learned a thing or two.  I will share them with you now, in list form.

1.  DO YOUR RESEARCH.  Learn what you're buying.  Learn what people want to buy.  If you spend twenty dollars on an "antique" bottle and there's a guy in the corner laughing at you, it's because you were bid up on purpose and you just put down a twenty on something that will sit on your windowsill for the next forever because nobody wants to buy it.

2.  It's always a good idea to bring a calculator along to keep track of your spendings.  Or a trustworthy, math-savvy child.  Nothing like getting to the "pay here" table, pulling out the fifty dollars you spent and finding out that your total is $120.36.

3.  Children are also good for hauling your purchases to your vehicle for you, but be prepared to pay them in stuffed animals and don't get mad when you see how horribly they have packed your vehicle. 

4.  Keep close track of your bidding number.  If you don't, your child might be bidding on a llama without your knowledge.  (Yes, this truly happened to me.  And yes, it was Mae).

5.  Be realistic.  Sure, you might have the space in your pickup truck for the two-hundred pound fountain that you could get for a killer price, but if you're there alone, don't buy it.  Those auctioneers sure are nice folks when they want you to buy something, but when the sale's over and they see you struggling with the loading of your purchases, they are silently laughing.  And later on, when they're at the bar, they're probably laughing much less silently.

6.  If at all possible, work it out so that your husband shows up right as the auction ends.  This way, he will not be at the other end of the auction spending money without your consent, and he's just in time to help you load.  This may take some trickery, but it's well worth the amount of money you will save.

7.  If you are bringing children with you, limit them to a specific amount.  And make it a small amount, like two or three dollars.  They will be much more careful about what they bid on.  You also might want to limit what types of things they can bid on, as Mae got the llama for one dollar and was quite upset because, "You SAID I could spend two dollars on ANYTHING I wanted and I didn't even spend that much!"  (They were nice enough to not make us take it.  And if they had made us take it, I most certainly would have posted a blog titled 'How To Fit A Llama Into A Minivan').

8.  About that person that's trying to outbid you:  look them square in the eye.  I'm not sure if I have an intimidating look that I am unaware of or what, but people tend to shut their mouths if they catch me looking directly at them when I bid.

And that there's my best auction advice.  For now.  And now that I've written this, I don't want to hear anything about, "Waaait a minute...you bought that for a dolla' and charged me twenty?!"...because it is not that simple.  I researched, I planned, I drove, I bid, I paid, I hauled, I cleaned, I photographed, I uploaded, I described...you're really on the better end of this deal in the long run.  And anything that I don't sell gets taken to Goodwill.  Well, not Goodwill specifically but one of those types of places.  So me going to an auction = me giving to charity.  Kind of. 

And if you so decide you would like to be an avid auction-goer like me, please let me know and take me with you.  I do so love some good company.  The "regulars" don't talk to me.  I am not accepted because I do not own an antique shop.  And the not-so-regulars are so in awe that they don't notice me, but I understand that because I do the same thing.  Or maybe I'm better off on my own because in the rare instances that people do talk to me at these events, I mostly find myself not wanting to acknowledge their existence because I might miss the deal of a lifetime.  Yeah, actually, don't take me with.  Bad idea.

Like my blog? Have a Kindle?

Sometime between yesterday and now, my blog went 'live' on Amazon Kindle.  I am excited, to say the least.  I found that if I go to amazon.com and type in 'my family my funny blog', mine is the tenth one down.  You will know it when you see it because it has a screen shot of which you should be very familiar right now.  For only 99 cents per month, you can get updated blog posts on your kindle (and that's after a 14 day FREE trial period). 

And now, I must ask a favor.  If you don't have a kindle but you DO have an amazon account, will you please, please, pretty please go on and "rate" my blog?  I mean, unless you think it sucks, in which case, QUIT READING!  And if you don't have a kindle OR an amazon account, it takes about one minute to sign up for one.  Thanks to everybody who reads and especially to those who continuously motivate me by complimenting my writin' skills.  You guys are awesome.  :)

Update:  So, yeah, I've discovered that it's WAY easier to just go to amazon.com and type in my name (Amanda Bigley).  Then I'm the very first (and only) one on there. 

Morning Madness.

