The Breakup

Dear Facebook,
It's not you, it's me. Sort of. I am done with you. I jumped into this relationship thinking it would be fun and cheeky, but I was wrong. I have learned not jump in during political posts, keep my distance from those stupid games and have tried not to offend anyone with my atheist left wing viewpoints (while the same curtousey has been ignored). I convinced myself I didn't care when people deleted me (strangely a hurtful act of spite). I am not sure when animity became uncool, but between facebook, twitter, instagram and the blogsphere not only can I tell you what several of my acquiantces ate for breakfast, what kind of hair day they are having and there affinity towards The Royal Wedding and thirsty Thursdays, I can also give you there personal religious beliefs (most often extreme) and their (also most often extreme) political dislike of the current administration (both Bush and Obama). This information is useless in my real life. Somehow, Mark Zuckerberg made gossip viral and boring. But I can't just blame the crazies that insist on updating me with their infants bowel movements, I do obsessively check my facebook app (damn you smart phones, that is a whole seperate post), but in recent months I rarely update my status or post pictures. I think part of my phobia towards updates stems from the reality that every time I apply for a job or accept a new friend they know things about me that I would not necessarly tell them in an interview. Mind you, I feel like a I am pretty mild mannered (in the facebook realm, in reality I am kind of a pill) but still I wouldn't show a prosepective employer articles I find interesting or how I think it is stupid that babies are not born with all there teeth (what a pain in the ass 2 years of teething is). Also, my oldest son, Kaeden, is in school now, which ushers in a whole new legion of Facebook requests. And as desperate as I am for mom friends I would prefer to do it the old fashion way. You know, texting. Once I accept a friend request those actual strangers are let into my world. And while I like knowing what college they went to or that they like a good time, it is surreal that they can know my kids birthday themes from 2007, how many drinks I had last Saturday and judge my past hair styles. Then they can arrive at conclusions that I may or may not be wanting to send, without ever having a conversation with me. I am aware that I control what is seen to the outside world, and I have a very sparse facebook account (now), but have have zero control about what is posted about me and even less control over how people perceive me proclaiming "Margarita Mondays" at 10am in December.

In somewhat ironic fashion, I happen to be a very social person, but I think facebook hinders that. I currently have over 500 friends in cyberspace (totally bragging). I would say I have seen 100 in the past year and about 10 in the past month. So why do I need/like having all of these other people somewhat in my life? What is the fascination with seeing people you knew in elementary school on your computer? I also think this takes away from the actual friendships I deeply care about and want to nurture. The time I spend "liking" an acquaitances wedding pictures could be spent on the phone with my best friend. Not to mention the housework and tiny humans that are neglected due to my slight addiction. I truly wish I could be actual friends with 500 people. It would be awesome and fun and you would never run out of conversations to have, but that's not possible. And I know, it is silly that I have a blog in which I am pretty much an open book and I am concerned about privacy and perception. Maybe it is different to me because I control it or maybe it is because no one reads my ramblings. Either way, the blog seems more useful. If I spend hours looking at my blog at the very least I get a couple paragraphs of my life documented, but with Facebook I cannot count the number of wasted hours I have spent "liking" pictures of my friends mom's weekend get away with the "girls" at 2am.

I feel like I am leaving a party early, like something really awesome may happen and I won't be around to see it. More people will get married, divorced, have babies, post obnoxious articles/videos/pictures, and apart of me will miss it (I am a sucker for a cute baby pic and any link to a groupon like site). But how much awesome can really happen when your parents now have a page covered in Glenn Beck clips and animal cruelty videos (I WISH i wish making that up).

I wrote this, in part, because I don't like when people disappear from my friends list. I always assume they deleted me and hate my face and my kids and all of my life decisions (I am super self involved). If I could be one of those people who never logs into Facebook and only is there for the party invites, I would totally stay. But I am obsessive compulsive, and Facebook has become my new black jack (I miss my gambling addiction). I had the same issues with my MySpace account, and luckily got out before that became one giant music ad (which have you seen the log in page for FB, it is starting, watch out). I cannot not check it, I don't know why. And then when I do check I feel like I know what is going on in my friends lives (for about 2 hours) when in actuality that is impossible to gleam from a hundred characters and a few mobile pictures. Also, as with all things, this fad of instant gratification of useless gossip will soon pass. The days of everyone answering a poignant question with, "I'll google it" are numbered. Maybe not tomorrow or next year, but I am willing to put money that my teenage kids will never have a Facebook account and will be lacking political leadership because their parents peers all have you tube videos of them dancing on a bar in Vegas.

Side note: Number of facebook breaks I took while writing this fairly short blog, 7. The app is officially deleted. Good riddance.

To breed or not to breed

Most people that birth three children would be reasonable (and responsible) and throw in the urge to procreate. I have, somehow, convinced Matt that we should consider having another child. And this took awhile, but he has assured me if there is a fourth child he is naming it after his favorite childhood cartoon and not loving it until it starts paying rent. And, I know, from the sound of the majority of my writing you may think I hate the tiny humans. Not true, I like them, a lot. Enough to let another one take up residency in my body again. Seeing as we had Kaeden by mistake and then the twins were obviously only supposed to be one well behaved child and not two pyros, this hypothtical fourth child has been scrutinized fairly heavily. Some of our worries include:

What if my eggs are exponential? I know that I would be able to handle one more child fairly easily. We are baby experts at this point. It would really be more of an accessory than a person to me. I may even keep it in my purse, like those small yappy dogs (the last two sentences were a joke to display how easily I would be able adapt from 3 to 4 kids, don't alert CPS). But if by some freak of nature I end up pregnant with twins or higher order multiples I would be seriously tempted to throw myself down the stairs.

Do I ever want to join the working class? Theoretically, I am only a couple of years away from being able to getting a job and contribute to the household (well I contribute by doing this: http://www.etsy.com/shop/BigDayInvitations, go buy an invite). I am more referring to my lofty goal of teaching the youth of America Algebra and History and fixing the public school system, totally achievable, and being outside of my house. I am not one of those women who is very good at being domestic nor do I enjoy it. I hate cleaning, but I am anal retentive about the house being clean. I don't/can't cook, but like my kids to eat healthy (not saying I can't be easily talked into ordering a pizza). If these tasks that I deem horrible I could pay someone else to do while I work at a job I may or may not like (assuming it doesn't involve cooking/cleaning I would most likely love it) that would be ideal for me. Also, I feel it is important for me, my family and my marriage to be independent at times. I am a working woman at heart, I love my kids and I love that I am able to stay home with them when they are little, but for me, once they start grade school it is time to start focusing on a career, mainly so one day we can send them to college. However, if we were to have another baby these hopes and dreams of a two middle working class parents would vanish for another five years. You may ask why don't you just stick that 4th kid you obviously aren't going to love as much as the others in daycare? Well, people, daycare is super expensive around these parts, don't think I haven't checked.


