memorial day

we still miss you.

the horse poop post - a rant

we live in a neighborhood.
i call it the suburbs.
others call it the country.
we are surrounded by farmland.
some of the farms are vacant.
and some of them are occupied.

when we drive anywhere,
we pass cows, horses, chickens, pigs,
emus, pheasants, ducks, and farm dogs.
by pass i mean - try not to run over.

sometimes, the stable hands
ride the horses on the road.
in our neighborhood.
they say they want the horses
to get used to the feel of the road,
and the sound of the cars.
i get that.

but they poop.
a lot.
on the road.
the road my kids ride their bikes on.
the road we take walks on.
the road i drive my car on -
through the poop -
onto my tires -
and into my garage.

it is large poop,
stinky poop,
and rain-doesn't-wash-it-away poop.

so i just wonder,
since there is a law to
pick up the dog poop,
is there a law to
pick up the horse poop?

ok - rant over.
this post sponsored by the word - poop.

well, i survived, barely





sunday confession

"mom!  i need a band-aid!"
"ok, here's a spongebob one."

"don't we have any others?"
"um, others?  how about hello kitty?"
"no thanks."

"littlest pet shop, princess, dora, camo, fairy, or rainbow?"
"ugh, don't we have any plain ones?"
"plain?!?"
"you know, mom, a regular one!"

"you mean like mickey?"
"no, just a plain band-aid!"

and. my. heart. breaks.
end scene.

what's your sunday confession?
the confessional is open.

cooking with tang

ok, so yes the graduation was yesterday.

but let's talk food for a minute.
in particular, the fruit dip
i had at the graduation party.

awesome-ness.
citrus-y, light, yummy, etc.
i could not stop.
i never search out people and ask for recipes,
but i searched this mom out.
i tracked her down,
and begged her for the recipe.

best fruit dip ever
8-ounce package of cream cheese, softened
7-ounce jar of marshmallow cream
1 1/2 teaspoons tang (or to taste)

yes, i said tang!
i couldn't believe it either.
so good, try it sometime!
like now!

graduation post to follow soon.

not so wordless wednesday



k's first preschool graduation




































k graduates from preschool tomorrow.
but today, let's tell a story.
a story from her past.
a story about her first preschool graduation.
m's preschool graduation.

she was about six months old.
g was two.
m was four.

we got up at the crack of dawn.
and got ready for hours.
everyone looked perfect.
and i mean perfect.

k wore the cutest sailor dress you have ever seen.
a gift from one of my mom's friends.
cutest. dress. ever.

we packed everyone up and headed over
to the preschool.
mm took m and g inside to get ready.
m went with her class.
mm and g scoped out the perfect seat.
in the front.

i loaded k in the frontpack.
we walked into the building.
k pooped.

all up her back.
all down her legs.
all over me.
all over the frontpack.

i was not prepared for this.
at all.

i had a diaper and some wipes.
that's it.
i was prepared to be gone for an hour
and then be back at home.

we went into the bathroom,
i started to clean her up.
i started to clean myself up.
mm called me.
i may or may not have cursed into the phone.
most likely.

i lined the frontpack with paper towels.
i put her back in,
with a diaper but no clothes.
no cute little sailor dress.
we walked into the auditorium.
and sat, yes, in the front.

that's when i looked down and noticed -
the sunburn.
yes, on my six month old naked child.
because who thinks of sunscreen in may?
no one, that's who.

so here is a picture of her first graduation.
and here's hoping tomorrow -
there are no poop stories.
fingers crossed.

sunday confession

mm and i rarely argue.
if ever.
we i whine and complain,
b*tch and moan,
but rarely argue.

anyhoo,
k's preschool graduation is this week.

one of us wants
the big kids to attend.

one of us does not.

one of us is right, obviously.
one of us is wrong, unavoidably.

what say you?

what's your sunday confession?
the confessional is open.

wordless wednesday

old friends always know just what to send.
(not that i'm calling you old, rj)

 

happy unmother's day

it is monday morning.
no one got out of bed on time.
note to self - stop pressing snooze.

no one got dressed on time.
no one ate breakfast on time.

