We don't do things that way...

Most people take on new projects one at a time, so they can fully submerse themselves in whatever it is and come out the other side refreshed and ready to take on something else.

I am not most people. Case in point:

I was MIA through the Thanksgiving-birthday-Christmas-birthday cluster that is November through January. That's a given. But right about the time I should have been able to recover, we got those two little pink lines on a stick that said, "Hold on, you're in for another wild ride!"

So for the last 13 weeks or so, I have been a tired, forgetful, exhausted mess.

But wait, there's more.

Before we knew for sure we were adding to our family, I felt like I needed another outlet. Something a little more regular than my paid writing gigs and that required slightly more different brain cells than it does to mother my kids 24/7. And so while I've never been a salesperson and have only ever hosted ONE direct sales party in my life, I signed up to be a consultant with Thirty-One gifts.

Yes, I knew I was pregnant when I did it. That really shouldn't surprise anyone that I'm that crazy.

In case those two things weren't enough, Hubby and I started taking a look around at the chaos that is our house. Our dear, sweet house where we brought our first two babies home. Our first house in the nice neighborhood with awesome neighbors I wouldn't trade for the world.

But the actuality is, no matter how big we thought it was seven years ago, we've about filled it to the brim. And now we're bringing another person here to live. A little person who will have a crap-load of stuff no matter how many clothes/toys/etc. I have from his or her older brother and sister.

I don't have an office. Hubby really doesn't either. Between the Other Woman and the New Other Woman, his tools and "workshop" the cars, the kids' toys and general storage, our garage is crying uncle.

N's room has a kick-butt new closet organizer, but it would be a squeeze to put both kids in there once No. 3 arrives.

You get the picture. So today, Mother Nature permitting, our realtor is coming with a "For Sale" sign for our house. If I think about packing up the contents of our house and physically moving all of our crap treasures for too long, I start to hyperventilate. Hubby isn't fazed. He is the master packer and could probably have our entire house packed in five evenings. My job will be to make up for my lack of strength and ability to carry anything since I'm pregnant by calling everyone we know and begging for help, once the time comes. We aren't looking to go far - we've settled into this school district and don't want to be any farther (or closer, really) to Hubby's job.


I hope our neighbors will forgive us.

And that I don't lose my ever-loving mind between now and well, forever...

Crazy sports weekend

Anyone who knows me knows I try to do everything. I hate to say no. It applies to every aspect of my life, although now that I have two monkeys in tow, I do recognize their limits. But not my own.

ND Band

In June, we got information on how to apply for Notre Dame football tickets. (Yay alumni status!) We picked Air Force, a game that we thought wouldn't be 95 degrees or 35 and snowing, and one that we could get up to four tickets for (ie not a premium game. USC, for example, we could only get two). Lucky for us we got them, and asked another couple to join us.

Fast forward a few weeks from getting the tickets and planning the day, another friend texts me that she won the chance to buy four Colts tickets at work. We were the first people she thought of to join them. Flattering, but once I realized it was the day after our ND game, I got a little flustered. With one football game already a definite and me hoping to go to the Colts-Steelers game (alas, I did not) AND our trip to Florida at the end of the month, I didn't think our checkbook would speak to us if we did everything, never mind how we would feel after all the running.

But they asked us first. And Hubby can't turn down football tickets. I'm pretty sure it's in his DNA. And I would have actually had to say "NO." Huh-uh.

Touchdown Jesus!

But what to do with the monkeys? One quick call to Granny, who hadn't seen them in a while and was itching for some time with them, and we had a plan to meet halfway on Friday after school and do a kid-swap. That meant in addition to two football games, we also had a date night that didn't involve finding a babysitter. We went for a bike ride (which was WAY more fun before he started doing triathlons) and then went out for a late(r) dinner at the "new" Japanese steak house in town. We came home and watched baseball on DVR.

The Notre Dame game was something, especially since they shellacked Air Force (didn't see that one coming). I had fun and so did our friends, so I see doing it again next year. But it was a loooong day. After the game, our friend called her mom - who was watching their kids - to let her know we were grabbing a bite to eat before heading home.

