Livin' The Lice, er... LIFE

This has been a pretty busy week for the monster house. Oh, it started out well enough, with lots of time volunteering at the elementary school on Monday. I was feeling like I was starting to get my life back in order after the kidney stone debacle. I was showing up places on time, and could actually remember what commitments I had.. and even where I was supposed to be! And then, on Tuesday, after staying after school to help #5's teacher with some Christmas craft projects, it all fell to pieces.

#5 had been scratching at his head for about a week. Like a good, caring Momma, I had been checking his head daily, and there was never any visible reason for the itchiness. We switched shampoo. We did deep conditioning. And still he scratched. I checked for lice. I pushed fluids in case it was a sign of dehydration (hey, at this point, I was trying anything). And still, he itched. And then, on Tuesday afternoon during the daily head check, there they were. Little white specks. And 3 bugs. Lice. In my #5's HAIR! Oh, the horror. Oh, the drama. Oh, the bride of Frankenstein screams in my head! Oh, the itching that I'm feeling just typing about it!

So, he got a free pass to stay home from school the next day, and we got busy doing lice shampoo, tons of laundry, checking all the heads of all the other monsters, and shuddering because our brains had convinced all of us that we had bugs in our hair. But, no one else did. Until yesterday. When Logan, who had not scratched even ONCE, had 3 bugs in his hair. I discovered this while doing his beloved faux-hawk right before time to leave for school. Of course. And so we got busy doing lice shampoo, tons of laundry, checking all the heads of all the other monsters, and shuddering because our brains had convinced all of us that we had bugs in our hair, part II. But, we survived it!

So, after all that, I was relaxing last night with a book in the La -Z- Boy in the family room. The kids were all in bed, even if they weren't asleep yet. And, it was quiet. I was loving it! And then... DRAMA! The teen boys, #2 and #3, ran down the hall carrying a broken red guitar, shrieking like little girls and doing a very bizarre hop/step/dance thing. Come to find out, they had caught.... a mouse. Holy crap. Wait... what?! A... mouse?! Of course I simply had to do the obligatory girl things, hopping up and down and shuddering, being of absolutely no help whatsoever. Pointing toward the door and shrieking, "Throw it in the dumpster outside! Let it be a lil mouse-sicle! Throw it out! Throw it out! NOT on the grass! In the trash bin!"

What's next? Frogs? Grasshoppers? Water turning to blood? Leprosy? Fire raining down? More shenanigans from the ex? Because I have to tell ya, I'd like to be a little more prepared, have a little warning, before anything else happens. Let my people go! Um... I may have just jinxed myself, here.

But the good news is, it's Friday! Woohoo! The start of a fun filled weekend of baking Christmas cookies with the monsters, going to a Christmas party and seeing Santa Claus (will the twinnies sit on his lap this year? Stay tuned! Story at 11...), and counting down days until Christmas. How was your week? And what will you be doing this weekend?

Child scratching head by ckphu.com, via the Google

House mouse by sodahead.com, via the Google

What NOT To Do For Happy Pappy Day

Acceptable gift for Happy
Pappy Day

Today is Happy Pappy Day, that time of year when dear 'ol dad gets the crazy ugly ties, the socks, the coffee mugs. The macaroni art, the fingerpaintings, the sloppy kisses, extended nap time in the La-Z-Boy, and unlimited use of the remote control. The rest of the family gets ear plugs.

If the Momma is feeling particularly nice, there might be a sirloin roast for dinner, followed by Key Lime pie for dessert (ew).

Make a note:Not okay
 for Happy Pappy Day.

However you celebrate Happy Pappy Day in your family, remember to be nice to the Daddy.  Tell him you love him. Show him your appreciation. Just for today, do not hop on pop. It's not polite. Tomorrow you can resume your previously scheduled pop hopping.

At this time, teenagers should refrain from asking for funding, demanding keys to a vehicle, taking all the hot water in the shower, talking on the phone for hours, and drama queen activities. Also, it might be a good idea for daughters in the fam to postpone the meeting of the new boyfriend who has the long hair and the Harley until after Happy Pappy Day. It's never good when the Daddy feels the urge to get out the 12 gauge, and is consequently arrested for intent to cause bodily harm.

The Momma should attempt to hide her irritation with the fact that she just washed dishes and there are now 37 different dirty bowls, plates, and cups because the Daddy needed snacks for The Race. There should be no long-suffering, high decibel sighing happening when she does the laundry and has to deal with skid marks. Yet again.