Right now my life is pretty easy. Not as easy as being childless and single and mortgage free, but easy compared to two years ago. We have a home big enough for us, but would probably be a little cramped if we added another human. Since January I have not changed a diaper. Which is a HUGE deal, because I changed/bought diapers for 6 years before that. If I spent $30 a week on diapers (which is conservative, with twins) since 2006 I have spent well over $9,000. NINE GRAND on something my children shit in, it angers me just typing that sentence. In addition to the fiscal drawbacks, our kids get along really well and can play for hours with little encouragement (nagging) from me. It's kind of nice not being needed every second of the day. The twins are not that bored when Kaeden is off at school because they have each other to mess around with and when he gets home they missed him so much they just want to hang with him. This is probably my biggest concern if we were to have another person. Who would it hang out with? How would I be able to work if the infant isn't accepted into the gang by the others. The lines are already drawn, the twins are a closed party and Kaeden is in school and not too fond of babies as it is. I fear the child may be neglected by it's siblings, leaving all of the socializing to me (which is not really what I am looking to do, I kind of just want to snuggle and love the thing, not be it's buddy). I never thought this gig would get easier, but turns out the twins are pretty awesome little toddlers (I wrote this before they shoved a whole BOTTLE of medicine, a million bobby pins and all of Baileys hair accessories down the toilet, forcing Matt to remove said toilet from the ground and to fix it).

I HATE being pregnant. Totally would rather do anything else than gestate for 9 (really 10) freaking months. I realize that I am one of the lucky ones. The one who can get pregnant with a thought and a smile, not only that but I can carry twins in my uterus (which in mom world is a big deal), but it is zero fun and not something I am particularly proud of. I get violently sick and cranky and fat and I have to feel my emotions. This is the top of the list on why I don't want to go another round. There is not one thing I like about being pregnant (ok, the feeling the kid kick you is cool for about a week and the "I made a person" thing is awesome, but other than that, nothing) The reasons for having a child are (to me) fairly obvious, to everyone else I seem borderline crazy:

I want a super big family. Really big and loud. I want to have Thanksgiving at my house in 30 years and not have enough space for everyone to sit down and eat "big". Matt argues that we already have a big family. And we are very loud. Maybe I should readjust my thinking in this area, but it is a weird thing I have. Without my obnoxiously big family (extended mainly) I would have had way less fun and turned out way more screwed up. Our brothers/sisters are not procreating anytime soon so I feel the need to provide this network for my kids with my own aching uterus. If Matt and I turn into really shitty parents/people one day, they will need each other for support.

I love my kids a lot, and I am a pretty damn good at raising them. Not saying I am going to win any awards or god forbid ever open/go near/think about a daycare, but my kids are all healthy and happy. And that is my main goal for this age group. Eventually I would like them to contribute more to this world than their own health and happiness, but hell, isn't that what my whole blog/life is about. Being happy? Whoa, deep. On a non game changing note, we make extremely attractive people. Like surprisingly attractive. Matt and I aren't winning any beauty contests (however, I dare you to go into a wit/sarcasm contest with us) and yet we produce really good looking humans. This world needs more blue eyes and dimples, right?

I don't "feel" done. I think this is probably normal for a 27 year old to feel, but most 27 year olds don't have three kids and if they do they are likely not the type to really think thoughtfully about getting pregnant again (I can stereotype like that because they are my people). My friends my age are just starting to "settle down" and by "settle down" I mean they are considering not binge drinking every night, so I am still years away from being surrounded by lots of friends babies (a favor I have been doing for them for years). So if you are in your late 20's/early 30's, are my friend and in a somewhat committed relationship, I kindly request that you start making some babies.

This not so sudden urge to expand the family once again can be attributed, in part, to social networking. The constant pregnancy updates and newborn baby pictures of my Facebook friends are doing nothing but adding fuel the fire that is my burning ovaries. Seeing a small baby on a screen, quiet and looking peaceful and snugly is far from the reality of a newborn, but that is all I see when scrolling through the hundreds of baby pictures at my finger tips. I also design baby announcements and baby shower invites all day, so I am constantly sifting through someone else's baby happiness. The babies on my computer screen are sweet, innocent beings. I am aware that they projectile poop across rooms and are opposed to sleeping, but this doesn't translate when I am navigating the complex web of the babies that live in my screen. The irony of it all is when I meet someone, in real life, with four kids or hear someone is having a fourth child I literally gasp. Gasp, as in aloud, shocked like. I assume they are either apart of a certain religion or obviously had a birth control mishap or actually insane. But when I think of it for me and my family I feel like it totally makes sense.

Good news: In recent days I have swayed more to the side of barrenness. I went to a baby shower recently and did my normal snuggling of the babies, but it wasn't so much of a "I am going to sneak your small baby in my purse" snuggle as a "You are tiny and I love you, where the eff did your mom go" snuggle. I was also not feeling so hot to begin with and between the babies and the heat I felt like the walls were closing in on my already lost youth. My knee jerk reaction was to do something irresponsible (think go to Mexico for a taco or spend the grocery money on booze) but I didn't, because I have responsibilities, and for being youth killing leaches, I couldn't get home fast enough to see them.





And on a completely unrealated note, HAPPY 30TH BIRTHDAY D!

To my most loyal reader (who is not contractually obligated to proof read for me, cough, Matt, cough):

I could not tell you exactly when we met (and I have been trying really hard to remember, because I thought it would be a fun anecodote to start off with, but , alas, I cannot recall), all I know is that since that time we have never not been friends. You are the person I call on good days and the bad. Even the times I call you and say sentences like, "I may be pregnant with a stranger's baby" or "I think I am going to sell my body for cash" you never lecture or degrade me, but calm me from whatever drama I have created. You never say anything behind my back that you wouldn't say to my face (well, I don't think so, if you do, don't tell me). And I know after you read this post I will get a text with sarcastically hilarious encouragement on how I should most definitely continue populating the planet, because no matter how bad an idea is that I have, you always think it is a good/funny one. I hate when you call me "sweetheart" and a "paper pusher." I hate even more when you don't respond to texts promptly or even suggest that I get an ankle tattoo. And don't get me started on the cigarettes, but despite those annoying habits, there are few people who love pop music, country concerts, football games, golf days, seedy karaoke lounges and a good book as much as me and you (read "The Hunger Games" goddammit). Thank you for being brown, it makes my always growing liberal heart happy. You are the only person who thinks me throwing my golf clubs across the green is hilarious, instead of what it actually is: an adult temper tantrum. I am fairly confident that you like me more when I am beyond wasted and/or writing blog posts, so happy birthday old man, this year you got both. You are loyal and kind and witty and smart and I cannot imagine my world without your friendship. Pads game Ignoring my sweet dance moves A few of my favorite people

Wanted

About 9 months ago we moved across town. Which is a good thing. Matt drove an hour to work EACH WAY everyday for 4 years. We were also residing in our very small, sad, not suitable for six living creatures, condo. Heres the catch, I have zero friends in my new neighborhood. My closest friend lives nearly an 45 minutes away. And I am slowly losing it. While I love all my tiny humans, if I have to spend one more day analyzing the transformers saga through the eyes of my borderline genius/anal retentive son I may transform onto a decipticon (dork joke, Kaeden would die laughing, so think I am funny). I need to have a conversation with someone who is over 3 feet tall (and yes, I am discriminating against midgets) and isn't contractually obligated (Matt). When my son started school I thought I would make a ton of hip, cool, mom friends. I thought a made friends easily, the cashiers at Target always love me. Then I sat and thought about my friend group. The people I still keep in contact with on a fairly constant basis, that like me and I reciprocate (the 500 Facebook friends are not counted).

