If Men are from Mars...

If men are from Mars, then that explains why Wyatt makes absolutely no sense to me. Keep in mind this child has only been 4 years old for a little over a month. We have been watching caterpillars in our front yard for a couple of days. They are everywhere! Some are furry and white, and some are the usual yellow and black. I have been explaining the caterpillar's life cycle to Wyatt, and showing him what a chrysalis is. One of the furry yellow and black ones has begun to make its chrysalis next to the hinge side of our front door. Very cool. Wyatt is now extremely protective of all caterpillars, and has really begun to develop an appreciation for them. Just a little while ago, he came into the house screaming and crying about a caterpillar, so I went outside with him to check. I still have no idea what the fuss was about. He kept crying and going on about how a crab killed and ate the furry white caterpillar that was on our impatiens plant, and how the crab is hiding in a hole. I tried to get him to show me the hole, or the crab, but no luck. Sigh. Only tears.

Most of you who know me really well already know that Wyatt is at a stage in his life where it's best that he not be taken out into public. There are a few reasons for this:

1. He sometimes screams, "No! Help me! Somebody help me!" as I'm stuffing his flailing body into the car and strangers stop and consider calling 911.
2. He sometimes screams, "Hush, Mom! I told you NO!"
3. He sometimes screams, "Stop! I'll beat you silly!", just like he did at Mardel yesterday while a bunch of older ladies stood around and stared in horror.
4. He likes to run away.
5. He is extremely (and I mean EXTREMELY) loud.

Today we went out and ran a couple of brief errands, including stopping at Barnes and Noble. Wyatt, of course, didn't want to leave because there was a really cool Thomas train set in the kids' section. Let the screaming and fighting commence. I spanked him in the parking lot and told him that he had to spend some time in his room after we got home, and that's exactly what happened.

When I went to tell him that he could come out of his room, he said, "Mom, it's broken."

"What's broken?" I asked.

"I said it's broken, Mom!" Geez, cranky.

Sigh. "What is broken, Wyatt?" (Losing my patience.)

"This." He ran his finger all along his chest and stomach. "My heart is broken."

All I can say is, I'm glad a hug and a burrito with salsa and cheese can mend a broken heart.

The Only Female in a Male Household

It has been a very long time since my last post. I explained to a friend of mine it was because nothing remotely interesting has happened to me lately, and the cat seems to be mellowing out. After today I got to thinking about my experiences as a mother to two boys. I know several moms out there who are the only female in an all-male household, and I wonder if they have the same experiences as I do.

First of all, there's the issue with my bra. Now, you could have a little girl and still have this problem. Oh, the bra. Not just for boobs anymore. It makes a great harness for little ones who ride on your hip. I'd have to estimate that at least half of the Oklahoma City metro area has seen my bra collection. When I'm carrying Ben, he grabs hold of the bra cup just like it's some sort of handle. A lot of the time he misses and just grabs my shirt. This is where the flashing begins. He'll tug on the shirt and voila! Everyone around me sees the bra. Last night I was at Target in the checkout line, not paying any attention, until I hear a man say, "whoa". I look down and half my bra is exposed. Great. Shake it off. Shake it off.

Then there's the issue of the makeup. All kids like to watch their parents do stuff, like watch their dads shave, and their moms fix their hair or put on makeup. I have a baby gate in the doorway of the bathroom, and the boys like to stand there and watch what I'm doing. This has resulted in Wyatt stealing my mascara and doing some serious beautification to himself. Ben's time hasn't come yet. He can't climb the gate.

Finally, the feminine products. You can read an earlier blog post about pads, when Wyatt thought putting one on his foot would make his headache go away. Today he fell and skinned his knee. Just a few minutes before I started this post, he came out of my bathroom with a pantyliner stuck to his knee. He told me he found a band-aid.

"Look, Mom! I found a band-aid!"

"What? That's not a band-aid." Then I noticed Phillip had just got home from work and was in the front yard. "Hey! Go show your dad your band-aid." I said.

Then Wyatt took off out the front door just as I realized Phillip had brought someone he works with home. I don't think I had ever met the guy, and this wasn't exactly the encounter I wanted him to remember me by.

"Get back in here, Wyatt!!!" Then Wyatt cried, of course, 'cause I had to peel his band-aid off.

Being the only girl makes me some strange, fascinating life form. Almost alien-like in my own household.

Caskets, Golf Carts, and Ice Chests

Yes, that's right. Caskets, golf carts, and ice chests. Somehow, the three have come together in this very twisted, hillbilly tale. I thought I have seen all things redneck, but I've gotta say, this takes the cake.