Both kids put extra effort into being extremely difficult this morning.  After dragging them out of bed fifteen minutes late, they both sat around the island in the kitchen with their eyes half opened and their bed head in full force.  I asked what they would like for breakfast and received the following responses:

Mae:  "Spiders."
Kyler:  "Buffalo."

And they thought they were so funny.  What they were unaware of is that I finally got an adequate amount of sleep last night and I was prepared to deal with their shenanigans in the calmest way I know how, which happens to be 'walking away from the situation'.  So I informed them that we were fresh out of spiders and buffalo and it looks like they would be in charge of making their own breakfast...then I walked away.  They were not laughing anymore.  But what I didn't know is that I was silently posing a challenge for them and they were more than up for it.  Their morning goal was now to find my breaking point before the school bus arrived.

Mae decided that since I was on breakfast-making strike, she would make her own breakfast as advised, but she would not touch the floor while doing so.  She created quite the ear-splitting racket as she danced along the counter tops and balanced her way across swivel chairs.  I remained steady and calm, while silently fearing that we would be making an early-morning trip to the ER.

Next up: getting dressed.  Just the two simple words, "Get dressed," have been known to throw Mae into an instantaneous clothing meltdown, complete with yelling, tears and sometimes violence (all her, none me).  She once ripped her shirt completely in half while angrily taking it off.  She's like the Hulk, but miniature and less green.  Nearly every morning, I hear, "Nothing fits, nothing matches and everything is STUPID."  But today she has new pants to wear so she decided to skip the clothing meltdown and trade it instead for...

Shoes.  Cowgirl boots don't match jogging pants.  But she wanted to wear her boots so bad.  But she wanted to wear her new pants so bad.  But...the boots.  The pants.  Boots.  Pants.  She looked from one to the other, back and forth for quite a while.  She finally decided on sandals.  But not just any sandals would do...they had to be Kyler's sandals.  Except Kyler already had said sandals in his hands and was ready to put them on, so Mae just ripped them right out of his hands and transferred them onto her feet, thus causing war.  I decided I should intervene as we had exactly three minutes to be out the door, so I bravely stepped right into the middle of the battlefield and explained to Mae that tennis shoes go good with jogging pants and, "Look!  Your shoes even match your pants!"  The house immediately calmed until I looked toward Kyler and saw something very, very painful.  While looking me directly in the eye and with a smile on his face, he slipped his sandals on his already socked feet.  And he wasn't wearing just any socks...they were camouflaged socks.  I am eight-hundred percent certain that he did this just to see if he could break me.  But I was not going down with less than three minutes left.  I turned away from him and with a quiver in my voice, said, "Go give your Dad a hug and kiss." 

As we headed out the door, Mae looked at me and said, "Library books."  Apparently, since I am the one who brought the books into the house and put them away, I was expected to know where I put them.  What nonsense.  I ran back into the house and searched frantically for the books.  One was on top of the piano bench, one was on Mae's desk and one was in her toy box.  That is NOT where I had put them.

We made it to the bus stop in time to see a big, yellow spot coming down the road toward us.  I turned the Jeep around and headed back down the driveway, but as I looked into my rearview mirror, I once again caught sight of Kyler's socked and sandaled feet.  And that's the image that will stay with me for the remainder of the day.  "Social suicide," I've warned him before.  But he seems to think that comfort is more important than impressing people.  Pffft. 

Cleaning Epiphany.

I finished up the dishes, then headed toward the laundry room.  I am so far behind on every single chore.  For every extra hour I've been putting in working, that's one hour I've been losing on house-cleaning.  I hastily put a  large load of dirty clothes into the dryer, added the detergent, shut the door and turned it on.  You did not read that wrong.  But here's the thing: this is where great ideas come from.  Somebody is too tired or in too much of a hurry or both and they accidentally make a mistake that causes them to wonder something BIG....

Something like...

WHY do we have two machines to do laundry?!  We don't have a dishwasher and a dishdryer.  There must be a way to combine a washing machine and clothes dryer in the same manner.  And it's probably not even very difficult.  Just difficult for me, who has trouble understanding any further direction than 'plug it in'.  And sometimes even then...well, it was a strange-looking outlet, OKAY?!