Here are my friend statistics:
3: Grade School
1: Junior High
1: High School
2: My cousins married them
2: Matts friends

After analysis, it is fairly clear that I suck as a human being. My most popular days ocured when I was 5, I have steadliy become more lame. Which is fine, but totally shatters my idea that I can befriend a stranger. I have no problem talking to people. Not a shy bone in my body. But once I start talking to the cool school moms I can tell they hate me. One of my few friends suggested I get them drunk, another suggested I flirt with them. I don't think those tactics are going to work. Plan B.

Here is my want ad that may or may not be posted on a my local Craigslist, depends on how desperate I get:

Wanted: A mom-friend. Actually any-type of friend, sans kids may actually be a benefit (I really don't like kids I don't share a blood line with). If you do have kids, I don't want to talk about them, the cute things they said or about how "advanced" they are. No one does. Everyone loves their kids and we all know you are lying when you say that Junior walks on water. The upside to being a mom friend is that our schedules would be similar. I have friends that are willing to hang out with me (even despite the distance) but I am not met with much enthusiasm when I suggest we go to a playground mid morning or we could go out at night but only until 9pm, because I wake up at 6am to wet diapers, a cranky kindergartner and an unconscious husband.

Must drink. But I will not be they sorry lady that holds your hair back after happy hour, I would like to befriend a classy drunk, thank you. Oh and if you ever cry while drinking I will pretend not to know you and jump in my van and leave you stranded in a puddle of tears vulnerable to the nearest cougar catcher.

Speaking of the mini van, you have to love it. You cannot be one of those women who care about cars, purses, designers, etc. I am not versed in the ways of fancy things, nor do I care to be. I also don't care what you are wearing (unless it is sweat pants) or what you drive (unless it breaks down all the time and I am the sucker that has to pick you up). I take it back, you can care about the finer things in life, but know that I don't, and will think you are shallow and mustn't read books. If you talk to me about your new $4,000 purse I may steal it and sell it or accidently spill my cheap wine on it.

Religious fanatics need not apply. I am decidedly un-religious (that is a less harsh term for those of you who don't like the "A" word). However, I went to a Christian school K-12, so I can kick your newly converted ass in any Bible trivia, so there is no need to share the gospel with me. And I swear if you break out a tract with the cross as the bridge I will turn the cross into a phallic symbol if given the opportunity. Let it be noted, I am VERY respectful about peoples religious beliefs (most of my family is EXTREMELY religious), I demand the same respect for my lack in beliefs, reasonable right?

Crazy liberal atheists need not apply. I get it, I am one of you. I am mad and jagged too, but don't you people get tired. I like how bottled water tastes. And I get it, there is no one electable in the GOP. Prop 8 was too confusing and illegal. Jon Stewart is shockingly sexy for a 5'7 old Jewish man. I know, I know. Let's stop talking about our bumper stickers and start talking about your parental relationship issues. Far more interesting.

Please don't be one of those women who hackles loudly. Like football and start a fantasy team with me. Don't sleep with my husband, say obligatory comments about my adorable shoes and I will reciprocate.

If you are a gay man, you win.

About me: Married, lots of kids. They are cuter than yours, so just get over it. I am 26 and may be having a quarter life crisis. Not sure, but I cried while watching "Diego" because an animal needed rescuing and I wasn't sure that Diego was going to make it (he did, crisis adverted). I am a mess on most days, luckily I can rock a messy bun with the best of them. I am OCD and crazy organized, I freak out daily about the toy bins mixing the matchbox cars and monster trucks (WHY would you mix those two, completely different purposes). I like wine and reading and if you combine those two with the beach I am the happiest girl in the world. I am fiercly loyal and if given the opprtunity to get in a bar fight defending your honor I will find a way out using wit and non violent tactics, so we don't break a heel.

I should be clear, I like my current friends. But they are normal 20 somethings that have their own lives to attend to. Being lawyers, curing cancer and running successful business' leaves little time to drive an hour to basically be ignored while I tend to the needs of my very loud people. I definitely do not want to replace those people, I would just like an agreeable filler person to kill time with until I can hang with my real friends. Is that too much to ask?

A facelift

Today I woke up and decided to give some love to my much neglected blog. I know that no one believes me, but I have upwards of 20 "draft" posts just waiting to be edited down (word minimums were never an issue for this ego maniac). Despite having more material than the Bible (yep, that was edited down too folks, God and I are both chatty, so much in common) I couldn't bear put them up on my broken blog, the ugliest blog to have ever been published. It pains me to think of all those surely genius posts about feces and puke just rotting away in a draft folder. And I have only my husband to blame.

When I first started blogging I asked my husband to get it up for me (that's what she said), because when I took my vows I thought I never had to learn anything about computers/internet again. He obliged me. Even when I said, "Why did you make it so ugly?" After very specific instructions and lots of annoying emails about .jpg files, he finally made it not ugly. And then it broke. I don't know where my pretty blog went, but it is gone. Somewhere in the inter web, tangled in all of it's beauty. Since then I have been pestering Matt to fix it. But here is where my blogs prettiness shows up on my husbands non existent scrambled to do list:

1)Sex
2)Sex
3)Food
4)Bailey
5)Computers
6)Those other Kids
7)The woman who folds my socks (that would be me, for all you slow readers)
568) The woman who folds my socks wants me to fix her blog. I don't know what/why. Not going to do it.

So I sat my lazy ass down and figured it out. I still don't like it and HATE my header picture, but I am calling it a work in progress and thanking Shabby Blogs for her amazing designs so my computer illiterate brain can concentrate on world peace (or how to get my jiggly ass in a bathing suit in 2 weeks).

Why the sudden interest in the bliggity-blog you ask? Mainly because if I spend one more minute on Facebook looking at your distant cousins bad wedding pictures I will surely send inappropriate emails commenting on the bridesmaids lip hair. That and my husband canceled cable, because he secretly wants me to go insane. How I am supposed to function without my daily fix of Jon Stewart or watching those crazy bitches on The Real Housewives of (I don't give a crap, just keep acting psycho).

Along with this new blogging phase I have decided to 86 the pet names, simply because it turned my stomach when my actual real life friends refereed to my kids by their made up names. It was cute and endearing, I know. But even I was annoyed by it.

Whoa, big change is happening. Who needs middle eastern revolutions when you have me?

Here is a name key, to make sure your brain never has to function:
Husband Face: Matt
K-Dog: Kaeden
Big J: Jackson
Itty-Bitty: Bailey

I will probably still refer to my friends by pseudonyms. They didn't ask for me to be all crazy and get plastered across the web. Where as the people I birthed (or married) I now control their potential google notoriety (insert evil laugh).

Congratulations, I am back, with a vengance, pages (AMAZING, I feel like a REAL webpage), and a butt load of material.