Yesterday Phillip was at work when one of their regular customers came in. Phillip works with oil field and farm equipment, mostly, but sometimes the guys get stuck with some random requests, such as the one he was presented with on this day. Where was I? Oh yeah. This guy backed his truck into the shop and asked the workers to unload this thing. What was it? A casket. Phillip's like, "What are you doing with a casket?" and the other guy said "I got it for a hundred bucks." I don't know about you, but one thought comes to mind: who's gonna be selling caskets? I mean, it's not something that people have an extra of.

Oh, I just have this old casket lyin' around. I guess I'll sell it.

Well, I thought I was gonna use this casket, but I think I've changed my mind...

It's not really the color I wanted...

I've already got 3 caskets. This one's just getting in the way.

I thought it was a buffet table. The handles are kinda awkward.

Okay, on with the story. So they unload the casket, and the guy wants Phillip to put an axle on it and a tongue (or whatever it's called) on the other end, so it can be like a trailer of sorts. He had stripped out the inside bedding, and wanted to put sheet metal in it so it could be used as an ice chest that he could rig up to his golf cart at the lake. There ya go. A casket full of beer being pulled by a golf cart.

Dude, if you're gonna drink that much beer, I guess you will need the casket after all.

The Roof, the Roof, the Roof is on Fire...

Okay, so the roof wasn't on fire...but the kitchen was.

Kristin, my lovely cousin-in-law, and I decided to spend a leisurely afternoon shopping. I needed some new summer clothes, but it was funny how I came home with a $10 shirt for myself, and several new outfits for the boys. I'm sure that happens for every mom out there. Well, I found the cutest shirt for Ben, but the last one (which happened to be Ben's size) was on the creepy mannequin kid. As Kristin and I are hijacking and undressing the mannequin as quickly as possible, Phillip calls me and asks what to do for dinner. "Cook the frozen pizza" was my reply. I'd say about 10 minutes passed until Phillip called me again a second time.

"What's in the oven?" he asked me.

"Uh, pizza?" Seriously, what kind of question is that?

"No, I mean, what was in the oven before the pizza?"

Oh crap. The events that unfolded this day were completely and totally the cat's fault (indirectly). Had we not had a thieving, cupcake stealing cat, the plastic serving container and leftover cupcakes would have been saved from the oven's blazing heat. You see, after having cake outside for Wyatt's party, my mom put the leftovers in the oven, just so that the cat would stay out of it. Since we don't use the oven as a storage place, I totally forgot about it. Phillip went to preheat the oven for the pizza, went outside with the boys for a while, then came back in to an oven on fire. Nice. The neighbors across the street lost their house due to a fire last summer. Now they have a spectacular, gorgeous home. I was thinking that maybe Phillip should have just turned around and went back outside. Heck, why not just take a walk down the street? But no, Phillip in his courageous fire-fighting efforts put out the blaze, and we still live in this awesome 1985 house. However, there is no dark chocolate fudge cake left. Sniff.

Wyatt + Jalapeños = Wet Bed in Morning

Okay, so yesterday was Wyatt's birthday party. He turned four two days ago, although he has been telling everyone for the past two years that he is five. I wonder if he'll still be five when he turns six. Anywho, the party went all right, except for when Wyatt tried to push his cousin off the ladder of our very large playset outside. Mr. Kitty behaved himself. He had a great time showing off and playing jungle cat in our shrubs and bushes. A few people made comments about the crazed look in his eyes, but everyone who lives in my house has that look.

Last night we decided to go eat at On the Border with some family. Wyatt has this "thing" about wanting to try what everyone else has. He was particularly curious about the jalapeño slice on top of Phillip's chili relleno. He wouldn't let it rest, so Phillip finally gave in and let Wyatt try it. Painful agitation ensued, as Wyatt frantically drank his entire drink, then mine, and ate tortillas and chips to try to make the sting go away. I wonder if he will listen the next time we warn him that something is hot. Poor little guy. His eyes were all watery, and he was just so little, cute, and innocent for that moment. He never cried, which surprised me, because I know how bad those peppers can sting! Well, after drinking an enormous amount of liquids, we made him visit the potty several times before bed, but alas, our efforts were futile. We awoke this morning to the chore of stripping the bed and starting the laundry.