But you ate before the game, her mom said.

"Mom, that was eight hours ago..."


We finally got home and should have gone right to bed since we needed to be up early to head to Indy, but we didn't. Shocker.

See this guy? Not
what you'd call a happy
camper.

The Colts game was fun, except for that whole "they can't win without Peyton Manning" thing. Luckily there was good people watching. We were sitting behind two women who were dressed like they did something unspeakable for a living. Tank tops, bras showing (when did THAT become acceptable?! I so don't get it) and leggings that were probably painted on. And their assets were anything BUT real. They had no idea what happens in a football game, so they kept turning around to ask Craig questions. A guy a few rows down pretended to take a picture of his son, but was really getting a picture of them. Classy.

A few seats down was Mike Ditka. Or his twin. I kid you not. If I had a little more guts, I would have sneakily taken a picture with my phone, because I know no one will believe me. He had the mustache, the sunglasses, the slicked back hair, everything. Who knew Ditka was a closet Colts fan?

We collected very hyper and overly tired children from Granny and Grandpa's house, and after another long drive home, we watched baseball on DVR. Another late night.

I loved it and I'm sure we'll do it again. Just hopefully not both games in one weekend. I'm looking forward to a hot date with my pillow tonight.

...After we watch baseball.

Aftermath

I have talked about weekend hangovers before. Not the kind I used to get in college (and for that, my liver thanks me), but the ones where I look around the disaster that is my house and wonder "Whuck?!"

Mondays are not what you'd call my "productive" days.

Then there was this weekend. Holy Mother-of-all-craptacular-weekends. The house is the least of my concerns.

I'd like to say I'm doing fine. Trust me, about 50 people have asked in the last day or so. So many people have told me they rushed to their computer or phone after hearing the news because they knew I was there. I'd feel all warm and fuzzy and loved inside if I didn't still have the feeling like my stomach was closing in on itself.  But after rehashing it with so many people, talking about what happened is almost easier.

I said almost.

I still picture the rigging going down and still feel the knot in my stomach when I talk about it. I woke up at 4 a.m. because I was reliving it in my sleep. It's hard to play tough guy when your dreams say otherwise.

I teared up last night recounting the story for someone, because I mentioned how close we could have been, if only my friends had responded faster to the idea of surprising me. We would have gotten tickets earlier, and probably closer.

Talk about guardian angels.

I'm not sure what to do with my fears that have multiplied overnight.

Storms? Ya 1,000 times worse now.

Crowds? Dislike has mutated into fear.

Outdoor concerts? Yup, that's a new one.

The fear of storms is not new, but I will think twice before being outside for any length of time. I tried to check my phone and understand what weather was coming toward us, but I couldn't. I didn't have access to all the information that concert organizers did. I was excited and wanted to see the concert, so I pushed my nervousness aside. I thought it was just paranoia; that I was overreacting like normal. I trusted that someone was looking out for me and my fellow concert-goers.

Talk about reality check.

We weren't evacuated. People exited the grandstand in as orderly a manner as you could expect when we were all terrified. In an open area like that there were several ways to get out of the stands. But it was too late for everyone on the track. But I will pause before going to any inside venue with a large number of people. If I do go, you can be sure I will take stock of the exits immediately.

I love music. LOVE music. I want to be able to sit and enjoy a live concert, but I don't know how I'll be able to. And I can't picture listening to Sugarland without tears or feeling nauseous.

So much for happy birthday...

Girls weekend gone horribly wrong

Thanks to the glories of Facebook, most of you know where I was this weekend. No matter how I try, the reporter in me will never go away. Like my friend told me, I'm still a journalist, no matter how many times a day I ask "Do you have to go potty?"

Thanks to the managing editor for letting me share my story in my own words.

http://goshennews.com/local/x1555806825/Eyewitness-at-a-horrific-scene

Party Planning 101

I am two days away from our annual cookout. The one that has the ability to run screaming for my room, so I can sit in silence and rock back and forth, hoping all the people in my house would magically disappear.

