When I'm Not Laboring...

I have more time for Slip 'n Sliding!!

Note: My toes, unable to relax even on the laziest of days, still line up like soldiers.

Knock, knock.

more graph humor and song chart memes

What are you doing?

Why, I'm sending this picture of you to the Internets, of course!

Yeowch.

For the first time in my memory, I just snorted Mt. Dew up my nose. I don't know how it happened, it just did. While I was driving. And the stinging, oh the stinging. For this reason alone, I cannot recommend pop snorting as a fun activity.

Mmmm...crayons.

Back to school time always makes me feel a little nostalgic. I miss going out and getting a fresh set of school supplies and a whole new wardrobe. I also miss getting ready to go off to college, having a new place to live and a fresh beginning each school year. I really miss buying books. I know they were freaking expensive and then I barely referenced them throughout the semester, but I always really looked forward to that experience. Now, when I'm out and about I see other people preparing for school and it makes me a little sad. Maybe next year, when I'm sending someone else off to his first day of school, I will feel entirely different about the whole affair. But for now I will revel in the nostalgia of it all.

Kwisti, we got some twubbo in heer.

This is what Eric called out from the living room earlier, as I was in the kitchen. I didn't respond promptly, so a moment later I heard, "Oooooh Kwistiiiiii...we got some TWUH-BO in HEEEER." I knew I couldn't go into the living room laughing, so I had to collect myself before I investigated the trouble. Turned out, Ella had absconded from the kitchen with a box of Cheez-Its and was coming dangerously close to making a mess with them. "What did you say, Eric?" I asked him. "I tode you we got some twubbo in heer," he said, pointing at Ella. "No, what did you say before that? What did you call me?" "Um. Momma?" Mmm hmm. A likely story.

Perfect: Mortal Enemy of Good

I'm not sure if any of you know or would believe this about me, but if I had unlimited time (ok, how about severely less-limited time?), I would be cleaning the cracks and crevices with a Q-tip like a mother-you-know-what. Just so you know. I have the patience for that type of attention to cleanliness, I really do. I just don't have the damn time, lest I forsake sleep or (!) internet time. So instead, I live in clutter and messiness because if I can't clean perfectly, why clean at all? And at the same time, I live in stress up to my earballs because all I do is look around and see mess mess mess and my brain goes into overload and I can't function. I try to clean and instead I wander from room to room leaving trails of barely-started projects in my wake. So, I'm taking a new approach to cleaning and decluttering: it doesn't have to be perfect, it just has to be put the fuck away. Of course, I tell myself all the time that this is the weekend that I'm going to do some serious decluttering. But, with a mess like I have going on here, it's really no weekend project--especially when there are constantly children around who apparently need me to wipe their little butts all the freaking time. Maybe someday I'll have the Container Store existence of my dreams, but for now, I'm just going to settle for good enough. I'll try to keep you apprised of my progress along the way (assuming I make some). (Um, which I will.)

Vacating the premises

So long folks! I'm heading off on a much needed vacation! Hopefully I'll return with a renewed sense of purpose. Or something.

Now with five times the mobility!!

Hey look! I'm blogging on the go! OK, I'm actually sitting directly in front of my computer while using my phone to type this. This is just a test of the emergency blog posting system in your area. Thankyouandgoodnight.

Mulligan, please.

Some days I have an overwhelming desire to escape from my current set of circumstances. To just stop, wipe the slate clean and start over. Instead I sometimes feel like I set up a trap for myself from which I have no hope of getting out. I know that I made the choices that led me to where I am now, but maybe in hindsight I didn't make such great choices. I made choices that left me with no breathing room and now I'm upset because I'm suffocating. I get that. I'm just so tired of it all. I'm tired of screaming at my kids every morning to stop being kids and just hurry up and get dressed already because we're late. I'm tired of paying more for daycare in a year than my husband pays to some of his full-time employees. I'm tired of being stressed about money. I'm tired of feeling like we expend so much effort but never get ahead. I really, really feel like I'm on the edge of snapping. The final straw is near, I just don't know how near. It's plan-formulating time, though. I'm pretty sure Chris feels the same way. We need to find some happiness because right now we're just going through the motions day in and day out.