Merry Effing Christmas

The holiday season blows. I hate to be a grinch about it all, but it this year it does. I am usually Cindy Who and so excited about every stupid holiday song Husband Face is annoyed to tears. But this year we didn't even get a tree until today (usually it is purchased and decorated by the day after Thanksgiving, not joking). I am just not my usually merry self. I am guessing it is one or a combination of several of the following:

1. My daughter decided to pick up an emotional disorder. Awesome. Like having all of these crack crazed babies wasn't hard enough, I now have a two year old that twists her hair so often and forcefully she is balding. Diagnosed by my pediatrician as trichotillomania, he also said that the reason it is falling out now is due to the dry weather we are having. I am still on the fence about the diagnosis. All of my kids have twirllled their hair while falling asleep or watching tv, it is like their pacifier, so I am wary about labeling a 2 year old with 7 syllable anxiety disorder, seems a little intense. In the same breath, she does look like she is going through chemo. When we are out in public and I try to punish her all of the bystanders think I am Satan for reprimanding the poor cancer baby. Bitches, she is a stubborn little thing, not cancer ridden, move on. I can deal with a little baby pattern balding, whatever, but it has accelerated at such a rate that I haven't had time to cope with the situation. I am trying my best not to bring it up to her (if I mention it she gets really upset), she wears mittens duct taped to her pajamas at bedtime and always his a head full of leave in conditioner, however I think it has gone beyond repair and I may have to take her to get a pixie cut this week. Additionally, her twin brother has the hair of pop star Justin Bieber and she resembles a little alien. To sprinkle salt in the wound the only reason I decided to have a second child was the possibility of having a girl and my main excitement about the girl thing was the adorable hair accessories. I made over 50 bows/headbands when I was pregnant with the twins. Don't judge me. I was bed ridden and my hot glue gun was my BFF.

2. We are selling our home. Correction, we are trying to sell our home. We have had a few borderline offensive offers and what seems like a million people have seen it, but for the most part things are not happening like I had hoped. Fist of all, trying to prepare your home for potential buyers to come through and judge every carpet stain and smudged mirror is nearly impossible to successfully do with 3 kids nipping at my ankles. Then there is all the weekend projects we have to complete. I don't have a problem with doing all that stupid stuff so much as I do paying for it. Dumping money into a home you wish was out of your life is extremely painful. I neglected to mention that the main reason we are selling is due to our horrific neighbors. You think you have it bad with a barking dog or occasional loud party, oh no my friends, my neighbors are out for blood. They hate me, my kids, my dog, my car, etc... It is crazy and a whole separate blog that I will shout from the rooftops when this home is a distant memory. But the worst part is how much I love our home. It is cute and has a yard opening up to a park (key for the children to burn off energy before their strictly enforced naps). We bought the place as a foreclosure and put a ton of work into it once we moved in. And yes, we outgrew it the day we moved into it (I found out I was having the twins a month after we closed escrow) but I have always said that it has made us one of those close families, like the Cosby's, but white and poorer (a doctor and a lawyer, really, that is like the earning potential lottery).

Update: Since writing this my children have literally burnt down their room. Not joking, blog post deltailing their craziness is written, just need to add pics to complete the mess. The aroma of smoke hitting you as soon as you open the door should make this place a lot easier to sell.


3. The best friend has left the building. Actually the continent. She decided to go teach English to Korean children. I tried to convince her that my kids suck at English and to just stay in my garage, teach them some words or commas or whatever, indefinitely. Strangely living a metropolitan lifestyle in a foreign city sounded more appealing to her than my suburban one car garage. Whatever. This makes me seem codependent, but I am not, promise. By no means are either of us those type of women that must hang out every day and braid each others hair. Oh no, we mock those people. However, there has never been a year in my life (since I was 5) when we were not in constant communication with one another. We went through K-12 together and then remained in the San Diego for college. Hell, we even went to the same college. And know she has left me. High and dry for what has been presented as a year adventure, I have a sneaking suspicion will evolve into a lifetime of foreign men, countries and food. It is kind of gross/sad that I didn't have to cultivate deep relationships past the age of five, now I am reaping those consequences. South Korea has shitty Internet and is like a day and a half ahead of my time zone. We have also concluded that we are the only people using video chat for non sexual reasons and happy hour via the interwebs is near impossible. Additionally, I am so jealous of her Korean escapades. As much as I love living the housewife wet dream, it would be amazing to be able to pick up and just go live anywhere, just for the hell of it.


As a side note: I do have pretty amazing friends here. But I am a hard person to peg. The 25 year old mom of three little kids who curses too often, drinks too much and probably won't agree with anything you say just for the hell of it, is not the most popular girl. Moms don't want to be my friend because of the aforementioned reasons and people my own age have way too much free time on their hands and don't seem to really understand all the responsibilities I have everyday, regardless of the hangover...

4. We are sick. Always. This nasal headache (accompanied by a lovely hacking cough) will follow me to my grave. And the kids just pass it to each other like dirty hookers. No one in my family has been 100% healthy since the twins were born. It is zero fun spending money you don't have, for a holiday you don't believe in, while sick. Can it be January?


I know I will be fine and snap out of this funk, but this is my bitchy blog post. Tomorrow (or maybe the day after) I will post one about how my kids ooze cuteness or something humerous involving their puke. It has been a rough week/month/year. I am sure I will experience a Christmas miracle soon enough, but I wouldn't bet any virgin births on it.

Watch out 2010

The last night of 2009.

I have never made a resolution. Never. I thought it was petty and pushed by gyms and Jenny Craig. What can I say, I am a crazy hippie at heart. Three kids later: My life and body are a mess. Since I am, gasp, a stay at home mom, the days and my waistline continue to expand. I need a goal (in this case several goals) to keep me focused, and prevent me from turning into one of those sad women who doesn't shower in the morning because I think, "What's the point?"

Luckily, as a teenager with disposable income I purchased a lifetime membership to a gym, most of the other things I did as a teenager were not as advantageous to my future. I have zero excuses for not working out, aside from the three kids and budding social schedule. Once I decided to shed the pounds my happy ass has been carrying around for several years, the resolutions just wouldn't stop. Now, last year I spent the majority of my time making bottles and figuring out what shirt colors hide spit-up best, this year the babes are to a point where they need me, but occasionally maybe I can wear a black shirt (black=bad color to conceal puke) and further my career. Here are my overly ambitious life goals. They will not be completed in 2010, it might take years to achieve them all, but along with my crazy stubborn side, comes crazy determination and passion. So watch out 2010, I am going to kick your ass.

In order to not overwhelm you with all my New Year crazies, I am going to "release" a couple at a time throughout January. I know the suspense may be too much to handle, but, trust me, it will be worth the wait.

-Get in shape, not round. Oh, my nice jeans, how I miss you. I'm spending my winter in $10 jeans, and it sucks. Probably the biggest reason for the new found desire to "be fit" is because I don't want to rebuild my jean wardrobe. A lot of effort and money were spent on those jeans, which are now just getting wrinkly at the bottom of my drawers. Also, I know one piece swimsuits are "in" now, but really? They aren't that cute, and everyone knows you are just hiding your blubber stomach. Well maybe Kate Hudson isn't hiding a blubber stomach, but most beach goers in one pieces aren't wearing them for the fashion statement. Plus, can there be an uglier tan line? And, I know, I live in San Diego. Last summer, was not my finest time. I was an emotional fat mess, and I apologize to those who saw me in my bikini. I obviously was not thinking straight, can we blame this lapse in judgment on the lack of sleep and nearly dead sister? My current attack plan against my body, includes running (with my Goliath babies) and my classes at the gym. Seeing as we cannot afford to suck all of the fat out of my stomach, hopefully hard work will be enough.