Me this week? Hells no...

To be fair, that's only happened once. We had everyone we invited actually show up and it rained, so there were 50 people in my house and garage.

It wasn't pretty. Well, for me anyway. I'm pretty sure everyone had fun, because they keep coming back.

The invite list is a little smaller, but with a few last minute adds, we'll be up to 40 this year. I think I can handle that. Weather promises to be mid-80s and sunny. Otherwise, I guess our friends will end up hanging out with the clutter in the garage. Whatevs.

I make the same things every year and let guests bring a dish (learned after year two). That way I only have to worry about feeding the overnight guests a few extra meals. I have my simple menu list written out and the grocery list made.

We've been a little stressed in our casa lately, so I'm desperately trying a new approach to party planning - don't worry. It's not going well. Hubby is still trying to nail down treatment of his ulcer (ugh, don't ask. I hate doctors right now), so even when he isn't doubled over in pain, he's exhausted. That means the prep falls to little ole me.

Right. No stress there.

So I swear, I am only cleaning my bathrooms and any surfaces that will come in contact with food. I will run the sweeper for the benefit of my overnight guest with cat allergy and attempt to chisel some of the kid-related mess off my dining room table.

I will not dust.

I will not deep clean anything.

I will not suddenly decide that picture that I've always wanted to go in *that* spot on the wall needs to be there NOW or any other house decorating projects that I've ignored for the last 11 months.

I will not painstakingly sweep, mop and scrub my dining room and kitchen floors for my children to promptly spill something or for 40 people to be traipsing over with grass and whatnot on their shoes.

I will not try a brand new recipe or add to my minimalist contribution to the food feast.

I will find a box and gather up all the random clutter "stuff" and hide it in my closet until they all leave. So if you want to know what my house looks like every day, feel free to nose in my closet. That is where random miscellaneous crap goes to die.

At your own risk, of course. Who knows what might fall off a shelf onto your head. Probably whatever I hid there last year.

Slacker

And what the heck did YOU do while you were in college... geez...

Legopocalypse

My son has a problem. With Legos. Specifically their heads. I've avoided discussing it here, mostly because it's kinda creepy, but I can't deny it anymore.

Hubby brought down his old Legos from the attic last summer and Nathaniel fell in love. My boys had a lot of great bonding time that involved son telling father which Lego plane/truck/space ship to build next. And then after a day or so, which one to repair after he played too rough or his little sister wandered into his room.

But while Hubby was busy reliving his childhood building, Nathaniel had to pass the time somehow. So he played with the Lego men. And took off all their heads. He tossed the bodies in with the rest of the random block and collected the heads in an old prescription bottle circa 1985 (no childproof cap - how on Earth did we survive?!).

Once he decapitated every last one, he had more than the bottle could hold. They were in a small red Lego wagon of some sort, and then after we added birthday and Christmas gifts, they migrated to a small book box.

What he did with them, I really can't tell you. He called it a game and mostly just dumped them out and put them back in whatever container they were living in that day. It drives me bonkers, so I try to ignore it. I resist the urge almost daily to spend my afternoon reuniting all the heads and bodies. Lord only knows how many have already been lost.

When Nathaniel's tractor-loving friend came to play Monday, the boys were content to harvest for hours. They worked mostly in his room, but by the time they came downstairs, the grain silo had something in it.

Yup, you guessed it.

Lego heads make good corn seeds. Or so I've been told.

That was fine by me, it just meant the heads were living somewhere new. Until I did laundry the next day.

When I pulled all the clothes out of his hamper, I found no less than five Lego heads. He admitted that the little sisters had come in during the harvest and it got a little rowdy. Somehow Leah's hippo pillow pet was to blame. Bad pillow pet.

I should have known I would keep finding heads everywhere.

This guy didn't make it out of the clothes in time.

Since he never uses the bodies, I have no idea how this guy even made it into the hamper. But he's nice and shiny clean and warm now.

I couldn't leave him all Ichabod Crane-ish, so I gave him some time together with his noggin. I carried the little guy up to Nathaniel's room and put it next to the head corn silo.