Cows are our Friends

I just sat down to start writing this entry when I heard a lot of rustling from the kitchen. I got up to go see what was going on. Benjamin was unrolling all of our kitchen trash bags and throwing them away. Anyone else out there have kids who are obsessed with throwing things away? I've had pots, pans, spoons, TV remotes, clothing, shoes, you name it--thrown away. Then dug out of the trash by me. But that probably does explain why we are so short on silverware. Anyway, while I was digging trash bags out of the trash (ironically), Wyatt was telling me that he wants to get a pet goldfish, and he wants to name it "Poochie". Okay. He has been wanting a lot of different pets lately. He really, really wants a guinea pig, and he often begs me to take him to Petco so he can look at them and dream.

On the way home today, we passed by the usual farmland and fields of cattle. "I want the cows to come over and play in the backyard, Mom," said Wyatt.

"Oh yeah? Do you think that's a good idea?" I asked him.

"Cows are nice, Mom. I told you. They go 'moo'".

"Cows taste good," I said.

"Cows taste good?" he asked. There was a little confusion in his voice. He changed the subject. "I want a guinea pig."

Tortilla Destruction and Birthday Parties

Tortilla Destruction: no, I'm not talking about Phillip at a Mexican restaurant. I'm talking Homestyle Mission tortillas, just purchased from the local Walmart, innocently waiting on the countertop for Saturday night dinner...sabotaged by kitty kitty. Yes, he was patiently waiting for me to let my guard down. He had been such a good kitty for the last few weeks, that I didn't even think twice when I set a bread-like product on the kitchen counter, leaving it vulnerable to the thieving feline. I've gotta give him props, though. He waited until we were all in bed asleep before the attack. Phillip found the demolished package in the corner of the kitchen floor. Perhaps one reason it seems Buster has been so good lately is because he's been going outside to play with the boys in the afternoons, and we leave him out all night. He never runs off. He sleeps in one of our outbuildings, then comes back in when I call him in the morning. I've been sleeping a lot better without cat claws or teeth in my feet during the earliest hours, or waking to the sounds of him acting a fool.

Wyatt's 4th birthday is coming up in a couple of weeks. Unlike many parents out there, I have not fallen victim to the insanity of hosting a party at such devilish places as Chuck E. Cheese. Is it just me, or does it almost seem like a competition? Who can host the best party? Who really cares, as long as the kids have fun? Please, people. Don't you know how much parents hate going to Chuck E. Cheese? I will be having Wyatt's birthday party in the backyard, just like I do every year. I serve semi-homemade cake because it tastes so much better than store bought, and it's much cheaper. We get a pinata and let the kids beat their frustrations out on it, we have a sandbox, a water table, a huge fort with a rocket slide (shoots you out at high speeds), and one of those horse toys on springs. Parents bring their lawn chairs and we sit and talk and relax. No one will steal or molest our children. It isn't crowded. We all take care of each other's kids. To me, that is so much more enjoyable. Plus, the kids don't have to battle with strangers or mean kids to have a turn at a game or something elsewhere. I hope Wyatt will always enjoy having a party at home.

When Will the World End?

I was approached by a first grader yesterday who asked me when the world was going to end. I told her that no one knew for sure when it would end. Then of course, she told me about 2012.

"Is the world really going to end in 2012?"

"Of course not. At least, not in my opinion," I said. Then I had to explain who the ancient Aztecs were, and all that. Note the above picture is the ancient Aztec calendar.

"When the world ends, will we end?"

I raised my eyebrows. The first thought that entered my mind was, how far can I go without getting sued or fired? Ahhh...thank God for unions.

"Do you go to church?" I asked.

"No. Well, not now. We used to..." This is where I pause and think of my pastor scolding me for not inviting her family to church.

Now we enter forbidden territory. Hot water. Separation of church and state and whatnot. I did answer her question, to the best of my ability, without pushing my beliefs on her. I have moments like this about once a week. A question about life or Christianity. I answer them, as generically as possible, but still getting the point across. She goes on to ask who controls space and time, and will the earth ever stop turning? Then of course, as I'm explaining gravity and phases of the moon and stuff, I've got kids who are surprised that an art teacher knows anything about science. Such misconceptions bother me. I like to consider myself a bit of a science whiz. ;)

Have you ever been sitting at your computer when a large hairy spider drops down on your keyboard out of nowhere? That also happened to me yesterday. I managed not to scream. I turned around to get a couple of tissues to smash the bugger with, but when I turned back around, it was gone! I searched everywhere, but never found the spider. Stupid spider. I was paranoid for the rest of the day, and felt psychological stinging sensations in my leg where I was bitten by a fiddleback last summer.

I've got to apologize for the lack of entertainment value of this blog entry. I've had this same killer headache for over a week now, and it just won't quit. Unfortunately, it's hard to laugh or find humor in things when I spend most of my time concentrating on not barfing. Or killing the cat.