Ok, and this is a bold move, but I am seriously considering posting "progress pictures." The first picture has been taken, and it is bad, really bad. But it is motivational, so I am tempted, we'll see.


The reason my jeans don't fit.

-No soda, limited caffeine. Why are the legal stimulates so hard to quit? I love soda, but I think the copious amounts I have consumed since the babies were born contributed to my weight gain and bad skin. Enough, adios dumb beautiful caffeine. It really is like a bad break up. I see him (Dr. Pepper) everywhere, and it feels so right when we are together, but he is bad for me. No we can't be friends, I love him too much, a clean break is better.

So far I have been doing pretty awesome. I think about soda all day, and we still have ALL of our stash in my fridge, but I have not caved. Granted, I grind my teeth and have developed some anger issues, but hell I am soda free!


The reason I need a soda.

-Eat like an adult. I eat like a small child. Well, better than K-Dog, who refuses anything that is not bread based and fried, but it is pretty bad. I am on a major organic, no microwave, good farm kick. This is what watching Ellen has gotten me too. I love animals, I don't want them to be treated poorly, but they taste so good. My happy medium is only financially supporting farms that let there cows/poultry graze, aren't given anti-biotic, allowed to flap their wings, etc. I know I sound like a crazy hippie, but have you tried organic meat? It is good, like way better than the normal grocery store junk. And the big "farms" are the biggest (40%) contributor to global warming. So, drive your hummer and run your TV all day, but eat (as Husband Face calls them) the "happy cows." I promise not to become one of "those" people who talks about my "green-diet" all day, and the environment, and how we are killing our planet, blah, blah, blah. I am way too interesting to talk about that crap. THIS is that rant, and I am now done.

Also, just so we all are on the same page, I am making an exception for In N Out, sorry cows. I am telling you all this because I know one day I am going to come home on a In N Out "high" and write a love letter about their patties. I don't want to feel guilty. Actually, I don't really eat out that often, but when I do I generally have some type of steak. I am not ready to give that up yet. Maybe soon. I will save as many planets and eat the "happy cows" as I can, but my heart will always be a crazed meat lover.

Along, with trying new foods, I am trying to learn how to cook. I know, who am I? Husband Face has always done the majority of the cooking, but I really don't need to eat chicken pasta anymore, my ass looks like the curdled cream (too much?). Which leads me to the conclusion, that I must cook. Thanks, to everyone who bought my cooking junk for my wedding. I wish I knew about the crock pot 3 years ago.



The reason I will do it all.

Top Ten Reasons I Love Husband Face

Us. Showered and shiny (very rare, take it in)


Sorry for the long hiatus. It has been hectic around my very small home. Between visiting my sister in the hospital(who is now home and doing well, fyi), preschool starting back up, work and the beginning of football season (Yes, I am including this in my "Reasons that I am busy rant," I spend an absurd amount of time thinking about/arguing about/watching football), oh and my children and husband and the eating and the bathing stuff, we are busy. Shortly after my last post I regretted writing it. I may seem bitter and and angry (in the post), but I am not. Really that fight lasted until the next morning and then was done. I have learned an important lesson: avoid blogging while angry (even though that is the fastest I have ever written). And sticking with the spirit of openness and honesty, as much as that post makes me cringe and feel like a crazy person, I am going to leave it up. This is me, good, bad and ugly. Enjoy.

In looking for atonement for my poor behavior towards Husband Face, I offer this post. As promised earlier, "The Top Ten Reasons I Love Husband Face."

1. He fixes my broken shit. Over the past several years Husband Face became handy. This was surprising, but awesome. While he will procrastinate and claims he cannot fix certain things (like my silver shiny piggy bank he destroyed in his clumsiness, which I nearly divorced him over) he somehow comes up with a reasonable solution (in the piggy bank situation the solution was copious amounts of glue).

2. Knows how to make me smile. That came out dirty. Clarifying: He entertains me. Whether it be his dry sarcasm or running around the house tackling babies, I am rarely bored when he is around. He is witty and smart with his humor. While I come from a background of loud talking smart asses, he does it (humor) in a much more subtle way, which probably explains why he is generally better liked than me.

3. According to Husband Face, he has superior genes. He claims that he cannot get sick. And while I have seen him sick before, it is rare. Unlike me, who gets sick if someone sneezes within a 50 yard radius of me. I am fragile. I am hoping the children get some of his super human anti-sick genes. This is also beneficial because he always takes care of me when I am sick. It is awesome. If being sick didn't blow so much, I would lick hospital floors to contract the swine flu. Matt lets me sleep all day and brings me toast with 7up and orange juice, while wrangling the grease monkeys. Perfection.


A couple of the children who benefit from the superior genes.

4. Unfortunately, after I get well he leaves, for a good job. I love that he is in a field where he will always have work. And while we can barely afford to support our family, here in America's Finest City (we would be living the good life pretty much anywhere else), he is employed. In a recession. With zero worries about getting fired. It is a major plus.

5. In addition to being employed, he is a genius. Please, don't tell him this. I like to make him think that I am the superior intellect in the relationship, but I am terrified to take any type of IQ test with him. I know he would win, but never want him to know that I think that, does that make sense? Sometimes (when I say "sometimes" I mean "most of the time") when he talks about what he is working on or a problem at work, I nod my head in understanding, but rarely fully comprehend. Lately, I just stopped listening and smile and nod like a goober. This is not an act of rudeness, but rather self-preservation, I NEED to think I am smarter. It is my thing. I am smart and witty, and he is lucky. Really I am hoping that I am the lucky one, I think of him as the next Bill Gates (who Husband Face recently explained to me IN DEPTH is really not that smart, but stole Windows from some other company, blah, blah, blah or was it Steve Jobs, damn it, I think it was, there goes that witty commentary).

6. When he is not being brilliant, he likes (or at least tolerates) snuggling with me. I am a not a needy girl, until I am. It is complex and hurts Husband Faces overly logical brain. I am independent and would rather die than have my husband speak for me in any situation, I am a control freak, I think chivalry is dead and I am happy about it, but I really like cuddling. There are many rules to the affection: not in public (unless I am drunk), he has to smell good, no half hugs (I must be able to bury my head in his chest like a small woodland animal), and I must initiate it. I hate being touched by pretty much anyone else, maybe my dad and children can hug me if I am having a really good or really bad day. But I have never been a hugger. My poor friends probably hate me for not using the acronyms BFF and Bestie often enough and have stopped trying to hug me years ago, but I am not affectionate, and kind of think it is ridiculous and sad (exception: if you are an adolescent, I realize your hormones are doing crazy things. Hugs not drugs, kids). Now that I am stressed out ALL day and have had a headache since 2006, I need snuggle time. And Husband Face always obliges me. He is like a big furry bear or Chewbacca (shout out to his nerd side). He hates snuggling and cannot go to sleep, conversely I cannot go to sleep without being cuddled. On most nights, he waits patiently for me to fall asleep and then gently sneaks over to his side of the bed. Dedication, people.

6. Along (and somewhat coinciding with) the hugging, he calls me pretty. While half the time I am have bodily fluid or condiments on my clothes, he says I look pretty. And when I was 7 months pregnant with twins and yelled at him for complimenting me he didn't take it back until I threatened to go into labor (and then he still said I look cute when I get feisty).

