I win at Pinterest!

This is Week 3 of the kid's stay and the newness of the Great Outdoors has worn off. So has TV, books, Nintendo DS, Wii, the dogs, the cats, coloring, me, and anything else that they could possibly entertain themselves with.

Being a good soldier and believing in preparedness, I had numerous arts and crafts projects lined up for us.   (Many kudos to my mom who had to parent before the internet)

I spent about $50 on some essentials like glue,  a shower curtain to put over the table, glass beads, and paint brushes, but most everything was either trash I had saved (egg cartons, plastic bottles, beer caps) or kitchen items.

Here's what we've accomplished so far:

A Nod to the 60's - Homemade Lava lamps:

Water, oil, food coloring and drop an Alka Seltzer in it and watch it go baby!

3-D flowers  

 Made from boxes, egg cartons, construction paper, and bottle caps (this was one of my favorites and now sits in my office)

Poems!

 The kids LOVED this one:

I had a hardcover book that was awful so that I decided to cut the pages out of it so we could color around words to make poems.

Sharpie Art with Dollar Store Plates

Bake for 30 minutes and it's permanent 

Initial Art

They painted they letters and glued the glass beads to it

Bouncy Balls

Made from corn starch, Borax, glue and food coloring. Big hit with the kiddos. 

I still have a couple more tricks up my sleeve but I'm pretty happy with our projects so far!

Happy crafting

Is 11am too early to talk about Mortality? Because it sure feels like it.

My neighbor just got a new puppy this weekend.  

A Pomeranian/Chihuahua mix that looks like a little fluffy fox, similar to this:  

It's off-the-charts cute and an amazing kid magnet.  Not even 24 hours after getting the puppy my kiddos were over at the neighbors house toting the dog around.   It's like they can sense cute and must partake in it. But then comes the Want Factor. 

Around 11 am today, Boy Child asked me when it was going to be 4 o'clock because that's when the neighbors could play again.  I told him he had a good five hours before that happened. 

Boy Child let out a huge, dramatic sigh, put his elbows on the table, rested his head in his hands and said, "I wish we could get a puppy."

Me: You have a puppy in Florida.  

Boy Child:  But we need a puppy here. This summer!

Me: Um, we can't have a puppy because we have two dogs already.

Boy Child: When one of them dies can we?

Me: Geez. I don't want my dogs to die!

Boy Child: No - not wish them to die, but when they die of natural causes...then can we get a puppy?

Me:  I think you need to lay off watching so much Animal Planet. You're six. You shouldn't even know what 'natural causes' means. 

But seriously, he's six and the fact that he can reason out a response like that to 'solve the problem' has me thinking that this kid is going to be dancing circles around me in a few years. *Sigh*

Gatorade - Instant Pee Maker!

Last summer,  I became a pro reasonably adept at being able to handle road trips and day-to-day activities with the kids.  I knew the  steps that had to be completed before we could leave the house on time and I knew all of the retorts to the 8,999 requests that I would hear before we left the house.  I learned how to say no without feeling guilt ridden and how to tell when an argument was brewing that would require adult intervention. I tell you, I thought I had this mom stuff down pat.  But that was last summer.   And if you don't use it, you lose it.  All that hard earned kid knowledge...just out the window.

I made my first tactical error within the first hour of our road trip from SC to VA: 

              

  I handed them the 32 oz bottle of Gatorade that 'Mater (their Dad) asked me to                 buy for them.  

I figured it would be easier to give it to them immediately rather than fielding unending requests  "for a sip". Man, am I dumb sometimes.  A 32oz bottle of gatorade will hydrate the bejesus out a child. In exactly one hour.  They drank that bottle so fast I'm thinking of putting them into a chugging contest at college, any college, and I know that they will walk away undisputed champs.

I am convinced, gatorade or not, that any open, desolate stretch of road will trigger a child's bladder.  This interesting biological phenomenon has forced us  to use gas stations that I would normally only consider stopping at if I couldn't find a tree to hide behind and didn't have a scrap of a paper napkin.

You know those gas stations. The ones that offer Live Bait! Fireworks!! T-shirts!!!!  Hermit CRABS!!!!! and where the locals hang out, smoking cigarettes in the store. So, not only do I have to contend with the cigarette smoking locals staring at us  as we maneuver through the aisles of cheap Chinese made toys and whatnots,  we have to now wade through aisles of crap that is simply irresistible to kids. Ooohh can I get this?  Want. want. want...ugh.

On this trip, we were lucky enough to be able to stop at the infamous  South of the Border.  Oh. My. God. What a dump. I felt as if I was in the Griswold Family Vacation movie to Wally World.  It has certainly lost its childhood luster for me. But they had bathrooms and the kids eyeballs were starting to float so we ignored the trash blowing around the joint and the weird smell and made our way to the bathrooms.