So, I guess I'm only writing this in hopes that an expert washer-dryer mechanic is reading and willing to go the extra mile to create this wonderful idea.  And please let me know if you do.  I won't try to steal the rights to it; I promise.  I will, however, be your very first customer. 

And in case you're NOT an expert washer-dryer mechanic, you should also take something away from reading this.  My best advice would be to work an eighteen-hour day after only three hours of sleep, pay absolutely no attention to what you're doing and perhaps you, too, will extract a great new invention by accident.  Actually, that's horrible advice.  I don't want to be responsible for tomorrow's car accidents and/or plagues so never mind. 

The actual real thing you can take away from reading this:  We can now dream of a future with washerdryer machines.  This could be as big as TVCR's.  I almost cried when those came out.  Brilliant!  "Switch the laundry" could simply become a phrase of the past.  Our children's children will wonder so many wasteful hours about it...Where exactly were they switching the laundry to?  One integrated machine, doing the job of two and in half the time.  Or maybe it will take the same amount, but probably not because who is actually standing next to the washer as the cycle ends and is ready to be switched?  Sometimes there is a good hour or two between the loads because laundry is the most difficult chore to put any sort of focus into.  To be completely honest (and Kenny will vouch one-hundred percent for this), sometimes whole days pass before I remember I was doing laundry.  So as you lay your head down for restful sleep tonite, please take a moment to hope and wish and pray for future washerdryers.  If not for you...for your children. 

Seriously, guys, I promise to get a good and normal amount of sleep tonite.  I will most likely re-read this in the morning with an expression of horror on my face.  But oh well.  I write this so that when I'm one-hundred and twenty years old, I have something to read to pass the time in the nursing home.  And I fully intend to have a nurse on standby to nudge me each night and say, "You wrote that, you know."  ...and then again, the look of horror.

Our weekend in a nutshell: Zombies and Science.

Every Monday morning, as I silently reminisce about the weekend while sitting in the dark preparing for work, I am reminded of just exactly how lucky I am.  Sure, the dog pooped on the floor for no apparent reason and I'm broke as a joke that's not funny, but I when I woke up on Sunday morning and rolled over to look at my loving husband, I got to say, "Aw, honey, your make-up is smeared all over your face."  And then I got to clean it off for him.  And then he rolled back over to sleep.  I should probably add here that Kenny wasn't exactly wearing make-up...his blackened, smudged face was the result of a zombie-theme'd party we'd taken part in the night before. 

Only minutes later, I was getting the coffee ready when I heard extreme laughter coming from our bedroom.  Mae yelled, "Mom!  QUICK!!  You've GOTTA see this!!!"  I ran to the bedroom just in time to see Kenny's upper half on the floor while his bottom half was still in bed, as if he had seemingly dived right onto the floor and just decided to stay there.  He was asleep.  And as my niece fumbled with her camera in a hasty and comical manner, Kenny woke up just in time to avoid the picture I would have posted here:

And then, THEN, we got to see Bill Nye.  The kids were very much against this as they had never heard of him before.  When we showed up, they got to go for a nature walk with Kenny so they weren't entirely miserable.  Then, the pre-show guys just so happened to be, "MY SCIENCE GUYS!!!" (said both kids at the exact same time).  Derek and Dave are the "science guys" that visit them at school.  And to top it off, they even gave boring old Bill Nye a two-thumbs-up review.  They were quite surprised at his wit and intelligence.  They had assumed he was some old-fashioned, black-and-white speaker that would bore them into a comatose state.  But he wasn't and he didn't.  So the day turned out much better than  planned.  Before ever going anywhere, I put all of the bad things that might happen into my head, assume they are going to actually happen, and then leave the house with little expectation.  This may sound unpleasant, I know, but my days mostly always exceed my hopes.  I suppose this could be summed up better as "Expect the worst, hope for the best."  Except I mostly just expect the worst.  Getting your hopes up is unnecessary. 

And this concludes yet another weekend update.  May your heads all be non-throbby and weekdays run smoothly.

Dare me; I dare you.

Kyler and Mae were sitting in the kitchen, working diligently on their homework.  I walked in quietly and stood behind them unsuspectingly, only to witness the following conversation:

Mae:  "Hey, Kyler, do you dare me to eat this pencil lead?"

Kyler:  "No."