7. Husband Face, as much as he denies it and tries to avoid it, is a good dad. He can't help it. He loves those kids, and while he once yelled at our 2 week old daughter for screaming at 2am for four hours straight "for no foreseeable reason," he still sat there rocking her so I could get an hour of sleep. K-Dog is asks the same question 15 million times and Big J is generally attacking whatever Itty Bitty is playing with causing tears and screams, but every night he still comes home and plays with the mongrels and tries to help me contain the madness.


Nothing sexier than a man who knows his way around a double stroller.

8. Sometimes I am crazy. As previously mentioned, I was not hugged enough as a child (at least that is what I am blaming the crazy on). Somedays, for literally zero reason, I act crazy. I am a control freak and have serious issues. Husband Face makes sure to remind me that I am acting crazy and I need to check myself. Unlike previous boyfriends that tried to reign in the crazy, Husband Face has been the only successful one, the others have gone down in the crazy flames. I admire his persistence, and I am working on the crazy.

9. Along with my craziness, my need for constant compliments and affection (depending on my mood), I cannot cook (I know, I am quite the catch). Also, did I mention that I am the worlds pickiest eater (once again, blaming my childhood full of fast food and toast). If Husband Face is sick of the four meals I can cook well, he cooks for us and it is good. I am going to stop writing about this topic, because it makes me look like a horrible wife and makes Husband Face sound gay (he's not, by the way, case in point the three babies).

10. He is a good person. He is not mean-spirited and is gentle with his sarcasm (unlike some people he may or may not be married to). He is nice and genuine. I feel confident that he will never hurt me intentionally and that gives me peace. Also, "he would be good looking in Boston," (his words, not mine, so Husband Face, try to not fall in love with him).

If You Give A Mouse (or a Husband) a Cookie

Last Wednesday I decided to plan Husband Face a surprise vacation. He has been awesome helping me out since the twins were born, and I wanted him to know that he is loved and appreciated. I knew that our friends were going up to San Francisco for the weekend and thought it would be the perfect chance for him to get away from the chaos that we call home. I also knew that I would not be able to go since we have three children that need quasi-supervision, at least more than Google Video Chat can offer. I was bummed that I couldn't go, but was feeling like the best wife in history.

Not to be cocky or demeaning, but I am completely aware that Husband Face will never be able to surprise me as well as I did to him. He can hardly manage to get me a card on Valentines Day (this is not a joke, all I wanted for Valentines Day was a card, since we are supporting lots of mouths and they drain our souls and bank accounts, and he forgot. Knew it was Valentines Day, but forgot to get me a card. The last 3 birthdays he has either given me cash or a gift card, and he has never gotten me an anniversary present). All of that is fine with me. He makes the majority of the money in our household and he has never regulated my spending (partially because I am the thriftiest person in America, I get off on the Target Dollar Spot and partially because he trusts my judgement). I like giving presents. I know that sounds so corny and self-righteous, but it is true. I am a good person to get a gift from. I think it through and I am diligent. Over the past 5 years, I have bought Husband Face more "ram" and "video cards" (these are tech items that are little and generally silver that he freaks out about) because I listen and remember that he always says he needs more "ram," similar to how I mention I need a pedicure, but my toes are still neglected. I am feeling like this may sound like I am whining, I am not. I really do not care that I am not one of those pampered women. I have always been really independent and I think I would stress out if a Husband Face tried to lavish me with gifts.

That was entirely off point. Back to it. I pumped Husband Face up all week about his surprise. I did not give away any hints, he was completely clueless. I had him come home early on Friday and then blindfolded him and put him in the car. I drove through shopping centers and around the local college three times to confuse his sense of direction. It was perfect. We got to the airport (which he guessed because of the distinct geography we had to drive through and the roaring planes flying over head) and he was so excited to go. I had packed him a bag and his laptop, which included a long letter about how much I adore him and gushed about how lucky I was to have such a great life partner. It was ridiculous. A big ego booster for the Husband Face. Then our friends came over to the terminal and off he goes to San Fran.

The Surprise Unveiled:

Then I am alone. This is the first time in nearly 5 years that we have been apart for more than a day. Never have I spent a night alone. Friday night I couldn't fall asleep until 3am, because no one was snuggling me. Saturday night I was awake until 1:30am, and finally caved and let the dog sleep with me (wagging her tail in my face all night, she was stoked). The kids were actually really easy. I spent a lot of time going through bins of baby clothes. I went to the ICU to visit my sister a few times. My fabulous mother-in-law entertained K-Dog all weekend. I showered once. I remembered to lock 2 of the 3 locks in our home. I took out the trash once it started to reek. Overall I would consider me as a single parent a success. Not once did I talk to Husband Face sober, which is fine, I expected him to get belligerent. The night we video chatted he broke into a ballroom at the hotel in order to find free WiFi. He proceeded to tell me how much he loves me and the children for 20 minutes (it was drunk chatter ending in him dropping the laptop and nearly falling asleep). I am glad he didn't get arrested.

Sunday rolls around. I am thrilled that he is coming home. I spent the day back to school shopping for K-Dog, and cleaning the garage (one of the items on HIS list). I slowly realize around 6pm that I haven't heard from the crew all day. This worries me. They went on a Napa Valley wine tour and I can picture Husband Face and his buddies jumping off of the returning ferry. I know that much free wine is trouble for my lush husband. Husband Face is supposed to be at the airport by 8pm to make his 9pm flight. At 8pm one of the girlfriends calls me and sounds flustered:

Me: What's wrong? Is Husband Face at the airport?

My poor friend: No. He is wrestling in the pool with my boyfriend.

Me: WHAT THE FUCK?

My poor friend: I lost control 5 hours ago.

(I was right. The wine tour did him in. I can hear the them "playing" in the background. At this point I feel so bad for my friend. Not only does she have to deal with her boyfriend, my husband is just fueling the fire without a wife to contain him.)

Me: I am married to a teenager.

Over the next two hours there is a string of phone calls in which Husband Face blames ME for missing his flight (because I sent him on the amazing bay area vacation). I have K-Dog crying uncontrollably because he wants to see his Daddy, I am going through snuggle withdrawals and have been limited to talking with infants and small children all weekend so was desperately wanting adult interaction, even if he smelt like red wine and sweat. I am not mad that he missed his flight. That would be stupid. I am mad because he was to wasted and then missed his flight, neglected to call me, somehow blamed it on me and left me another snuggle-less night. Not okay. And when hormonal Italian women are mad we call our friends and cry...

I call College Barbie. And as I am describing what I would like in the divorce and how I never would be so selfish/careless and she basically says, "Bitch calm down, you love him" which I did, and I do. However, am still very much upset, but no longer wild and crazy upset. In lieu of a divorce, I am watching the new episodes of Mad Men and Entourage BY MYSELF and then DELETING them. Don't piss off your wife with access to the DVR, especially on a Sunday night.

My Gray Child

Husband Face and K-Dog playing in his room.