Do the laundry with a smile. Or at least, a
pleasant grimace.

When the Daddy hollers for a drink, snack, remote, or new roll of toilet paper, the fam should NOT holler back "What? Your legs are broken? You can't get it yourself?" And, following the Daddy's extended stay in the bathroom, the fam should NOT scream, "I'm melting, melting!"

Disclaimer: These are not the suggestions of an educated professional. These suggestions should not be used in lieu of proper medical attention. These suggestions have not been approved by the FDA. Consult your physician before beginning any exercise routine. Do not discontinue taking medication without medical supervision.

Images via Google images. 

Strings of Spit

Every day I am reminded in some small way (and sometimes in large ways) that there are things about Motherhood that no one ever warned me about. This is unfair! UNFAIR, people! No one ever had the courtesy to warn me  that my children would excel at public humiliation, public nudity, and strings of spit. No  one told me I would, at some point, no longer be able to tolerate wiping noses (Because I have major sensory issues with slimy things).

As you all know, I have been doing the yoga. I have a love/hate relationship with the yoga. I love the results. I am beginning to hate the abnormally skinny, never perspiring, always cheerful yoga witch. And I hate that she never ever has to stop to take huge gulps of water in between gasps for oxygen. She just smiles, and continues to bend herself into impossible positions. And smiles. And never finds religion while she does it.

It was during yoga practice (that sounds almost pleasant, doesn't it? Don't worry. It's not.) today that I got another little reminder about things I was never warned about.

I thought I was dying. I was sure my temperature was at least 189 degrees. I was gasping for oxygen. I was dying of thirst. So I grabbed my water bottle, flipped off the cap and went to take a gulp.. and... strings of spit. Strings of spit all over the top of my water bottle. I was no longer thirsty.

It seems I have tasters now. Isn't that nice? Whether it's a meal, a coffee, a bottle of water, a cracker, or a grape, my darling little monsters will always get to my portion before me. Why is that? It is so not okay to find strings of spit on my water bottle when I'm dying. I'm sure they're doing it to make sure I'm not being poisoned... aren't they???

My chapsticks are drooling so much I have begun to think they are teething. Please tell me I am not the only one that has monsters that do this. It drives me crazy! I can give each monster their own chapstick, water bottle, dinner, snack, mug of hot chocolate, etc. And they will invariably take mine instead. grrrrrr!

Woman spitting out water by Google images, via fark.com.

Woman pouring water over face by google images via quality-exercise-equipment.com

The Berensteins Didn't Write a Book For This

Today is the day my #1 officially graduates from high school. Granted, the thought of walking with all the graduates in front of all the parents at the actual graduation sent her into a panic attack, so she won't be doing that. But, she's graduating all the same. And a few short hours after that, she'll be off with a bus load of her friends on Senior Trip, headed to California for three days to experience pollution, Magic Mountain, see a Dodger's game, and fry herself crispy go to the beach. We're a little short on waves here in Utah, it seems.

Wait. Did I miss something? Was there a Berenstein Bears book on this that I neglected to read? These bears taught the monsters about lying, teasing, cleaning rooms,bullies, going to the doctor, the dentist, school,and the farm. Saying prayers, doing chores,giving thanks, new babies, strangers, and going on vacation. But I didn't see one for when your first monster graduates high school. (But I do love the way Sister Bear's expression in that image is just like my #1's expression ^^up there^^ in my blog header!)

Wait, Berensteins! You can't cut me off like this! I need to sit my #1 down and read a book with her, so she knows what will happen, and also so I won't have a teary meltdown. Okay, I'll still have the teary meltdown, but I promise I won't do it in front of her until she's boarding the bus for her very first trip "on her own".

I've been doing well thus far. I took her to the market to get food she could gum to death swallow whole much like a python tolerate(she's been newly fitted with spacers, as she's getting braces next week, and has discovered that chewing is not so fun anymore). I was only a dead ringer for the Jewish helicopter Momma for the last half of that trip. And I pretty much stopped asking if she was sure she had enough food when we were in the checkout lane, and #1 begged the cashier to tell me it was enough. It was the *facepalm* she did repeatedly while standing in line that convinced me.

This is my baby! My firstest little girl! And... she's.... *sniffle*... graduating and leaving for three days and she's never been on a trip by herself before and I will miss her and I will worry because what if she loses her cell phone or her money gets stolen or she gets lost because let's face it people we live in a really little town or what if she misses the bus when it's time to come home and all her luggage is on it with her money and her phone and her Visa card then how will she tell us she got left behind and..and..and....  *sniffle*. My baby went and grew up on me. The little snot.