Poor thing doesn't stand a chance.

To Pee or Not to Pee

I am sick and tired of bodily functions.

I have one child almost completely potty trained and the other who we are trying to force help stay dry at night by taking away his crutches pull-ups. This means a LOT of wet, smelly, laundry. In case laundry didn't suck enough, pee ups the suckabilty quotient to a billion, at least.

Nathaniel has good days and bad. If he is really tired, he sleeps harder and there is laundry to be done. Oh the smell! I swear I can still smell it on his shorts after they've been through the wash. My nostrils are ingrained with the smell of pee. And I thought diapers were bad!


Leah is doing remarkably well keeping her big girls dry. Now if only she would keep them on. She felt it necessary to lift up her shirt and start to pull down her pants at the coffee shop this morning to show my bestie her "Minnies."

I just heard her get up out of bed, go potty, and never heard her leave the bathroom. Then the whimpering began. I found her pant- and diaperless, laying on the bathroom floor half asleep.

"Leah baby, what's wrong? What are you doing?" I asked as I scooped her up.

"I pee."

"Okay, you had to pee. Are you done?"

"Yeah."

"Then why are you laying on the floor?"

Pause.

"Cause I am."

Right. "Can we go back to bed now?"

"No, I done sweeping."

"No, no you're not sweetie. C'mon."

Oy.

But now it is summertime, and apparently I need to worry about pee outside as well as in.

This weekend during our town garage sale, my kids were alternating between playing at our house and the neighbors' with their kids. My friend and I had been randomly texting each other from our garages so we didn't have to shout across the yard like hilljacks. One from her said this:

I think Nathaniel just peed in our yard.

Oh Lord help me. My friend's sister had the best view of the yard, and apparently he decided to take a break from pulling a wagon around and just drop his pants, do his thing, and get back to playing.

I am still shaking my head. My friend thought it was flippin' hilarious... because it wasn't her kid! Okay yeah it would be funnier if 50 extra people weren't going up and down our cul de sac at the time. And if what he did wasn't contagious. In case I ever doubted that Leah pays attention to her big brother....

The next day, Hubby had pulled the Other Woman out of the garage so the kids could get to their toys better and left it at a 45 degree angle in front of the third bay. We were both in and out and Hubby was checking on dinner on the grill.

I was inside cleaning up when Nathaniel came running into the kitchen.

"Mom, Leah's peeing!"

Now this could have meant any number of things, but it actually was what I was afraid of. She was in the garage readjusting her pants when I got to her. When asked where she peed, she pointed to a puddle on the driveway right in front of the third bay. THANKFULLY it was shielded from the street by a bush and the Other Woman.

How she didn't pee on herself I will never know. The girl is good.

You and me baby ain't nothing but badgers...

There is nothing better to do on a sunny, 70-degree day than go to the zoo. My kids are obsessed with animals and I get an entire hour of silence (sometimes) in the car on the way home. Next time, I'm totally going through the Starbucks drive thru before we leave the big city. It'd be almost like being on my own coffee date. Winning!

I try not to brag about my kids like they are the smartest in the history of ever, but Nathaniel remembered a lot of the animals from our last visit a few weeks ago. He has trouble pronouncing "zebra," but gosh darn it, he remembered the honey badgers.

I said I had a headache!

But of course, we all will after today.

My darling children waltzed up to the badgers' area and he said, "Mommy, look, it's the honey badgers."

Before I had a chance to compliment him on his memory, I realized that someone should have hung a Do Not Disturb sign on the glass. They were doing it like they do on the Discovery Channel. My jaw dropped. I glanced at my friend who was covering her mouth and laughing.

Our kids, aged 4, 3, 2, and 1, had front row seats. 

"They're just wrestling," she said before any of the kids could even ask. Of course, Mrs. Badger wasn't so much participating in the "wrestling." Typical.

The kids continued to stare until Mr. Badger passed out on top of Mrs. Badger.

"Well I guess they're like humans after all," my friend said.