Side Bar:
Like the "sun shade" on his windows? K-Dog was waking up "with the sun," and I was getting cranky. I started looking for blackout window coverings and it was going to cost us $80 for ONE window. Solution: Black sheet, stapled to the framing, $4. Works like a charm. Looks perfect when it is down and keeps it cooler in there during summer, warmer in winter. I literally do an evil laugh every time I think about the suckers buying "blackout shades." Sue me if my home isn't Pottery Barn approved, actual living human children live here, we cannot afford style and class.

Over the past several weeks I have been spending my nights with my sister at ICU bed #1. Most nights I am able to put the babies to bed but K-Dog is left to fend for himself with Husband Face. I try to call him right before he goes to sleep to ask him how his night went (generally on summer nights he is allowed to do fun things like swim or bike or tackle our dog).

On this particular night he went night swimming with Husband Face:

K-Dog: Hi Mama. I went swimming and played with a boy. He let me play with a gun and I shot him.

Me: Wow. What a nice boy. What boy was it?

K-Dog: The brown boy.

Me: Ummm. Who?

K-Dog: The brown boy. He is my friend and he has a gun.

Me: Put your father on the phone.

(I can hear Husband Face laughing)

Husband Face: Hi.

Me: You cannot let K-Dog refer to people by the color of their skin. I am pretty sure we will get thrown out of preschool.

Husband Face: No, it's fine. I think it is funny.

Me: Of course you do. Please have a race relations talk with your 3 year old before bed tonight.

Husband Face: That does not sound fun. Do we have a book that can explain it?

Me: Deal with it. Welcome to parenthood, nice of you to show up.

The following is what Husband Face relayed to me when I got home that night:

Husband Face: K-Dog, you cannot call people by their color.

K-Dog: Why not? You are gray.

Husband Face: Really. What color are you?

K-Dog: Gray. So is Mama, Itty-Bitty and Big J. Leia (the dog) is brown. My teachers our brown.

Husband Face: Ok, interesting. But we call people by their names.

K-Dog: I forget names, a lot.

Husband Face: Good point.

Awesome. Now I have spent countless hours trying to dig into his tiny little mind. It is not like he is being a racist. I am almost positive his preschool curriculum hasn't covered slavery or the civil rights era. Although with Barack as President, K-Dog is very curious. Being a politically vocal and inquisitive individual over the past year we have had many discussions about race/civil rights in my home, as well as on the news (which is ALWAYS on in the background of my world).

K-Dog constantly asks me: Do you like Obama or Uncle Sam? (Not the national personification of the United States, my brothers name is Sam).

or

Who is better Beyoncé or Obama? I like Beyoncé she is a single lady. (This is not a joke, he really loves Beyoncé).

I think his little brain is now more aware of other people and not so self involved. I am going to chalk this little exploration into race as childhood curiosity and not me raising a bigot. While I am not entirely sure of how to raise a child, I am steering clear of racial slurs in his expanding vocab. For now, I am not going to dive into a huge discussion on the history of race in America. I am simply trying to work on the child's capacity to remember names, as to avoid any awkward public moments and continue on my raising open minded, hippie children.

Really you think your kids are cute? Have you seen K-Dogs' dimples?

Sunday

I have probably lived more than a quarter of my life. Just when I feel like I am starting to figure my world out something happens that changes everything. I have made a list (remember I love lists) of the days/moments that turn my life in a different direction, usually not one that I planned. I put them in chronological order to ease confusion amongst the readers.

-In April 2001 I got my first job. This was so huge in my world. First of all I was one of the only people, aside from one of my best friends, College Barbie, that actually had a job. I went to school in this strange world of middle to upper class kids that were to busy to be employed. And by busy I mean they were going on "missions trips" and had choir practice and three different church services they HAD to go to, so obviously they couldn't pay for their cars or food or clothes, they were serving the Lord. This is a whole separate issue, and truly not relevant to this post. And I will add that 90% of the people that I went to school and church with are genuinely good people with good intentions. Also, at this time in my life I was also attending the occasional mission trip, and I am sure the greater Seattle/Vancouver area is still reeling from my visit, but I am bad at religion and never really got it. Like I said, a whole different post.

Back to the job. I started working at a movie theatre. I met new people that I had not known since I was five, unlike my school where I was literally in K-12 with the same folks (I have had the same best friends since my early childhood, we could be a fun girl movie). These new friends were creative and liked to talk about films and music and art. I had so much energy and was so naive, I literally could not wait to go make my own money and take on new responsibilities. I loved that job and think everyone should clean at least one movie theatre in their lifetime, you will never litter again. I saw every movie, for free, and felt liberated, not enough to ever say a four-letter-word or stop going to church, but it was a start. That job opened my eyes to new types of people and ideas, an truly great experience that I cherish.

Me and holding a very expensive piece of paper.

-In the Fall of 2003 I went away to college. I remember packing my little Toyota Celica so tight it was hard to find the radio, seriously I put a bike INSIDE the car. I only stayed for a semester at that college, but I was hooked. I loved learning. I loved sitting down with a new class schedule and thumbing through it to find the perfect class to fill a time slot. I loved studying until I fell asleep in the library. I loved starting over. Truly school is something that I can manage with ease. It was never too difficult for me, granted I was a Communication major, not exactly rocket science. Teachers loved me and I was an eager student for them to feed ideas to. I soaked it all up. Daily I wish I was on a college campus somewhere heading to a class to discuss the previous nights reading. Graduating was a sad day for me, the end of my eager student era. K-Dog is in summer school at my Alma Mater and everytime I pick him up I wish I was walking from a Rhetorical Theory class and not from the latest mommy play date. I am a nerd at heart.

K-Dogs first Christmas morning.

-My spring break in 2005 was a big one. I met Husband Face and shortly thereafter was prego with K-Dog. It is strange how pregnancy changes you. Aside from the glaring body image issues, I instantly become less selfish. Sharing my body with a fetus is not fun for me. I am not one of those happy cute pregnant women. I was miserable and not a fan of waddling around college campuses. But I did it. I was bound and determined to not mess up this kids life. I realize we are only three years into this parenting gig but, I am fairly confidant in saying that we have avoided giving him major psychological issues. K-Dog makes sure to remind me daily that I am not an old pro, and need to be more patient and not threaten to take away his speaking privileges (True Story: One afternoon I forbid him from talking until his father came home. You would have done the same thing if you had been fielding questions all day about why my car doesn't talk like Lightning McQueen or why we cannot eat lunch while we are in the pool).

Cuddling.

-In January 2009 we brought the twins home from the hospital. They were really not that difficult to deal with when we were at the hospital, partially because K-Dog was with his grandma and partially because ALL I had to do was hold them. No laundry or dishes or dirty floors were glaring at me. Also, I love nurses, enough said. Once Itty Bitty and Big J were at home everything changed. I immediately felt like the Old Woman who lived in the shoe with all so many kids she had no clue what to do.

The space issue was major, well still is. The first three months of their lives they slept in various places in our room. Itty Bitty had colic and major reflux issues so she was in a modified Pack n' Play that was elevated to accommodate her issues. Poor Big J got shoved in our walk in closet in a baby hammock. Mind you, this is not a master suite, it just a room with a tiny bathroom and walk-in closet, not spacious without four people sleeping in it, but we literally had no other options. Since then we have all three of the ankle bitters in the other room. K-Dog is in a twin bed, Big J is in a full size crib (which he briefly shared with Itty Bitty. You always here cute stories about twins cuddling and sleeping together for years, this was not the case for us. Big J often "attacked" Itty Bitty), and Itty Bitty is in the same Pack n' Play. They are still no where near sleeping through the night, it has been a long 6 months.