Well then. Since she went and grew up, (without permission, I might add!) there's only one thing left to say. Raise your glasses, everyone. Okay, okay. You don't have glasses. Fine. Raise your coffee cup, your mouses (mice?), or your phones if you're addicted to the Monster House via mobile.... and join me in a toast to the #1. Here's to #1~ my first, the guinea pig monster, who managed to survive having a helicopter mom and six siblings, and has the sarcastic sense of humor to prove it. I love you, baby girl! You did it!! *sniffle*

Berenstein Bears image by screenrant

The totally BRILLIANT Portable Jewish Mother by lanote.org

Helicopter Mom illustration by Momma Needs A Beer
Making a Toast image by Life123

Do Ants Cry?

In the last couple of weeks since the weather decided it was time to be Spring, the Monster House has been invaded by little black ants. I'm forever wiping them off kitchen counters and placing ant baits in hidden corners. Ants make me crazy. There nine bazillion of them and it feels like a giant effort in futility to try and get rid of them.

I think Art Linkletter had it right when he said "Kids say the darndest things!" I am not dating myself here, that was before my time, but I can sure appreciate it!

I was wiping the counter free of ants the other day, cursing in my brain, when Logan suddenly said, "Mumma, that's sad!" I was caught off guard and responded with something witty and appropriate like, "Huh?!" He slid off the bar chair and came over to me looking like he lost his best friend. "Mumma," he said again sadly, "Do ants cry? Cuz you smooshed all the brothers and friends."

I don't believe I had ever felt guilty about killing ants before . But holy cow, Logan has effectively turned me in the the ant killing guilt queen! And now, every time I see a line of ants behind my faucets, or marching down the cupboards by the dishwasher (it would appear these ants are part of the Olympic swimming team, as they are addicted to anyplace near water. They laugh at sugar.) I wonder, hmm. Is this a group of little ant friends, off for some R&R? Is there an ant Momma out there somewhere, sobbing hysterically and moaning, "My millions of babies, my millions of babies! They were so young and full of promise for the future of ants everywhere! Little Johnny was getting ready for college, and Annie was engaged. I was so ready to be an ant granny, and now that will never happen! Curse the evil huge human!"

And also, do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to admit all over the internet that I'm thinking about sad little ant Mommas, even though their offspring are taking over my house? More than that, it's even MORE embarrassing to admit that I now whisper, "I'll do it quick. You won't even feel it! Lucky little ants! You're headed to that giant ant hill in the sky!" before I annihilate their entire family.

What can I say? By the time this ant situation is under control, I'll be needing a grief counselor and significant psychological help. I'll be the crazy ant lady who throws ant funerals that all the neighborhood children are scared of. Small children will hide behind their mothers when I go to the market to buy milk. I'll be used as an example of what could happen.. "Do you wanna turn out like the Ant lady? Do your homework and eat your broccoli!"

This is my life, people. This is my life.

Art Linkletter image by mediabistro, via the Google. Ants image by the Google images

Bologna For Breakfast

On weekday mornings, we have what is called the Monster House Rush - that craziness associated with getting ready for school. On Tuesday and Thursday mornings however, we have uncontrolled chaos. You see, these are the mornings that the monsterlettes have preschool, and it's an experience that nearly defies description. But, I'll do my best.

Like every good mother, I like to try and force the monsters to have a healthy breakfast before school. I have good reasons for this. At least that way, when a teacher asks the class what they had for breakfast that day, my kid won't be the one that says "Half a kosher pickle and a mug of yesterday's coffee!" And it was going well, too. I generally got the monsterlettes and their siblings to eat strawberry instant oatmeal, or a bagel and juice... you know - something that generally resembled real food.

But, a couple of months ago, when things started getting full of the drama, I made a grievous error. I let the monsterlettes have a bologna sandwich with american cheese for lunch one day. It must have been a really busy day, because this is not something I would let the twinnies have if I had been sane. But #6 fell in love. Bologna is his nectar of the Gods. His ambrosia. His answer for world peace. In short, we have been trained by a three year old. And, if we want to be able to get him dressed for school in less than 90 minutes, and we don't want to have to include the entire family in the dressing process while he kicks, screams, and has an epic meltdown, we obey.

Here's how it plays out:

One of us, usually whomever is feeling brave that day, will go in to wake #6 with a shaky smile, artificial cheerfulness, and a sense of foreboding. #6 takes after me. He hates mornings, and he doesn't have any problem letting us know about it.