Narcissistic Personality Disorder

Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. My children watch that ridiculous show from time to time, with its unrealistic problem solving tools. Who would suggest using an over-sized candy cane to rescue a kitten from a tree? Why is Mickey Mouse so special? What's so great about the giant rodent who has a pet dog? Why does he get the clubhouse, and how come everything has to be mouse-themed? Do his friends really feel so inferior that they put up with his crap all the time? That everything HAS to be about Mickey? They do everything he wants to do. Why can't Donald decide what they are going to play? Why can't it be Goofy's clubhouse? Mickey is so judgmental. Look at the way he talks to Pete. No wonder Pete's a bully. I think he lashes out because he feels he's not good enough to play with Mickey and his friends. Even the freakin' clubhouse password has Mickey's name in it. Would you want to hang out with someone who is so full of himself? And the girls!! Why must Minnie feel like she has to wear a dress and heels when she goes to pick strawberries? Daisy always wears heels, too. Do you really have to go to all that trouble just to impress a duck and a mouse? How does that make me feel? So insecure in my tennis shoes or flip flops. Oh, and not to mention my jeans and t-shirt. Perhaps I should ditch those and go work outside in my Sunday best, which my friends at church will tell you isn't that great. Of course I rarely wear heels because Phillip complains that I'm too tall in them. They take 10 pounds off my appearance just by wearing them! Anyway, I'm getting way off the subject here. Someone seriously needs to kick Mickey's butt and put him in his place.

Love and Loss in Second Grade

What really got me going today was a little conversation I overheard during my third grade class. One of the coolest things about teaching art is that it sparks conversation between the kids, and I hear all SORTS of things! And they don't even realize I can hear them. Muahahahaha! This particular class is full of boy-crazy girls and girl-crazy boys. I've never seen anything like it at this age. It seems to all be contained in this one group of kids. My other third grade classes aren't like this one. The conversation at one particular table was about boyfriends and girlfriends. They were discussing who they've "dated." Yes, dated. One girl was telling her friends about a boy she "dated", but that was like, in second grade. They ended up breaking up because he cheated on her. Okay, so, what is cheating like when you are 7 years old? What do you have to do to cheat? Hold hands with someone else? Look at someone else? Talk to someone else? Play on the playground with someone else? I am quite certain it wouldn't be our definition of cheating, but considering the way the world is these days, I was too frightened to ask. I just don't want to know. All you parents out there hoping your child is still innocent, well, they learn things a lot sooner these days. Just sayin'. A lot of stuff gets overheard.

I am NOT a Tree.

Dear Buster,

Despite what you may think, or perhaps what you may have experienced before coming into my life, I am NOT a tree. God did not create me to be climbed, even though you have witnessed this from my children. Have you not noticed how I cry out in anguish when your claws enter my thighs? Have you not heard my screams as I nurse the four deep puncture wounds in my forearm? Also, if you cannot jump high enough to land on top of the bed during the night, just stay off my bed altogether. One does not like to be climbed at 3:00am, only to notice the swollen whelps on the body once morning arrives. Your meat scavenging perturbs me. Your thieving ways frustrate me. The way you claw at the carpet will surely get you killed. When I lock you outside, please don't scale the house using the window screens. Not only will it tear them up, it is rather disturbing to look outside the window and see a kitty seemingly floating in midair, suspended against the window, like one of those Garfield window suction things from the 80's. If you cannot show more respect, I shall wrap the pads of your feet with masking tape and put a tube sock over your head. Sleep on that, kitty cat.

Your loving owner

Husband with a Death Wish

After I got home this afternoon, I put some sausage in a big plastic bowl of hot water to thaw. Then I covered the bowl with a lid. It was snapped on almost all the way. Good enough. Well enough to keep a cat out, anyway. Well, Phillip walks up and watches what I'm doing.

Phillip: The lid's not even on all the way!

Me: It's tight enough. The cat won't get in.

Phillip: You must not know our cat. (Proceeds to

completely seal the lid on the bowl.) Our cat is really smart.

Me: Are you saying I'm not as smart as the cat?

Phillip: Yes.

After some dirty looks and a few minutes later...

Phillip: I missed you today.

Me: You could actually miss someone who is dumber

than a cat?

Phillip: You don't have to be smart for me to miss you.

This is the part where I pause and get the blank stare on my face as I envision myself performing a few acts of violence. Phillip giggles. Good thing he can't see into my mind's eye.