Aside from the cramped living conditions, the noise and overall stress in the household increased exponentially from each child. I know that I will one day look back and long for the days that I had to run a hair dryer for 45 minutes to get the twins to sleep and had to prepare for hours to do simple activities like going to the pool (less than 50 yards from my front door), but right now in my current state of mind, I often think about escaping with a good book and a strong margarita to a private island with no kids allowed.

Multiple babies changed me much more than just having K-Dog. He was a relatively easy baby and I still had MY life going on. The twins have drained any social tendencies I had left. Even if I had the time to go out, I think I would opt for a good nap.

My lil' sister holding Itty Bitty or Big J (I know I am a bad mother for not having a clue which child it is)

-On July 19, 2009 my little sister was in a really bad car accident. We were basically told to say our goodbyes a few times. I have never been in an ICU or had to deal with any type of tragedy. So I have definitely had finer moments of composure. As of today she is stable, but it has been a rocky couple of weeks. Lil' Sis is still unconscious, has a broken neck, had brain swelling/bleeding, lungs collapsed and is currently in traction with a broken femur. The hospital she is at is the best, but about 40 minutes from my home and the ICU is obviously not kid friendly, but I try to make it there daily. I sit and read Harry Potter (which I have been warned could cause more damage, but I am confidant that they have not read the CHILDRENS' book) to her. I had one bad bad day with lots of crying and questioning and now that is done. It is not productive to cry or be sad. I am hopeful and trying hard to have a positive attitude.

From all bad events/days/circumstances a lesson can be learned. This tragedy has taught me to give lots of hugs and tell people you love them a lot, even if I don't at that moment. And while lots of people draw on faith in times of trouble, I am not one of them. As previously stated in this post, I am bad at religion. I am glad that my family feels comfort from prayer, and it seems to bring them peace. I also love these people a lot and I am grateful for their support and love, especially during this tough time, even though they know (maybe not accept) that I am a a bleeding heart liberal making my own crazy path wandering away from their religion.

Please keep my sister in you thoughts/prayers/good vibes. I will take help from any Deity. Also if you are in the greater San Diego area you can donate blood under group code JS21. If you would like updates about my sister from my persistent father you can check out her Facebook Page.

Too Hot To Have Body Image Issues

Palm Springs in all of it's very hot glory.

The Rancho Las Palmas, has an awesome kid area with popper park, beach (with sand) and a lazy river. We didn't even go to the adult pool because we felt like we related more with the children and the noise.

For our second wedding anniversary we decided to go to Palm Springs for a one night getaway. Neither of us had been there since high school (apparently Husband Face went with some man named Bruce in a van for a "tennis trip," he has never played tennis before, this is suspect) and since it is literally hotter than hell there (I imagine that hell is 100 degrees, to keep it simple for the demons) the hotel rates are dirt cheap in the summertime. Honestly we could have stayed in the Motel 6 down the street and would have been so overjoyed to sleep a solid 5 hours, but Husband Face did it up big (well, "big" for two poor people that have basically been on house arrest and sleep deprived for the past six months).

It was such a teaser vacation. We know that no one can handle all of our kids for over one night, so as we sat poolside it was bittersweet. Bittersweet for two reasons:
1) We didn't want to get to comfortable in our inner tubes, because we knew the screams of little children was our fate in a few short hours.
2) I had two babies 6 months ago, I have zero motivation/time to go to the gym, a bikini was not my ideal outfit choice. However, it was so damn hot, going outdoors in anything more than a loincloth would be criminal.

About 20 minutes into our lazy river experience Husband Face and I concluded that we need to get our jiggly butts to the gym. There were women and men double our age that, while they were leather like and will most likely develop skin cancer, had rocking bodies that made our not obese but leaning towards extremely neglected bodies, sad. After observing this we proceed in drinking 1,000's of calories in margaritas and sat in our tubes for 3 hours. We also got milkshakes and fries on the drive home. Seeing beautiful people in bathing suits profoundly affected us for half a day.

I ran for a quarter of a mile to Petco with my crazy dog biting my ankles the whole way. I have also gotten dressed for the gym 3 times resulting in zero actual trips to the gym. Right now I am in gym attire, and I am seriously considering going once Husband Face reappears from his daily 8-10 hour hiatus. But it is highly unlikely I will be able to peel myself away from my viral videos. Latest addiction: Anything preformed by the NYC Gay Men's Choir.

So happy together...

Big J playing rough

Fish hooking his sister at 6 months.

Super sanitary, mouth to eye action.

Itty Bitty thinks it hilarious and Big J knows it.

Highlight of my week: Giving Blood

Prepared to save lives.

I am seriously not trying to be a martyr or proclaim how awesome I am, but this week I took my butt and the twins tiny butts down to the blood bank and gave blood. When I was in college there was always a blood mobile on campus so I would donate there, creating a habit for cranberry juice and snack food. This was the first time I had been to an actual blood bank. And the first time I had ventured to donate while caring for kids simultaneously.

So I casually stroll in with two infants and a mission. I can be a contributing member of society and can function with all of these tiny people outside of the walls of my home. I just fed Itty Bitty and Big J so I knew I had about an hour before the proverbial shit hit the fan (knowing full well that with my luck it could be possible for real feces to hit a fan). After going through all of the paper work and oh's and ah's of people realizing that I have twins, I finally get to a chair.

The twins were content in the stroller and I realize that no matter what for the next 10-15 minutes I HAVE to sit here. It was so awesome. They start taking my blood and I am feeling good. My nurse asks me if I want anything to drink and I tell her to keep the cranberry juice coming. It was sort of like being on a lounge chair in Cabo, but inside, with children and no vodka in my cranberry juice. The whole time I am chatting it up with the guy next to me and his daughter. They were donating for their twins in the hospital and I was sharing some of my baby horror stories with the new dad. Itty Bitty was cracking up at all of the different nurses and new sounds and sights and in turn Big J was laughing at her laughing. It was really a good time. I felt like not only was I saving lives but I was sufficiently showing this father the ups and downs have having twins. Ten quick minutes later I was done with my donation and the nurses started unhooking me, then I passed out. I have never passed out when giving blood, or ever, for that matter. Passing out is weird. Apparently I was only out of it for a minute but I had the craziest most involved dream. Not being a drug user, that is what I imagine acid feeling like. I came to not remembering that I had responsibilities or hands...

I spent the next two hours negotiating with nurses that I was fine and needed to go. K-Dog was at summer school, but the child is better off there than in my care on most days. Honestly I did not try that hard to get released. It just kept getting better. The majority of the nurses all wanted to hold a baby, and forbid me to, so I had a team of babysitters while I continued on my cranberry juice and cookie binge. While I cannot guarantee that your local blood bank will be as awesome as mine, it really couldn't hurt (only a pinch, and the possibility of passing out and having crazy acid dreams) to try it as a quasi-babysitting service. According to blood donating policies I cannot go back until mid-August, which is silly to wait because I have lots more blood ready to go. Come mid-August I plan on being there under the guise of saving a life.

DONATE!!! Find your local blood bank here.