Wumbwy Funder

Hey, mommy? Wememba da udder day, when I came into your room early in da morning and said (in a nice calm voice), "Mommy, da funder woke up me. I was just laying in my bed and da wumbwy funder made my eyes open up, so I came to sleep in your bed so I wouldn't be scayoed?" Yes, Eric I do remember that, except I remember it this way: at about 5 a.m., you ran screaming into my room, saying, "MOMMY! DA FUNDER SCARED ME! I HEARD LOTS OF FUNDER!" Then I asked you if you would like to lay in bed with me under one condition: THAT YOU SLEEP AND NOT TALK BECAUSE IT'S 5 AM AND 5 AM IS A SLEEPING TIME NOT A TALKING TIME. So, you agreed, climbed into bed and it went a little something like this: Toss, turn, adjust the pillow, adjust the blankets, "Mommy?", "No talking!", toss, turn, adjust the pillows, adjust the blankets, "Mommy?", "NO talking!!", and then repeat those steps a few more times for good measure until Daddy got out of the shower and turned on cartoons for you. Yes, I remember dat udder day, what of it?

And everywhere I went they were serving manicotti.

I love how dreams can be so random. Sometimes they're filled up with day residue and stuff that's somehow tangential to my life. Other times I'm an expert on subjects I never even knew I knew about. For instance, last week I had a dream in which I was discussing wedding related things and Stuart Weitzman. When I woke up, I googled that name, and low and behold he does design some wedding apparel. I was only vaguely aware that I may have had some prior knowledge of him. I don't know that I necessarily believe that "a dream is a wish your heart makes," but I do find dreams very interesting and would like to someday delve deeper into the psychology of them. In the meantime, does anybody know what it means when you dream of pasta?

One of my myriad pet peeves

Yesterday I went to lunch with my mom. She asked me if I would mind going up to the counter and ordering the food for us. When I paid, the cashier handed me my change with the coins resting precariously on top of the dollars. Have I ever mentioned how much that drives me mad? Because, usually I'm still holding my wallet with one hand, so then I have to try to finagle the coins off the top of the money with one hand, which is awkward and usually results in coins falling to the floor and rolling to unreachable and/or nasty places. As I was explaining to my mom how this is one of my pet peeves, she said that I'm probably the type of person who also gets angry at other drivers, and then added in mock-earnestness that she's glad she can always maintain her calm, cool demeanor in even the most annoying of circumstances. At that moment, her pants burst into flames from all the lies, lies, lies. In many ways, my mom and I are exactly alike. One of those ways is our inability to tolerate incompetence.

Offended.

As I slowly approach a milestone birthday, I have been thinking a lot about various aspects of my life. It's just sort of a where I thought I'd be by now versus where I actually am kind-of-thing. I'm also trying to decide where I'd like to be in the future, and what steps I should be taking now and along the way to get there. One of the things I've been thinking a lot about is my current job and my future career aspirations. I don't necessarily know what I want to do when I grow up, but I do know that I don't want to do what I'm doing right now for the rest of my life. The job I have now is fine, and I like the people I work with, but it's a job I just ended up at. I work with my mom; I started working at the company because somebody went on vacation and my mom suggested to the office manager that if they needed temporary help, I might be interested. One thing led to another, and I became a permanent part-time employee, then a full-time employee. I think I do the job well, but it's not a job I ever set my sights on or have any real interest in making a career of. As I form my goals for the next few years, I know that getting a new job is on the list, but I also know that is going to be something that requires some careful planning and all the other hard work that goes into finding a new job. I didn't necessarily see it happening in the next year, or maybe even two.

The other day, I was at a company social outing and some of my co-workers and I were discussing the different temperaments and talents of our children. It's funny how kids from the same parents can turn out so differently. I just so happened to be sitting at the same table with my mom, who will testify to the fact that I was a pretty darn good kid. At one point, one of the people I support turned to me and jokingly asked something to the effect of, "So when did your mom make you learn to type?" I don't know that I can adequately explain how that one question turned my stomach and will serve as the as the one singular moment in time when I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was time to get a new job. Maybe I'm kidding myself, but I think my skill set goes so far beyond "stellar typist" that I would never even think to add that to the list. I mean, doesn't everybody know how to type these days? I don't want this to sound hokey or arrogant, but I feel like I really have the ability and potential to great things in my lifetime and that comment really solidified the notion that those great things will not happen at my current job.

Just because they're made of leather...

Dear Dimwits of the Office Building:

Do you need another breaking news bulletin to inform you that flip flops are not appropriate attire for WORK? Unless you work at the beach or perhaps the community pool. And since I happen to work in the same building as you, I'm almost certain you don't work at the beach (although I have never seen what's on the third floor...also, in case you were wondering, since we are not allowed to swim in the fountain, it does not constitute a swimming pool). Seriously, people. It doesn't really matter how much you overpaid for your flip flops or how luxurious the material is from which they were crafted. They are still flip-flops. The end.