"#6, what do you want for breakfast? It's school today! Yay! You will get to see Miss Patti and Miss Erica and Miss Nikki, and all your friends! You will get to play outside, have music, and do the weather!"

"NO! No school for ME!" insert scream at a pitch that makes dogs cry


"But we LOVE school! And there is snack and group, and all your friends will be sad if you don't come!"

"NO! NONONONONO! NO SCHOOL FOR ME! SLEEP for me!"

The brave one continues on, seemingly oblivious to the storm that is brewing. Lightning is beginning to crackle against the ceiling, and dark clouds are forming. The kid is getting himself together to throw the mother of all meltdowns. And it's gonna be big.

"What would you like to have for breakfast? Toast and a fruit cup?"

"That's DISGUSTING! GO AWAY FROM ME!"

"Strawberry oatmeal and hot chocolate?"

"NO TOUCH ME! I'm telling Mom!"

"Bologna sandwich?"

Silence. Hearts all over the house skip a beat. It's like the scary music in the movie, when the girl is running away barefoot in the rain and you just know that this will end badly. But wait... what's that? A smile?  Are teeth showing? Is #6 current on his tetanus shot?

"Bwoh-nee sammich CHEESE! Go GET IT! NOW!"

"Okay, Mumma will make your sammich, but it will run away from you if you try to eat it naked, so let's hurry and get you dressed! MOM! Get out the bologna!"

And, 7.2 seconds later, a smiling, dressed preschooler is chomping away at his Oscar Mayer and Kraft sammich. The Daddy stands in the kitchen holding his travel mug of coffee, watching #6 inhale his own personal breakfast of champions, shaking his head and wiping his hand down his face, as though to imply that we narrowly missed disaster. He's right.

You're welcome, Miss Patti and Miss Erica and Miss Nikki. You're welcome.

Images in this post from the Google.

Confessions Of A Mommaholic

If you're addicted to chocolate, you're a chocoholic. If you have a thing for tanning, you're tanorexic. Shopping is what floats your boat? Shopaholic. Mother of seven? You got it. Mommaholic. And today, you get to have my confessions, both real and imagined. There may be ranting involved. I hope this will give you a little giggle to start your week off right. Who knows? We might have something in common!

•  I have been known to let the monsters have marshmallows for breakfast.
• I have left early/not attended events and used Logan's multiple diagnosis' as my excuse because I didn't want to be there. Not always, not frequently. But it's happened. And probably will again.
• There is brownie batter on my kitchen ceiling. It's been there since September.
• Nose seepage makes me gag. I can't handle little green drippy noses. The monsters and the Daddy have to take care of that chore. Give me a choice between a 12 wipe diaper or wiping a nose? I'll take changing duty.
• I have encouraged the monsterlettes to jump on the couch so I can eat dinner without being pestered
• It's killing me not to write a blistering review of a book I got from the library last week. Okay. Seriously. It's MOAT, not MOLT. And furthermore, if you're going to write a book involving sign language, don't compound your error by having the main character spell out M-O-L-T to a deaf child in sign language, defining it as a circle of water around a castle. UGH! Also- there, their, and they're are not interchangeable, which and witch are not the same, vigorous and rigorous are different words with different meanings, it's utmost, not up most, and learn your punctuation! You cannot get fat off Bon bons. That would just be gross, and involve many dissections. You can get fat because of bonbons. And also? It's offensive to say you can't be a housewife because you will get fat off Bon bons. Watch yourself. I read 10-15 books a week. Grisham, James Patterson, Diane Mott Davidson, Fern Michaels, Danielle Steel, Nora Roberts... I read it all - except science fiction. Can't do it. And seriously, it's taken me two freaking days to get through 150 pages of this drivel. The thing is, it's a cute story and I want to see how it turns out. But, REALLY! Proofread! I've been stomping around the monster house since yesterday about this. It should be used as an elementary spelling/punctuation/quotation text, to teach children what NOT to do. My family is ready to have me committed because of this stupid book.
• The twinnies watch waaaaaaaaay too much TV. Also, they are addicted to Spongebob, Olivia and Peppa Pig.  #6 has started asking questions with a British accent, and Logan runs around the house with one eye covered shrieking "ShivermetimbersARG!" as one word over and over and over and over.... should I be concerned?
• Remember my Notorious #5's bullying nightmare? Yeah. Still nothing has been done on the part of the school administration. I want to picket the elementary school, but I'm pretty sure there would be cursing involved, which would set a bad example for the Kindergartners..