Let us rewind a bit. Have you ever planned something for dinner, just so you could eat one tiny thing in particular? For instance, made spaghetti because you were in the mood for garlic bread or something like that? Well, I bought this new jelly at the store, and it is so good! I've only had a small taste on a spoon. I splurged and bought that "Simply Fruit" kind by Smuckers. It's the blueberry variety. Yum. I asked Phillip what he wanted for dinner, and he said "make me something I can eat 'this' on" (he was holding up the jelly). So, we are having breakfast for dinner so that we can eat English muffins with the jelly (note the sausage thawing--mmm...eggs, sausage, and English muffins.) Are we weird? Wait. Don't answer that.

Feline update: Buster still can't reach the bread, though he spends a lot of time opening and closing the cabinet door. I moved the bread to the top shelf. Muahahahaha! He got his revenge, though. This morning, as I was attempting to get ready for work, the cat writhed and wretched in the floor, clawing at my legs and feet. He unleashed his kitty fangs into the back of my heel, right below my ankle, and I cried out in anguish and kicked my leg away, out of instinct. In the process, slicing my heel open in two spots. There are two slashes where the kitty fangs were. Cat was still attached when I kicked my foot out. Can you believe it? He actually broke the skin and left two razor-like cuts. It hurt most of the morning as my shoe rubbed against it.

Phillip has some sort of psychic power over Buster. All he has to do is give him the 'evil eye', and Buster runs off in a fit of terror. No joke. Where can I learn that?

Pants on the Ground!

Apparently my son is embarking on the phase in his life where he feels he must change his clothes a million times a day. Yesterday he must have changed his pants 12 times. He emptied out his pants drawer and has been "folding" them over and over. Well, at the moment he is burying me in his pants. I had no idea he owned so many pants. Some of them are too big for him, so that explains part of it. He ended up in a pair of pants that was a size too big last night. They were sagging off his hips, so Phillip started singing that "Pants on the Ground" song. I asked Wyatt, "Are you ghetto?" And Wyatt tells me, "No, mama, I'm not ghetto."

Stupid crackhead cat is at it again. He attacked my mom's head last night. My parents came over to drop their car off (ours was in the shop) so that I could get the boys dropped off and get myself to work this morning. She was sitting there in the chair, and Buster comes climbing up all innocent-like. Then he dug is claws into her back and attached himself to her head, biting at her hair and scalp like a half-starved maniacal beast. This afternoon I heard a clunking, then a bang and crash, coming from the kitchen. I rushed over to see, and it was that wretched feline digging in the cabinet again. He had gotten the hotdog buns and was making a run for the baby gate. I caught him and hissed at him. Put the hotdog buns back. Five minutes later, he did it again! Only this time, some plates toppled to the floor. Luckily they were the boys' plastic plates. I moved the hotdog buns to the top shelf. I've been lucky so far...

Buster was just now clawing at the carpet under the kitchen baby gate, so I picked up a pair of Wyatt's pants that I happen to be buried in, and chunked them at the cat. It is so much fun watching those vertical jumps. Now he is underneath the coat rack trying to do God knows what. Sigh. Never a dull moment. Now to heat up a frozen pizza which Buster will enjoy stealing a piece of and eating it under the kitchen table.

Kitty Pattern Baldness and Vehicular Despair

Hello people. It's been a couple of days since I've written. I've been a busy girl! Let's see...Thursday night I went to a friends house and foolishly looked into the eyes of her evil, maniacal cat. It's an orange cat with weird, dark eyes. I have been told that when the sun goes down, the cat becomes strangely possessed by dark forces. I witnessed some strange kitty behavior that evening. The cat (I don't even remember its name) randomly jumped at nothing. He'd be sitting there and all of a sudden do a crazy vertical jump. Then it would get down on the ground, belly to the floor, and army crawl, pawing madly at imaginary creatures. Bizarre.

This morning I discovered something most disturbing. As you can see from the above picture, it was a bald spot in my carpet. It really upset me because this area in the floor is a nice little spot that would look strange covered up by a rug. The cat is tearing up our house! There are little carpet shreds here and there, but it's usually at a corner where the carpet meets the tile floor, or the little area under my bedroom door. Phillip seriously wants to murder the cat. I don't know how much longer I can protect him. Stupid cat also stole Ben's chicken nuggets at lunch time. Sigh.