Blondie ended up in the stall next to me and after a few seconds I hear her little voice float over to me and say, "Ms. Allison, what does M-A-N-E-A-T-E-R spell?"

"Um, maneater....why?" 

"There's a picture of a shark with a person in its mouth on my door and that's written above it."

It could have been worse. Way worse.  I'll let you use your imagination because, lord knows, I had some vivid, x-rated imagery running through my mind.  It was easier when they couldn't read, mainly because I still don't know how to answer the question "What does it mean 'call Sherry for a good time'?"

The next gas station we stopped at had no paper towels, a broken sink, and permanent yellow stains in the toilet, but, as Blondie so succinctly put it:  At least it didn't have writing on the wall. 

Amen to that sista'. 

A List of Things I Can't Be Trusted Around: (An early April Fool's Guide)

April Fool's Day is coming up and I haven't planned a huge joke in a couple of years. I'm getting withdrawals.

I am a mischievousness person.  I've been this way since childhood - pranks, tricks, scaring people - if I'm not scheming on some joke to play the excess energy builds up and I can't focus on the important stuff, like work, paying bills, or generally all of the super-fun adult activities.

Most of my friends are aware of this personality trait and take preventative measures to keep me from 'getting them'.  

To further help public awareness, I've compiled a list of stuff I shouldn't be left alone with. This is in no way all  inclusive.  A girl's got to have some secrets.

1. Cell phones - I will post to your Facebook account. No, I don't care that your Mom is one of your friends, but I will keep my mischievousness  classy.

2. Puzzles - within moments of sitting down I will locate the piece you've spent 10 minutes searching for and will put it in its correct spot. Left long enough with the puzzle, I will finish it.

3. Wallets - I will reorganize all of your credit cards into categories. This actually benefits you because, once you learn my system, you will notice how much more quickly you can retrieve your cards.

4. Checkbooks - I will fill out a check to myself, usually in the amount of 1000 pesos. I will also fill in the memo section for you on several checks. The bank loves getting checks with "Dwarf tossing" written in the memo section.

5. Purses - If we are out eating and you leave your purse unattended, I will put silverware, sugar packets, bread, and/or napkins and/or anything else I can fit in there and not get in trouble for "stealing". You should probably check your purse because it's hard to get the sugar out of your purse once the packet breaks open.

6. An empty work desk with a pad of post-it notes - It's amazing how many things I will IMMEDIATELY have to share with you and it's so fortunate I now have access to 100 sheets of wee sticky paper. I will eventually buy you more post-it notes since I will use all of yours.  

And lastly, white boards, chalk boards, fridge magnets or anything that I can draw on. I particulary enjoy adding items to your grocery list: chicken breast, left side, no nipple. 

Well, I now feel relieved of responsibility and guilt for all of the future shenanigans I have planned.

 

 

The cheese stands alone

This morning, Wyatt the Dog caught and ate a mouse. Before he dined, he brought the mouse inside my house. (All rhymes are unintentional yet still amusing to me.) What had happened was, I fed the dogs, put them in the fenced in backyard, and got on the elliptical to workout (and to mostly watch a Netflix movie that had been sitting at the house for a month that 'Mater was tired of looking at - but OFFICIALLY - I was working out).

As I'm sweating, I look out the window to see a black and white streak tearing through the yard. Five foot fences are nothing for Wyatt but a quick amusement to jump over before going on his morning romp. I jumped off the elliptical, ran outside, called for the dog who ran inside and deposited the mouse on the carpet. I'm faced with a major dilemma at this point. I have to get back on the elliptical in order to keep my stats going (410 calories burned is a number I don't want lost) however, I don't want the  still alive and squeaking mouse on the living room carpet. Off the elliptical I go, run over to the dog who puts the mouse in his mouth and acts like nothing is going on. Mouse? What mouse? So I haul his butt out to the screened-in porch and continue my workout. An hour later, I'm done working out and Blondie is awake and wandering around the house in a pre-breakfast stupor. I fill her in on Wyatt's going on's and she is pretty grossed out. Me too since I had to clean the mouse carcass off of the rug on the porch. She and Boy child take Wyatt outside again and he promptly begins mouse hunting. This is where The Children get shady.

An hour into mouse hunting, Boy Child comes inside, holding his stomach and is soooo hungry and can he please have a piece of cheese. I, being oblivious to this new type of subterfuge, say sure! Does your sister want one too? I cut two large chunks of delicious New York Style Sharp Cheddar Cheese and give it to Boy Child. 3.5 seconds later he's back inside,  no cheese and everyone's *starving*. They need chips. I give him a handful of chips, which he took outside and proceeded to eat all of them except one. Blondie comes inside asking for more chips since I only "gave Boy Child ONE" ! I was unaware that eight-year-olds could do judgment and indignant so well. Bravo. This is when I realize I've been had.