Kristentatious

P.S. While I'm doling out work-related fashion advice, might I recommend that you introduce your skirt to your knees. Or at least the bottom of your underwear.

When I cook...

Ya know, I really haven't been doing too much cooking over here at the house of Kristentatious in the past couple of years. I mean, sure, we eat, but it's mostly heat and serve crap that I know is absolutely horrible for us. But in terms of making a meal where the actual components of the meal have to be cooked separately, I'm sorely out of practice. I made dinner on Saturday night and the kitchen was pure chaos for an hour. I timed everything wrong. I didn't know how long things needed to cook, so I kept asking Chris every few moments (have I ever mentioned how much he loves when people ask him cooking questions?). I was intermittently chopping veggies and checking on things on the stove, so instead of putting the sharp knife down, I would walk around with it. Blade side up, pointing outward toward the doorway to the kitchen. You know, just in case anybody ran up to me (as some people in this house are prone to do), they'd be greeted first by the blade of a sharp knife slicing into some part of their body. Yikes. In any case, it's like I told Chris: everything tastes good in the end, but the middle part is not unlike a Julia Child skit from SNL.

Four-year-old funnies

OK, so this actually happened a while back, most likely when Big E was still three...don't sue me. I just remembered tonight, though, and didn't want to forget it again since it's priceless. Anyhoo, a while back, Eric and I were talking about something we did while I was pregnant with Ella. Eric remembered the event, and recounted it to me, telling me that he was there, mommy was there and daddy was there. Where was BabyElla? he wanted to know. So I reminded him that she was still in my tummy at the time. So he went on to explain to me that, oh yeah, BabyElla was in my tummy for a while, but then I went to the see the doctor and then she came out of my tummy. Then he paused, thought about it for a moment and asked, "Mommy, where's the door?" You know...the door that babies come out of. Lucky for me, I have a six-or-so inch scar across my *ahem* bikini area to prove that the BabyElla's "door" is in a place that allows me to avoid an awkward conversation with a three-year-old.

Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse...

I've been having a rough go of it lately. It seems like every time I turn around, I get another piece of bad news or something else negative (or costly) unexpectedly happens. I'm trying not get all down and "poor, poor pitiful me" about it. It is what it is. And, truthfully, some of it shouldn't have been all that unexpected--if only I had given it a proper place on my radar and not learned to tune out its annoying, constant blip. Just about every day for the past few weeks, I've woken up and told myself, "Hey, at least there's nothing else in my life that can possibly go wrong!" but then--just like that--something else happens. Today, for instance, I couldn't find my keys. And I couldn't go to work because I couldn't find my car keys. Anywhere. In fact, the last time I can remember seeing them was at the Tampa International Airport, coming out of the security area. And I remember thinking, "Oh, I better put those some place safer so I don't lose them!" (up until that point, they had been in the pocket of the hoody I was carrying with me in case it got too cold on the airplane). Unless they mysteriously turn up, we'll either be forced to share one set of car keys (which gets complicated), or pay around $200 to get a new set of keys (I only know the cost because I've lost a set of keys for this car before). [Update: apparently I can pick up a new transponder key and keyless entry remote on e-bay for around $40, inclusive of shipping. Then it's just a question of how much the dealer will charge me to program them for my car. Still, it's not like going to the hardware store and having a new house key cut for a couple of bucks.]

I'm actually at the point where it's starting to get funny. For real. If anything else goes wrong, I'll probably just starting laughing. That's where I'm at. Truth be told, I've been lucky that the things that have gone wrong have all been fixable things that have just come at an enormous expense to us, and have not been at all health related. So, at least we have our health.

If life truly is a journey, I feel like I had climbed halfway up the mountain and then tripped and fell about two thirds of the way back down. Not only do I need to wait for all the wounds to heal, but then I need to get back up and cover all that distance again. It kind of sucks, but like I said before, it is what it is. As Maya Angelou so eloquently put it, "When you know better, do better." Now it's time to do better. It's hard, though, because at this particular moment in time, I feel like I have nothing to look forward to. It seems like it's going to take a lot of hard work to get back on track. I'm sure that once stuff stops going wrong, and I have a couple weeks of sanity, it won't seem so bad after all. But for right now, I just don't know. It's hard to get a clear perspective while I'm still in the thick of it. But speaking of Journey, I'm going to listen to Don't Stop Believin' now. Maybe it'll make me feel better.