Alright, y'all, that's all for now! Hope your Monday goes well, shaping the rest of the week into an entirely manageable experience. OH! And one last thing:

• It's my personal opinion that you should earn at least ONE of the years of therapy your child will undoubtedly go through as an adult, during which their therapist will blame every bad thing that's ever happened to them on their mother. Therefore, I am looking forward to this coming Saturday, when my "new" mom-mobile will arrive. People? It's a retired black and white police cruiser. I'm so totally serious! And I am SO going to pick up my high school children every. single. day., and put my hand on the tops of their heads, shoving them in the back seat. Sadly, it no longer has bullet proof glass or steel reinforced doors. But I can work around that...it is, after all, still black and white! The Daddy has a wicked sense of humor. Oh, holy cow. People? It's a MOM enforcement vehicle. Okay, okay. I'm stopping now.

The mom-mobile.. but mine will be minus the light bar and
decals. Although, the decals were only painted over with
white spray paint. I could razor it off for effect...

images in this post lovingly supplied by the Google Images

Hustle Yer Bustle

In December, the Monster House was struck down with varying degrees of Bronchitis, Walking Pneumonia, and colds. It was not a pretty sight. I had a persistent, not even remotely fun infection and cough that lasted for approximately 6 weeks. The length of time and severity of my particular brand of "being sick" so alarmed one of my dear friends that she said during a phone call (during which I coughed and hacked until I saw stars and gasped for air), "Look, you're very sick. You've had this infection for weeks, and you lead a fairly sedentary life. This could literally KILL you!"

I was unmedicated, unseen by medical professionals, and it seemed, was only getting sicker. I am the one person in the familiy without insurance, you see. So, I would shuttle my monsters back and forth to doctors' appointments, run up to the pharmacy to get no less than 2 prescriptions per monster, all the while coughing and hacking like a 4 pack a day, 40 year smoker.

But when my friend told me that the infection could kill me because of my lifestyle, there it was. CLICK. I need to ..  it would be a very smart move for me to... (you realize, I'm having a heck of a time admitting to this).. yikes. Okay. I'm taking a deep breath. Here we go. I need to find a way to exercise that won't offend my life long voluntary allergy to putting on spandex and hopping and jiggling about in the midst of 45 perfectly toned, 12 pound little bodies. Let me let you in on a little secret. Women that weigh 12 pounds irritate me. They just do. And also? Women that say how much they loooooove to exercise? Should never come over to my house. Fair warning.

I used to joke about this : "I don't exercise! I would scare small children and household pets! It's a public service that I don't exercise, really!" And when the twinnies came along, there was this perfect, built in excuse. I can't leave home, because of Logan. There ya go. Can't exercise! Gee. Darn. So heartbroken about that. But, I run after 7 monsters all day long. That's exercise! And seriously, I only eat one meal a day, usually dinner, and usually at about 10 pm, or later. I'm not overindulging. I have a low calorie intake. I could go on for days with all the reasons/excuses I have. It's an art form for me.

But in the last few weeks, I've really felt the need to get in shape. I'm getting ill more often. I'm tired. I'm worn out just by doing normal, every day things. This is not good. Not good at all. And so, I'm going to do it. I just want y'all to know how much I'm hating saying all this. And it should be understood from the beginning that I plan to moan, and whine, and cry, and complain about it forevermore. It's my right as a fat woman. And at this point, even Mousercise is beyond my capability.

I remember my mother's workout videos. I have a deep and abiding hatred for Jane Fonda. So here's what I wanna know. How do y'all get your exercise in? The first person to mention pole dancing or procreation practice will be punished. Severely. In ways that you've not yet dreamed of.

I did have a short period of mental illness, when I loved everything Tae Bo. However, that was three pregnancies ago, and Billy Blanks makes me cry now. So bring it on, people. What *gulp* workout can you envision me doing? Your answers will be my entertainment for the day. Let's see how silly things get around here!

images lovingly provided by the Google when searching mousercise, I Love Lucy exercise, vintage exercise equipment

Sounds Of A Monster House

The majority of us are diseased this week, and we have this in surround sound:


And when I'm completely worn out from coughing and caring for monsters, and ready to drop, we have something like this:


Finally, after I recover from the previous trauma, we have this:


Hope everyone one out there is staying healthy. Take your vitamins. Drink plenty of fluids. Avoid the monster house, people. It's getting kinda ugly in here...