Boy Child comes back inside and I determine that he did, in fact, eat all the chips (which was easy to figure out because he had crumbs all over his mouth). I do like to give The Children the benefit of the doubt so I ask him where the chips went. My question is met with absolute silence. He's getting better at this game. I ask where the cheese went to and Boy Child tells me, in the most put-out voice he can muster, "Well, Wyatt kept eating it all and we were trying to catch a mouse and need chips to put into a pine cone to catch it!"  Apparently, I now need to factor in Feeding the Wildlife when I do my grocery budget because they went through a half a wedge of good cheese and a half a bag of chips before I caught on to the Mouse Trap Plan.

It always comes back to poo

This weekend, 'Mater and I were sans kids, as they went to stay at their Aunt Beezee's house. 'Mater and I decided to do something 'adult' and went to the rodeo with friends. Adult friends. Who drink and don't need help wiping their bottoms...yet. Right before the show started, Mr. Muffin made a comment that we were so close to the arena that we could possibly end up with debris on us. I wrinkled my nose and laughed it off. That was until the first bucking horse came out the gate, spun it's rider around, flipped up a piece of poop that sailed way into the sky and landed on my shoulder, rolled down my arm, and left a trail of stink on my body.

No kids and I still get poo'ed on.

Luckily, I was already semi-used to being covered in a shit smell because, just the day before, The Children developed a new game called Butt Bomb, whereupon someone farts on a piece of paper then wipes the stinky paper upon your person. And this is why I don't feel the need to buy them lots of toys. Take one Boy Child, who is gassy, give him some paper, some tape and a couple minutes alone and they will entertain themselves. Boy Child spends a good amount of time discussing bodily functions anyway so I'm glad he's managed to incorporate a game out of his gas.

During the past week, Boy Child has shared his musings pertaining to gas with me. I now share with you:

                1. If you are in public and can't fart - just hold it in and it will come  out quietly, like a little  bubble. The fart will just slip out your butt like a spy! (His own words, People.)

Boy Child will share this little gem with anyone who happens to fart in his presence. Apparently, if he isn't the one gassing you out of the room, he doesn't want to hear it coming from you. In the meantime, I have purchased several bottles of Febreeze and have limited taco night to every other week.

Oh HAHA. Very funny, Karma

Every month, for the past several months, something major has broken in my house. In April , it was the hot water heater; discovered by the guy installing new satellite internet for me. He was kind enough to point out that I had a foot and a half of water in my crawl space and it was rising. A Johnny Cash song immediately started playing in my head: How high's the water, Momma? She said three feet high and rising. Of course, I had no man support at the time. 'Mater was in South Carolina and my dad was out teaching so I resorted to Panic Mode, which involved me running in circles and waving my arms in the air. It's great for relieving tension but doesn't get much solved.

I don't understand plumbing. I don't know how to turn the water off to the hot water heater and I really, REALLY don't like standing in the crawl space with muddy water swirling around my ankles. You just don't know what the hell is in there. Snakes, spiders, The Thing - it's all possible.

June saw my dishwasher go kaput. I used my yard sale money to buy a new one. Lowe's was delivering it and would take away my old dishwasher except the broken one didn't get disconnected. Being the fabulous independent woman I am, I figured I could look up instructions online on how to disconnect a dishwasher and do it myself. Wrong. Very wrong. I learned that I do suck at plumbing and that the Lowe's delivery guys don't care if you are near tears in your kitchen and have water leaking everywhere. They will not help you disconnect your old dishwasher so that you can have it removed and stop the water from leaking all over your floor. I mean, really!! The dogs can only drink up so much water before they become bloated and there are only so many towels that I can put down before I admit defeat.

My fervent wish for July was that nothing would break in the house and I could save the $money I had been shelling out every month for new appliances. What a stupid wish. Don't ever wish it yourself. What I ended up with was a $300 vet bill for Wyatt the dog who managed to get a puncture wound in his leg running through the bamboo forest in the neighbor's yard. Damn Vietcong. The best part of that evening, upon returning from the emergency vet's office, was watching a huge storm roll through our area and seeing lightning strike the house...which fried the satellite TV .

This is what I have learned:  Plumbing makes me cry but I now know how to turn my water off thanks to my fabulous plumber who instructed me to flip the switch on my breaker box. Electricity, I can do. Along with following verbal directions such as, "Flip the switch in the breaker box that says 'water' ". Pfft. I OWN you water! The lesson here is that the Appliance Gods are mighty and don't wish against them or you end up spending your money fixing your dog who was injured by Vietnam Era technology and watching old Clint Eastwood movies because you don't get satellite TV anymore.