Homophones and how to piss me off

I finally bit the bullet and took the kids on a whim to get a library card. Ahem. PAY for a library card, since we have no home library and have to go to the neighboring township for that. Believe it or not, that was one thing that made me hesitate about buying our house. That and there are no sidewalks. I'm a city kid. I like houses with sidewalks for ya know, walking and little ones to ride bikes. And a library to call my own.

But now that I've had to consciously pay money for it (as opposed to being all wrapped up in taxey stuff that I so don't even begin to understand), you better believe we are gonna use that little piece of plastic.

I figured this is what I need to do to keep my kids interested in reading without going totally broke and getting buried under new books. We kinda hit a lull in reading our books, so it was time to kick start everyone again.

Except for one of the books that Nathaniel picked out. IT HAD A MISTAKE IN IT!!

It said this adorable, annoying little chipmunk was going to... ugh I hate typing it... PEDDLE her bike to her friend's house.

Now that would easily slip past spell check since the word is spelled correctly, but I sincerely hope that publishers use more than that to put a book into print. For small children still learning the English language to see. And absorb. And use again and again, because they saw it in a book at the library AND THEREFORE IT MUST BE RIGHT.

Seriously. Books are supposed to be better than the internet. You can't believe anything you read online (except this fantastic blog) but if it's in a book, gosh darn it, it's gotta be right.

I want to hide that stupid cheery chipmunk until we take the rest of the books back to the library so I don't have to read it again. And you better believe I will be avoiding all of the other books in that series.

OK, totally throwing this author under the bus... it's the Wickleville Woods series. "Heidi's Hike," specifically. Not only is it a dumb story, it's mis-teaching homophones. I can't endorse that sort of behavior.


Would I be off my rocker to take the book in and be like, look Miss Children's Librarian, this book is WRONG and you shouldn't be letting kids read it?!

It wouldn't be the first time somebody told me I was crazy...

Breaking up is hard to do

I'm losing my good sleeper. And I'm ready to cry.

This is what Leah was doing six months ago. She would collapse into her bed at nap time and wouldn't move until 1.5 hours had passed. Longer if I was lucky. I never was. The good thing was she couldn't open her door, so she'd settle into her books and toys for a few minutes before hollering for Momma. She slept a solid 12 hours at night without a problem. 

Now she is all of 33 inches tall and has figured out how to open her own door. She's opening her door and peeking out for at least an hour after snooze time should have started. 

Tuesday, the unthinkable happened. 

She didn't nap. 

Today, she napped, but was still up and playing a full hour after her big brother passed out.

AAAAAHHHH!

I'm not ready! Nap time is my favorite time of day. I can let Nathaniel play Wii to his little heart's content and have 5 minutes of peace and quiet. Sometimes, when I'm feeling really wild and crazy, I'll grab the iPod and fold laundry. 

This is the beginning of the end. By this summer, I will have two children awake for the entire day. I can feel it.  Two kids who will get crazier and crazier the later in the day it gets. Which means Mommy will get crazier and crazier... wait, is that possible?

I don't want to know.

Songs of lowest praise

I've let the news sink in for 24 hours, but I can honestly say I am still baffled.

I admit I had a preconceived notion of what a "failing" school was and what kinds of students they produce: poor, inner-city, low socio-economic class, don't amount to much, blah, blah, etc. 

I had no idea all I needed to do was look in the mirror.

Pennsylvania has revamped its system of tracking graduation rates to better account for students who don't finish in four years. The news does not bode well for my dear old alma mater, Washington High School. Preliminary numbers for 2010 have 47.54 percent of students graduating. That is by far the worst in its area and third-lowest in the ENTIRE STATE OF PENNSYLVANIA. 

Yes, I said third-lowest in the state. Worse than Pittsburgh or Philadelphia city schools. Beat only by charter cyber-schools.

Facebook was lit up like a Christmas tree last night as my high school classmates starting finding the initial story and sharing it. And sharing and sharing. Most had the same reaction that I did: were we really that bad 10 years ago? And what has happened since?