Low mom on the totem pole

Even though our evenings are generally hectic and somewhat crazy around here--tyring to get everyone fed, bathed, played with and in bed at a decent time involves great stratergery--I like to get the kids (or at least Eric, as his bedtime is later) outside to play with the neighbors whenever we have a chance. There are several other kids on the block who are youngish, with Eric and Ella being the youngest two of the bunch. The next closest kid is only a couple months older than Eric, and they will be in kindergarten together next year (!). It's also nice to talk to my neighbors and find out all the juicy gossip on our block (and, oh boy, does our block have some juicy gossip!). I'm noticing, however, that I don't get to do much talking with the neighbors, due to my status as what I like to call "low mom on the totem pole." Basically, as the mom with the youngest children, it becomes my job to police the activities of all the other children who are being mean to or taking advantage of my child because he's the youngest, while all the other adults stand around drinking and shooting the shit, oblivious to the fact that their, say, six-year-old daughter is telling my four-year-old son that as a punishment for talking when she was trying to talk, he has to lick the sidewalk chalk off the sidewalk, and not to talk to her until he has done that. Then, when Eric politely tells her, no thanks, I do not care to lick the sidewalk, she looks to me for help in enforcing her punishment. Sorry, sister, ain't going to happen. This is not the first time I've noticed this phenomenon. In fact, I have a set of cousins whose children are close in age to mine, and gatherings at their houses always turn out like that as well. Many parents seem to think that as long as some adult is near their child, they are off-duty and free from the cares of parenthood. Except, when eight sets of parents do that simultaneously, and suddenly it's me and 14 kids between the ages of 2 and 7, I can only police so much. And I don't particularly care to tell other people's kids what to and what not to do. In any case, I'm ready to change status. To second-lowest-mom on the totem pole.

This place needs some help...

I've been avoiding coming anywhere near my blog in the past year or so because it makes me sad to know that I don't have the time to keep up with it like I used to, or like I'd like to. I really miss writing here. I also feel really bottled up. I need some blog therapy! But, life has changed. Life will do that, you know. I have less free time. Almost zero time to myself, which is hard to cope with sometimes. Also, when Ella was born, the computer room became her bedroom, so computer use is extremely limited. I desperately need a laptop, but it's really not in the budget at the moment. So, I'll wait. So, what's the point of me saying all this? I don't know really. Just venting, I guess. I wondered aloud to Chris yesterday, if I became a freelance comedy writer (how, I don't know), would I be able to write off a laptop, comedy classes and writing classes? That would be pretty cool. I just need to find someone who wants to pay me. If I had my druthers, I'd sit all day in Starbucks, sipping coffee and carrying on with witty banter. ( I do realize that I'm giving myself an awful lot of credit here). Here's what I want to know: how do I get that job?

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, here's what's new in the Kristentatious household: Ella is about to turn one! Can you believe it? I can't! She's really like a little person. Almost walking. Almost talking. Getting lots of teeth. And tenacious as all getout. She's very determined to get what she wants. She can also be very patient when she needs to be. As Eric puts it, "She starting to be a big girl because she's trying to walk and trying to talk English!" If those are the requirements, I'm starting to be a big girl myself!

In other news, and to prove just how much help I need, it's March! Yay! And my Christmas tree is still up! And I have no idea when I will ever find the time to take it down! Seriously, this is how my day goes:

6:20 wake up. (Lately, Eric has taken to getting up at about 6:22 instead of 7:15ish, like he used to, so I don't even get time alone in the morning). From 6:20 to about 8:15 a.m., there is a frantic flurry of activity, in which I get ready for work and get the kids ready for daycare. Pack the kids into their Arctic gear, then pack the kids in their arctic gear into their carseats. Usually, around 8:25, we are pulling out of the driveway (although it should really be earlier). Depending on how the morning has gone so far, Eric either is having a fit about something, or he's playing 20 questions with me, each question starting with, "Mommy?" Then Ella will shout in babese, and he'll shout back at her. "Mommy, we're talking to each other! Isn't that cute?" Then I drop the kids off at daycare, and head to work. At 5:00 p.m., I turn around and do it all backwards. When we get home, around 6:20, Chris and I go into the whirlwind of feeding, playing with, and occasionally trying to bathe, the kids. Ella goes to bed around 7:30. Eric's bedtime routine starts shortly thereafter, with him generally being able to hose us into keeping him up until at least 9 (although bedtime is 8:30). Then Chris and I collapse in a heap. Yup, that's about the size of it.

So, if you're ever wondering why I don't blog more often, or call more often, or email more often, believe me, it's not because I don't want to. I desperately want to. I'm just bogged down.

Well, OK, folks. Eric's playing with broken glass and Ella has a plastic bag over her head. Time to start drinking...