I know this entry hasn't been very entertaining. We tried to go to the store earlier, and started to have car trouble. We're thinking it has to do with the fuel system, and of course, it has to be complicated on a Nissan, so Phillip isn't able to fix it. I'm sure a few of you can relate to this: You know how you have dreams of what you want to do with your tax return? We always have these dreams of taking a family vacation, or updating some fixtures in our house, but when it comes down to it, some crisis ALWAYS manages to happen. Year after year after year. It gets so old! This year we have to fork over the big bucks to get our foundation repaired so that Wyatt's bedroom won't break off from the house and roll down the hill. Then fix the driveway that's a huge mud pit after the snow storms. Now hundreds of dollars on the car. Woe is me.

You Can Run, but You Can't Hide

Alas. The kitty found the loaf of bread. For those of you who may not remember, the bread was hidden in a kitchen cabinet to prevent kitty from ripping the package to shreds and scattering pieces of bread throughout the house. The hiding spot was working fine until sometime over the weekend, I think, when he figured out how to open the cabinet door and get stuff out. I moved the bread to the top of the refrigerator. He hadn't taken any notice. Until now. Last night I got home and noticed about 6 pieces of bread leaning against the kitchen wall, near the baby gate. Where was the rest of the package? I was too tired to care. I got my answer this morning when I was gathering Wyatt's clothes for the day. Crunch. I stepped on a piece of crust, right there in the middle of Wyatt's floor. Okay...still missing the rest of the loaf. There was a piece between the wall and his dresser, one next to his toy box...but still no plastic bag. But wait! I saw a corner of a demolished bread sack peeking out from under Wyatt's bed. Shredded. Mystery solved, another mess to clean, and no sandwiches until I get to the store to buy more bread. I've got to think of another hiding place.

Went to work, had a good time with the kids. Listened to a kindergarten girl trying to convince me that her real name was Taylor Swift. "I'm not even lying!!" she said. Did some jump roping in front of all my students and peers and showed the world how pitifully out of shape I am. Hopefully I hid that well.

Went home, attempted to make the kids happy. Snuck off to the bathroom. All of you mothers (and some fathers) can relate to this. There is absolutely NOWHERE I can go in my house to escape. Someone or something (feline) will always come after me, screaming "MAMA!!" or meowing and scratching at the door. The above picture shows Buster's leg reaching for me under the door as he's crying for me. Like he's telling me I can run, but I can't hide. He will always find me. He will always find my loaf of bread. He's crouching, waiting, for that pound of unattended hamburger meat.

Already-Been-Used Tissues, Double Dutch, and Pizza Trough Lady

Another uneventful day for the cat. Once again, it's because I haven't been home, and there was no meat thawing in the sink. However, it was an interesting day for me for a few different reasons.

Kindergarten class:

Boy #1 has a very tiny spot of blood on his leg and wants a band-aid. I'm talking pin-prick, people. I tell him that he will be fine, but if he would like, he could dab it with a tissue. Boy #2 approaches to see what is going on. Of course the mention of blood always draws a crowd.

Boy #1: Where's the tissue?

Me: On my desk.

Boy #2: (reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wad of crumpled tissue) Here, you can use mine.

Boy #1: (gives it a suspicious look) Is it clean?

Boy #2: Yes, it's clean. I haven't used it.

Boy #1 hesitates, then dabs his leg with it.

Boy #2: I mean, I haven't used it in a while. Just be careful. I mean, it's clean on the outside, but there's stuff on the inside. Just don't open it up.

Boy #1 didn't appear to have noticed, but I am quite positive that I had a look of disgust on my face that I just couldn't hide.

After School:

A few brave souls who are sacrificing body and dignity for the good of the American Heart Association gathered in the gym after school for a short meeting. The P.E. teachers are kicking off their annual Jump Rope for Heart fundraiser with a jump rope assembly on Thursday. Some fellow professionals and I volunteered to be on the jump rope "team" and show the world our skills, or lack, thereof. I have discovered that I am fairly good at double dutch. This makes me feel awesome, since I couldn't even do it as a child. I am quite certain, though, that I will end up making a fool of myself in front of my students and peers. I do plan on wearing some wicked sexy socks under my jeans, which I'll likely have rolled up to my knees. Maybe I'll think of something super dorky to wear. My knees hurt.

Dinner Time:

I had a coupon for the pizza buffet at Mazzio's, so the family and I headed out to eat some pizza. Everything was fine and dandy. The kids behaved themselves. Phillip behaved himself. It was a good time. I couldn't help but notice this woman standing at the buffet. At first I thought she was waiting on someone, but I kept watching. She grabbed a plate and made a salad. Then she stood at the buffet while she ate it. Okay, a little weird. Then she put her plate on the buffet, and got another plate and put pizza on it. She stood at the buffet with her two plates and ate. People came and went, serving themselves and leaving. The whole time she stood there, like a horse eating from a trough. I kept watching out of morbid curiosity whether or not she'd ever get a table. She'd walk off and get a drink, then stand at the buffet again. Move out of the way for the workers, then move back in. I'd say she was there for a good 15 minutes, just standing and eating. She was still standing there when we left. Obviously she wasn't waiting on a pizza or anything. Maybe she was afraid that everyone else would eat the pizza before she got a piece. I hope she didn't drop any crumbs into the salad. It did sort of gross me out a little that she made the entire buffet her dinner table.