Even then, I knew our drop-out rate was high. We lost 100 students between my freshman year and graduation. Someone told me we were among the worst in the state, and looking back, I believe it. Although some of those were transfers, not nearly as many as I'd like to believe. If my fuzzy memory is correct, that means in 1999, the rate was 49.5 percent. 

Dang.

To put it into the context of something I know now, South Bend schools have been in the news with a state takeover looming for a few of its struggling schools. Their graduation rate for 2010? 73.5 percent.

*Now to be fair, I don't know if Indiana and Pa. use the same kind of crazy calculations, but that's a difference of 25 percent. I'd say it's a close enough comparison. You get the idea.

So what happens now? I don't know. The superintendent was quoted in the local paper by saying the numbers were unfair, that Wash High has a lot of students take more than 4 years because of a transient population. She oughtta be glad I don't live there anymore, because that is exactly NOT what I would like to hear if my kids were in that school district.

I don't care how many kids move there after failing 9th grade somewhere else or need to make up extra credits to graduate. Handing diplomas to less than HALF of your students in a given year is an effing EMBARRASSMENT. I don't want to hear excuses, I want to hear how you're finally going to do something about it. Because this isn't a new problem. But somebody is finally going to call you on it.

Want to be even more informed? Read this.

My ears are buzzing

I was going to try to write about how no one in this house but my 4-year-old likes getting up early, but tonight was one of those nights where extra information entered my brain and now I can't think about anything else. Some of it was stupid Mommy drama that really isn't worth fussing over. The rest is gonna take some time to process.

I need to stew on it for awhile, but I definitely sense a post coming from this. According to the great state of Pennsylvania, my high school has the third LOWEST graduation rate in the STATE. Yes, worse than Pittsburgh city schools and every other school in the surrounding counties.

I can't wrap my head around that. I knew it was bad when I was there - we went from 180 in my freshman class to 98 graduating seniors. A few were legit transfers, but a lot weren't.  And there was no NCLB or AYP or PDQ or whatever other alphabetic mumbo jumbo we want to use to try to evaluate children's education.

But before I hop on my soap box, I need some allergy meds and sleep.

Some come back tomorrow for what I hope is a fantastic rant. In the meantime, read this:

Washington graduation rate 3rd lowest in Pa.

Or this. We didn't even make the P-G's radar.

State releases results under new way to calculate graduation rates

Lost treasures

While some may have thought I lost my sanity BEFORE our road trip to Colorado, I'm pretty sure it's gone now, along with a few other things:

One blue flashlight.  The red one made it home. Thank goodness my treasure hunters have not noticed we are down one. The next time they want to go for a rescue in the basement I'm gonna be in trouble.

Travel "Operation" game courtesy of a Burger King kid's meal. Again, ONE made it home. I'd say it's good we have two, except with two kids, two is almost a necessity. Unless I want to lose my hearing listening to them "share."

My cell phone charger. What makes it odd is that I remember throwing it in the suitcase to go out there, but never actually CHARGED my phone. I don't think. So unless our friends' cats have a texting habit they don't know about...

Travel aqua doodle pen, somewhere around Illinois on the return trip. At least that's when it got dark and was the last time I remember seeing it. Hubby was in charge of putting toys away, so I'm thinking the van ate it, ala the Sippy Cup Incident and Sippy Cup Part Dueax.

Daughter's desire to potty train/ability to pee IN the potty. We were all ready to break out the big girls and really start hard core training, but why go through all that knowing we were leaving for a week? Exactly. And I never knew little girls could a) pee standing up like a boy or b) shoot it halfway across the bathroom. I do now.

My tolerance of winter, if I had any to begin with. When in Colorado, we did as Coloradoans do and skied. It was awesome. It was really freaking windy at the top of the runs, but when you're a million (or 12,000) feet above sea level, it's understandable. And it was for one afternoon. The next day it was almost 60 degrees and we were shedding coats like it was going out of style. Coming home to a dreary muddy yard was not great, but now that it has been covered with about 6 inches of that fluffy white stuff, I'm about done. Mother Nature did NOT need to make up for all the snow that melted with one storm.