m and g sprinted to the bus stop.
wonder if they have lunch money?
ah well.
note to self - find lunch money.

i loaded the dishwasher,
started her up,
along with the washer.
with the first of five loads from a weekend of
soccer, communions, dress clothes, and guests.

i showered in 32.2 seconds.
loaded up k for school,
along with the cat.
vet day.
hopefully he won't notice bear's whisker trim,
courtesy of k.
yes, snip-snip, and they were gone.
all of them.
note to self - put scissors up higher.

dropped off k at school,
forgot her backpack.
dang.
note to self - remember backpack.

headed over to vet's office.
bear puked in his cat carrier.
note to self - stop driving like a madwoman.
he apparently gets car sick - who knew?
he did NOT like this situation.
neither did i.

pulled over,
let cat out,
cleaned up cat puke with several
napkins from various fast-food places,
along with the last of my anti-bacterial wipes.
note to self - buy more anti-bacterial wipes.
stuffed all used napkins and wipes into kid's cup
from my mother's day dinner out.
note to self - clean out car.

arrived at vet's office.
covered with cat hair -
bear rode the rest of the way on my lap howling.

listened as vet explained new flea medicine options.
note to self - remember this!
forgot everything he said as soon as i walked out of the room.
thankful he didn't seem to notice the missing whiskers.

arrived home to drop off cat.
started another load of laundry.

it is not even 10am yet,
but mother's day is over, people.
with a vengeance.

happy mother's day

guest poet, m.

You stand out in a crowd.
The best mom in the world.
Food is great.
Shelter's cozy.
Helping me with homework,
giving me advice.
Great sense of style,
and awesome clothes.
I love you,
and you love me.

first communion

happy day, my son.
you should wear a tie more often.
just kidding.

dear 17-year-old self

dear 17-year-old self,

put on the freaking sunscreen.
just do it.
yes, it takes forever.
wah.

do not lie and tell your mother
that you put on sunscreen
when you in fact did not.
put on the freaking sunscreen.

do not use baby oil as suntan lotion.
even if your friends do.
or crisco oil.
yes, i am telling you, crisco oil
as suntan lotion may be the
stupidest idea you will ever dream up.
for real.

do not burn yourself because
you think it will turn into a tan.
do not go to the tanning bed
because you get a summer job
at an office where all the other
ladies go tanning everyday at lunch.
you are smarter than that.

put sunscreen on your face.
because one day,
one day soon,
you will have a spot removed,
and by removed,
i mean,
SHAVED OFF OF YOUR FACE
AND THEN LASERED.
and you will have to wait two weeks
to find out if you have ruined
your skin forever.

and it will be a long two weeks.
so.
just wear the freaking sunscreen, mkay?

xo,
pj
aka your 39-year-old self

p.s.  please read this to your 11-year-old brother.

sometimes procrastination works

for weeks now
our dryer has been broken.

i mean, it works,
but it doesn't turn off.
ever.
it just keeps drying and drying.
if you close the door it starts
all on its own.
but if you leave it open the cat
will sleep there.

so eventually i learned
to unplug the dryer
after folding the clothes.
close the door,
and then it couldn't run.

after a while i got the routine down nicely,
but we talked a lot about getting a new dryer,
as this one had the potential to burn our house down.

then, over the weekend,
it was fixed.
magically.
no more problems.
i guess sometimes procrastination works.

please don't tell me if you still think it has the
potential to burn our house down...

~fingers in ears lalalalalalalalalalalalalalala~

sunday confession

when i was dating mm,
i visited his house in buffalo several times.
one of the things i remember
was their color-coded socks.
each family member had a different
color thread,
sewn on the end of each sock.

at the time, i thought this was a little weird,
(although i appreciate the type a-ness immensely)
i mean, how could you not know which socks
belonged to which kid?

and now,
i have three kids of my own.
plus me and mm.

i totally get it!
our socks all look the same!
same black sport socks,
same gray sport socks,
same white everyday socks!
all approximately the same size!
it takes a ph.d. to sort them!
it is not unusual to have 35 pairs
or more in the laundry basket!

so the questions i ask are
where is my thread?
who can sew?

what's your sunday confession?
the confessional is open.