Headaches, Pads, and Man Logic

Other than waking my youngest son twice during his nap, the cat has been pretty well behaved today. I guess it kind of helps that I wasn't home this afternoon. However, late this afternoon, he did the flying squirrel thing onto Wyatt's head. "Mama, make him stop!" Awesome.

Do you ever wonder how a child's mind works? The way they come up with things, or their method of reasoning? I was pondering this subject for quite a while this morning. Wyatt told me he needed to go potty, and let himself into the bathroom. After he was in there for a while and it became mysteriously quiet (the kind of quiet every parent knows--there's a difference between quiet and quiet), I decided to get up and check on him. I slowly opened the bathroom door, afraid of what I might find. I peeked in, and lo and behold, Wyatt was standing there looking up at me all innocently.

"Mama, I have a headache," he said sweetly. I told him that I would get him a nice, cold drink, and he could rest on the couch and watch TV. "But Mama, I have a headache."

I wasn't quite following the conversation as well as I thought I was. He held up his foot for me to see. He had gotten into a box of feminine pads, took the sticker thing off the back, and stuck it to the top of his foot, with the ends of the pad wrapped under either side. I stared at him, puzzled and amused. A headache? Really? What does a pad have to do with a headache? (Well, a lot of things, but he doesn't know that.) I bent down to peel the pad off his foot and throw it away. Wyatt got upset, and I tried to explain that pads were not for headaches, but for big girls. Yeah, I don't think the concept went far. I can use this story for blackmail later on, though. And if he had a headache, why did he put the pad on his foot? I have been puzzling over his thought processes most of the day. Could this fall under the category that I have named "Man Logic"? You know, the stupid crap some men come up with, that only men do. Like, why spend so much time backing into a parking place? The man will say that it's because it will be easier to pull out. Well, isn't it just as easy pulling into a parking place and backing out of it later? I mean, why spend so much time trying to perfectly back into a spot? One way or another, there will be some backing out eventually. That, my friends, is an example of "Man Logic." Pad on foot for headache. Man Logic at age 3? Perhaps.

Don't Turn your Back on the Cat

It all started bright and early this morning when the cat decided to climb my bedroom curtains. I rolled over in anguish and despair and fumbled for something to throw at him, but my efforts were futile. He then flew (and I mean FLEW) onto my bed and attacked my feet. I kicked, and the cat ran from the room. So...I decided to lay there and doze. In comes Wyatt, about 10 minutes later, and I quickly pretended to be asleep.

"What are you doing, Mama?" poke, poke, poke.

*grunt*

Poke, poke, poke. "What are you doing Mama?"

And that is how the day began.

Side note: For non cat owners, did you know that cats can bark? I like to feed the birds during the winter (my husband makes terrible fun of me--calls me "the crazy bird lady" and such), and the cat sits on the window sill and barks at them.

Buster, I thought I outsmarted you by covering the thawing hamburger meat and sausage in the sink with a couple of cookie sheets. It was all fine and dandy, until it was actually time to cook. I heated the skillet on the stove and took the cookie sheets off the sink. Went to the fridge, got out the onion, and started chopping. While my back was turned, Buster stole the hamburger meat from the sink of water, and flew over the baby gate with it. Phillip quickly retrieved it. We get our meat from a meat market, so luckily it's wrapped in a couple of layers of butcher paper instead of flimsy plastic wrap, so it was still usable. Dern cat. See, he waits. He is smart. He stakes out the kitchen, and watches, and waits. Waits for my moment of weakness, then strikes. Be smarter than the cat, be smarter than the cat! I graduated with honors, you know. It shouldn't be that hard.

Side note: Are cats part flying squirrel? When they leap, they sort of soar through the air like some wild, crackhead rodent, with their appendages spread and slightly flailing. When it happens at my house, it's almost like slow motion. The crazy cat with his legs and body in the shape of an "X", that wild look in his eyes. Me, sitting in the line of fire, with my lips slowly forming the word, "Nnnooooooo!!!"