My marbles. Oh wait, those have been gone for awhile...

He said wha??

I need to carry a tape recorder or a notebook with me, because I cannot remember all the crazy things that my kids say. And 9 times out of 10, they should be remembered.

That 1 time that I'd rather forget was when my darling boy - who had all of 10 words at the time - decided to repeat Mommy's favorite "aw crap" phrase. Let's just say you're more likely to hear "goshdarnit" around these parts now.

(My other favorite that I self-censored well before it was repeated? Son of a biscuit. Try it. It's awesome. Caught Hubby using it the other day. I'm a trend setter like that.)

There's the truly crazy stuff that Nathaniel picks up at school that of course makes no sense to me because I am not 4: like "applesauce tomato punkin."

Today, he started laughing at me for gosh only knows what and said "Mom, you're making me kiddin'"

Uh... dude... oh, never mind.

He got mad at Daddy the other day: "Dad, you're making me 'diculus." We had friends over at the time and one about spit water halfway across the room. 'Cause it doesn't really SOUND like the back part of "ridiculous."

Ahem.

Little girl doesn't like to be left out. When I ran out of the house like it was on fire went to get my hair cut ALONE, Daddy gave me text updates of what our darlings were up to. I got several photos of my precious OCD-trainee lining the living room floor with Tupperware lids, three lids wide until she ran out.

Hubby asked her what she was making.

"Applesauce."

Right.

How did this happen?

As I mentioned yesterday, I am now president of the community band that Hubby and I both play in. So, like, I'm, like, in charge and stuff. Whuck?!

Yeah I know. Scary. But I guess if I can keep everyone in our zoo fed and clothed, I can do anything, right?! Except remember where I put my cell phone. Or my keys.

We've been involved in the group since we moved to the area. At the time, it was unusual for anyone pretty much straight out of college to be playing. Many of the members put down their instruments after high school or college and then picked them back up again a decade or more later. Let's just say we brought the average age down a bit.

I had been going to rehearsals for about a month when someone approached me about serving on the board. Hubby was still working on getting his own horn, so hadn't even BEEN to a rehearsal yet, and they asked if he could serve too. Uh, sure?

And so we did for a few years, then took a break and now, here we are, almost 7 years later, and I'm running the show. Hubby is excited to have another year off and watch me deal with the headaches. He wants to be called First Dude. I'm pretty sure Todd Palin called dibs on that first, but since Sarah Palin isn't technically in office anymore, I think it's safe to borrow. At least for awhile.

I spent most of the week leading up to my first meeting fretting about it. I was kinda dreading it. I'm not really sure why. Maybe I was afraid I'd pull a Mary Katherine Gallagher or something. But I don't tend to sweat profusely or wear Catholic school girl uniforms (at least not anymore - circa 1995, sure).

But I was surrounded by people who (with the exception of one) are all older than me. I couldn't help wondering why they decided to let the kid run things.

Oh wait. No one ran against me. That might be it. Snap.

Guess they'll have until September to find someone with (more) gray hair to oust me.

Five Things

I really didn't have a coherent thought today.

Scratch that. I didn't have any USEFUL coherent thoughts today. "I really hate laundry" and "Damn I'm cold" don't count.

So here is a random list of things that have crossed my mind in the post-birthday-Christmas-New Years-birthday haze.

1) My cat thinks the half bath and connecting laundry room are HIS. Visitors are warned accordingly should they CLOSE the door to do their business.

He feels it necessary to hop onto the dryer, check his empty food bowl (because he's a pig and inhales it first thing in the morning), then mosey on over to my tiny counter to try to sit, walk, or otherwise fur-ify my clean laundry.

Next time he tries that, he folds.

2) I don't mind so much when my kids don't eat their Fruit Loops in the morning because of the way the garbage disposal smells afterward.

3) I never thought I would ever wear yoga pants for anything resembling actual yoga. Scary.

4) I wore two pairs of socks today. At the same time. Brr.

5) I still haven't finished the laundry. Only 3 more days before I have to start all over again.

Unless Tigger decides to start pulling his own weight.