Mae:  "C'mon, just dare me.  I'll do it."

Kyler:  "NO, Mae."

Mae:  "I'm seriously not gonna leave you alone until you dare me to eat at least one stick of pencil lead.  Just one tiny stick.  And I'll really do it."

Kyler:  "Fine, Mae.  Eat the lead.  I don't care."

Mae (yelling):  "MOoOoOMMM!!  KYLER'S TRYING TO MAKE ME EAT PENCIL LEAD!!!!"

She was quite startled when I said, "Oh, really?" and my voice came from one foot behind her, rather than  a different room.  But she's so quick that she just put on that oh-so-sweet smile of hers and said, "Juuuust kidding.  I knew you were there."  Then, she told me I should quit bugging her while she's trying to get her homework done.

My shoes are loud, your face is mean.

Today, I have the loudest shoes.  I have owned these shoes for fourteen years and they have been used specifically for funerals and they have never given me even a hint of trouble.  But I thought I'd switch it up today and wear them to parent-teacher conferences.  It's not really fair for my shoes to only see sadness.  But I knew right when I entered the school building that something wasn't right.  I'd made a very big mistake. 

There's something about my funeral shoes...when the bottoms of them touched the hallway floor, they made a very, VERY LOUD noise.  Noise isn't even the right word...perhaps a ruckus; an insistent ruckus.  I instantly stopped and looked around.  The kids paid no attention to me and took off in a mad rush to the library for the book fair.  I took a couple more steps and had to stop again and look around.  I don't know what I was looking for except another human to nod in my direction, letting me know that my shoes were, in fact, as loud as I was hearing them.  It sounded as if I was walking in shallow water while wearing foot fins.  Nobody was around so I walked as quickly as I could.  Unfortunately, I had a lobby, a very long hallway and a flight of stairs to get through.  The first couple that I passed did not give me a happy nod like I expected, nor did they clap for me or laugh hysterically.  They simply looked at my feet as if they were obnoxious and I knew exactly what they were thinking:  Why did you bring those silly feet to a serious place like this? 

I made it up the stairs and to my relief, Mae's teacher wasn't there.  I had only passed the one judgemental couple so far.  I decided this might turn out okay.  Except I sat there for a whole two minutes or so before Mae's teacher showed up and I started really worrying about my loud shoes.  When she startled me out of my thoughts and asked, "Have you been waiting long?"  all I could muster up was, "I have LOUD shoes.  I'm sorry."  She smiled politely.  When I stood up and walked into the classroom, she laughed a little and I know why, but no further words needed to be passed about my shoe choice.

Next up was Kyler's teacher, which just so happened to be right across the hallway.  I tiptoe-ran to the door and took a seat.  I was summoned into the room just seconds later and Kyler's teacher was very talky so we were able to awkwardly ignore the thunderous noises coming from my feet.

Conferences were soon over and I had to make my way back to the main floor library.  The hallways were starting to fill up now and I was pretty terrified.  I just decided to get it over with as quickly as possible and save all regrets for the drive home.  As I speedwalked my way to the library, my shoes decided to sing a new tune:  high-pitched squeaks.  It got the attention of people that were in classrooms.  I know, because I saw random heads popping out of rooms to see what was going on.  For some reason, I thought that talking over my shoes would help, so as I speed-walked with high-pitched squeaks following me, I also began yelling randomly, "MY SHOES ARE LOUD!!  I HAVE LOUD SHOES!!!"  Oddly enough, people seemed to  understand me better when I did this.  Like, Oh, she knows her shoes are loud so I don't have to look at her strangely.  I can just laugh now and it's okay.

I retrieved the kids from the library and as we headed out the door, I asked them, "Hey, can't you guys hear my shoes?  Because you haven't said anything about them."  Mae said, "Yeah, I knew when it was time to put the books away because I could hear you leaving my teacher's room."  And Kyler said, "Why do you think we ran to the library so fast?" 

And as we stepped onto the paved entryway, my shoes turned quiet again and all was fine the rest of the entire day, even through the grocery store and YMCA, which I thought was really odd. 

Ups and d...we'll just do ups.

Today was filled with many ups and downs, but in order to avoid boring you, we'll just talk about the ups.