Buster and his Pork Lovin' Fury

Buster Cat, you are almost 8 months old. You are a very small cat. How can you lift a frozen, 4-lb pork roast out of a sink full of hot water?

Now, I know that I cannot trust the cat when it comes to thawing meat on the counter. I can't even trust him to leave the groceries alone when I unload the car. You know how you make trips back and forth from your kitchen to your car when you get home from the store? I have to make sure to put all meat and/or meat products directly into the fridge or freezer. I can't even set them on the counter until I'm finished unloading. The last time I did that, I found a pound of hamburger meat demolished underneath the Christmas tree. And a banana stuck in the baby gate, but that's not meat. I guess he was just feeling extra feisty that day. He also REALLY loves pizza and scrambled eggs. I cooked a pizza the other day and found a slice under the kitchen table, half eaten. Okay, now I'm getting off the subject. Anyway, I needed to thaw this pork roast, so I put it in the sink and completely--COMPLETELY--covered it in hot water. Surely the cat won't mess with it if it's fully submerged. Ha! What a fool I am. He managed to somehow get it up and out of the sink onto the kitchen floor. Not once, but twice. The second time, a big hole busted in the shrink wrap, and pork blood splattered everywhere. Curse you, demon kitty!!! So, down on my hands and knees I went, to clean and disinfect. Luckily, the roast was fine. Stupid cat. It was nearly thawed by this time, so I stuck it on a plate and put it in the fridge. The only place food can be safe.

Did I mention that I had to move the loaf of bread from the cabinet to the top of the fridge? He doesn't know it's there. Yet. I'm sure when he figures it out, I'll be finding a new hiding place. My bedroom will probably become a friggin' pantry, for Pete's sake.

Well, the pork roast turned out to be carne adobada, which is a Mexican roast, or bbq pork. Delicious. I served it on homemade corn tortillas, along with a couple of wedges of key lime. Mighty nice. I had to lock the cat up while shredding the pork. No amount of squirting that cat will keep him away. He even snuck out when I took the trash out. I thought he'd regret it, since it's cold, icy, and snowy outside. Nope. He had fun bird watching. He did eventually ask to come inside, and I obliged.

I have figured out a way to safely thaw meat now. I put it in the sink , and cover the sink with 2 cookie sheets. I cannot believe I'm trying to match wits with a kitten.

A Cold, Blustery Morning

My day began at 5:30 am when the phone rang. The person on the other end informed me that school was cancelled due to our inclement weather. Great. Never fell asleep after that. I have a few sleep problems, one of which is that whenever I get out of bed, that is the end of my night. I will not fall back asleep. So if I get up to use the restroom at 2:00, well, rise and shine. My husband, Phillip, got up and left for work at the usual time, and then the boys were ready to play at about 7:30. Wyatt pooped his pants (GRRRRR!!!!) and begged over and over, "Don't spank me mama, please!" I cleaned him up and gave him a shower, which he HATES. No beatings this time.

I made some awesome cheese omelets for breakfast. The cat kept jumping up on the counter top to try to steal the eggs. Yes, he was attempting to actually drink the raw eggs. Stupid cat. What a pest. I should have locked him up right then, but I'm not smart like that. Anywho, I made the omelets, served the kids, and sat down to eat. I forgot about the extras on the counter top. Buster didn't forget about them, so he had omelet for breakfast, too. Later, I sat down to check in on my facebook peeps, and lo and behold: my wretched cat came flying over the baby gate with an entire package of hamburger buns. The package was bigger than him! He managed to rip open the package and scatter buns everywhere, while the kids and I were chasing him. The kids were laughing hysterically. Me, not so much. I picked up all the buns, and the cat sauntered off victoriously, with his tail high in the air and the plastic bag in his mouth. So much for that. I picked the bag up later, after he had shredded it like a madman.

Anytime food is involved, the cat must be closely watched or locked up. The only problem with shutting the cat in a room is that he still has his claws, and does a real number on the woodwork. So when I made a pizza for lunch, let's just say the cat got pizza for lunch, too. People always suggest doing the water bottle thing where you squirt the cat when it misbehaves. My cat doesn't mind the water. He is such a weirdo. A freak of kitty nature. Strangely enough, I kind of like the cat. He is gentle and affectionate, and he's awesome with the kids. So he stays.

Hello world!

It was recently suggested to me that I create a blog about all the stupid crap that happens in my life. I thought I might entertain this notion and get started. Mind you, this will probably read like a daily journal of sorts, and you might get an intimate peek at my strange points of view. Having adult ADD (self diagnosed, of course), you will find I jump from subject to subject with great ease. So, here goes nothing.