Up #1:  Both dogs and both cats teamed up to catch what we thought was a mouse.  This was great fun for all of us.  It made me so proud, watching them working together with one common goal.  One cat smacked the rodent across the kitchen, then all four animals tried to pounce on it.  The kitchen floor is linoleum, so instead of going where they desired, they all went sliding, which resulted in a four-animal pile-up.  Next, the high-speed chase moved near my desk.  Dogs were going under my chair and under my desk while cats were jumping over me and on top of me.  And in the end, the rodent was cornered.  This is when the Kenny-dad woke up.  He came out to see what the ruckus was and that's when he pulled out the mouse that was really a mole.  A mole?  Even the dogs looked surprised. 

Up #2:  Mae's over sized teddy bear now wears the same size of clothes as her.  This means she can dress her bear, decide if it looks stylish enough, then transfer the clothes directly onto her own self and happily skip to the school bus.

Up #3:  When we were ready to walk out the door this morning, I muttered to myself, "Where's my jacket..." only to notice Kyler standing in front of the door, holding my jacket up with his right hand.  As I grabbed it from him, I said, "Thanks, now I just need my..." and he held up my purse with his left hand.  Besides being an 'up' for the day, we also call this 'irony' because he never knows where his own jacket, shoes, socks, homework, backpack or glasses are when it's time to leave. 

Up #4:  This picture was uploaded:

This is me and my BFF.  Notice how I (left) am trying to look clever and collected while Adrienne (right) is just being her goofy self.  I can tell just by looking at this that her and the camera man were so obviously making fun of me while I was paying all of my attention to...the television?  Perhaps I was listening to an actual person?  Or I may simply have been spacing off because I do that all the time, especially when wine is involved.  Either way, I love photos like this that are not staged and catch the actual moment.  

And that's that.   A typical Tuesday around here.

Weekend What-we-did's

We are back to  Monday and it is somewhat of a relief after enduring yet another weekend that left me feeling exhausted.  And it doesn't look to be letting up any time soon.  We are a very busy people and I'm not sure how to apply the brakes.  At least this weekend, it wasn't just me.  Yesterday afternoon, we took the kids + friend roller skating.  They were all begging to leave one hour early, citing tiredness as an excuse.  We had to practically drag Kenny off of the rink to leave after he kept saying, "Just one more time around..." about ten times.  He is so funny out there:  the tall "kid" amongst children.  He'd go as fast as he possibly could, swooshing past the poor elementary-aged kids who were just trying to stay upright and scaring the bejesus out of them.  I just love watching him when he gets the chance to "play".  The playground at the park is equally as entertaining.

On Saturday, we threw Meghan's bridal shower.  I know, just the term 'bridal shower' makes you yawn, right?  WRONG.  Add about twenty bottles of wine and chocolate moustaches amongst a group of women wearing their Sunday best and you have nonstop laughter that lasts the entire day.  This was great and wonderful and from here on out, every bridal shower that I attend will only be a disappointment.  Though, looking back, it might also have something to do with the company.  What a great bunch of gals! 

Saturday night through Sunday afternoon, Mae and her friend were nearly impossible to keep up with but I tell you what...they are so hilarious!  But you have got to keep an eye on them.  Right away, they said they were going outside to play.  Less then one  minute later, I peeped outside to check on them and Mae was rolling down the hill in our trash barrel!!  I told her that was not safe and she wasn't allowed to do it again and of course I got eye-rolls out of both of them.  About two minutes later, they came inside, grabbed the insert out of the dogs kennel (which is basically a two foot by three foot piece of plastic) and headed back outside.  Again, I checked on them and this time they were "sledding" down the rock hill.  Again, they got in trouble.  But I questioned my own self at that point and I honestly can't tell you if I was watching out for their safety or if I was jealous about the great ideas they kept coming up with. 

Another sign that we're getting old:  Kenny rented a movie last night.  I looked at the title and decided a horror movie was a great idea.  We waited for the kids to go to bed, popped some popcorn and put the movie on.  About one minute in, we realized we'd already seen that movie.  It's the one we'd rented last weekend.  (But I was immediately suspicious that Kenny did it on purpose because as soon as we declared it a re-run, he grabbed the remote, shut off the movie, switched it to ESPN and yelled, "OH  YEAH, FOOTBALL!!!!...hmm...)