The Set Up

About two weeks ago, I was reading the local island paper.

"Hey Mitch! Coupeville Middle School is hiring a Lunch Lady for the next school year. That could be a perfect job for me, because I'd have the same days off as the kids, and I'd be done working by the time the girls get home from kindergarten."

"Wow. That does sound perfect. You could...."

At this point, Jack comes running into the room, protesting and basically losing his shit.

Over the next week and a half, Mitch and I would discuss the pros and cons of me being a Lunch Lady, but only when Jack wasn't in the room, and in hushed voices (making sure he was in earshot, though).

Tonight:

"I had my interview today. I think they really liked me (Jack is near tears at this point). When I asked if I could dress up like the kids on Spirit Days, they could tell I'd be really enthusiastic" (he's practically having a seizure ).

Jack spent about 20 minutes trying to talk me out of it, and then I said, "don't worry about the kids not thinking you're cool, Jack. I'm going to buy some really hip clothes like the kids are wearing these days and I'm going to speak their lingo so they think I'm one of your peeps."

By now, he's on the floor, twitching and writhing.

To be continued tomorrow.....

With these shiny shoes I watch thee wed.

Ah, wedding season has arrived. Mitch's family is very big, and most of his zillion nephews and nieces are of marrying age, so we generally go to 3 or 4 weddings (at least) every year. The girls think this is awesome. The boys? Not so much. They've all learned to make a mad dash for the tables at the reception to see what treats are spread about. Jackpot with personalized M&Ms! And, below. Wedding. Cheesecake. When I saw that, I wanted to marry the bride.

The girls popping wedding bubbles with a second cousin.

I was snuggling Mitch just the way Olivia is, above, and as soon as she saw me move away, Little Electra took my place.

Dear God,
Why are weddings so long? Why is there so much talking? Why does it take so long to get to the cutting of the cake? Why does my mom make me wear my shirt tucked in and these stupid, shiny shoes? When will it be my turn to play Tetris on mom's cell phone? How many times can I get away with asking if we can leave yet before my mom makes me do the Makarena for punishment? Love, Jack


Yesterday we spent the day spring cleaning, hauling 8 bags of clothes/toys out of the kids' rooms to pass along. Jack said it was a great day.

Mother Nature

Watching the snow fall. Today. On the seventh day of spring.

Mad Skillz

This morning, Olivia made a flying leap and grabbed her rain coat off of a very high hook.

Kate: "Wow, Olivia, you've got some skills!"

Henry: "I don't have any skills."

Olivia: "Yes you do! What about picking your nose with your tongue?"

Nothing says Easter like a baby pig

We spent the weekend happily frolicking with cousins and grandparents in Spokane, and while Mitch and I were out looking at RVs (no, we did NOT buy one), Uncle Mark and Nana took all the kids to a farm that is owned by a friend of Uncle Mark. Jack, who will do anything for a buck, dove into piles of pig shit to grab this baby pig on the $5 bet that he couldn't catch one. The real loser of this bet was poor Aunt Kimmy, who had to launder six kids' pig-shit-covered clothes. Below is a picture of Grace after she got completely stuck in pig shit, stepped out of her boot, and stuck her sock into it. A wonderful time was had by all, and my children have been begging me for a farm ever since. Also, nothing says spring like an Easter egg hunt while it's snowing. Or a leopard print thong inside a plastic egg.
My new camera was waiting for me on the front porch when we got home last night, and soon I will figure out how to use it. Yay!

Done making stupid pledges

Well, in January I pledged to go a whole year without buying even one pair of shoes. I lasted until March, so that's not too bad, right? Plus, they were on sale, so basically I had to get them. I still haven't bought any kitchen gadgets. Except the blender, but we make smoothies nearly every day, so I had to get that. Also, I've still cut way back on my latte buying. With the money I save on that alone, I deserve new shoes. Also, they're hiking shoes, and they're not even fashionable, so actually they don't even count.

Shut up.

I can't wait until she's sixteen.

Hallelujiah! My crappy camera broke! Dang. my trusty camera broke. I don't know how it happened. My loving husband finally opened his wallet enough to let the moths fly out and get me a new one. But he didn't pay the extra forty bucks for rush shipping, so it'll probably be a week before I get it. But yay!

This morning, I noticed Olivia lying flat on her back, wiggling up some new jeans that were given to her by a friend with an older, super-hip daughter. They're shredded, sequined, and embroidered. She is in love with them, but they're very, um, snug. Finally, she got them up over her hips, sucked in her gut, and snapped them closed. Then, she stood up, squatted, and did a little booty dance.

"Olivia, what are you doing?"

"Just settling my booty into these jeans."

The Wearin' O' the Green

She dressed herself for school today. Pretty much everything she owns that's green, she's wearing. Olivia is wearing no green today, and if anyone tries to pinch her, she'll stick a fork in their eye. She is boycotting St. Patrick's Day because that damned Leprechaun broke into our home last night and filled the kids' shoes with chocolate gold coins (which was okay) and drew magic marker green mustaches on everyone while they slept (which was not). And the green milk? Uh, no thanks. Fortunately, we have extra kids who enjoy a good prank now and again.

Mitch and Jack spent the entire day in Bellingham at the History Day presentation on Saturday. This project has been a thorn in all our sides, but especially Jack's, as he has not had any free time for weeks. His team was the only one who gave an audible cheer when they didn't win (meaning, more work for the state competition).

Yesterday, we almost got another dog, but I changed my mind at the last minute and bought three boxes of Girl Scout Cookies instead.

Plumbing excitement (I almost wrote excrement!)

Yesterday we all slept through the alarm, and it was a mad rush to get lunches packed and everyone out the door. Just as Mitch jumped in the shower, there was an ominous sound from the downstairs bathroom.

BLOOOOP.



BLOOOOP.


BLOOOOP.


I went to check it out just as the water in the toilet started flowing over the top of the bowl. The plunger didn't work, so I yelled for Henry to go get Mitch "and don't forget to tell him it's an EMERGENCY!!!!! Now run!"

Mitch came thundering downstairs, covered in suds and completely naked. He starts plunging away and Henry. Is. Dying. He positioned himself well out of Mitch's way and dropped to the ground, clutching his stomach in silent laughter. It turns out we had a clog in our septic system, so it wasn't as bad as we thought.

Later that morning, the girls' preschool teacher is holding up letters for the kids to guess and name some words that begin with said letter. She held up an "S" and all the kids shouted "S!". Then Grace yelled, "Septic!" and Olivia yelled, "Sewage!" I wanted to yell, "Shit!", but I didn't for obvious reasons. I didn't want to confuse the preschoolers with the "sh" sound.

Henry still hasn't stopped grinning at the mental image of his Dad in all his sudsy, naked glory.

Dumbass

Last night I was still battling the chills, so I found an old heating pad. And when I say old, I remember using said heating pad as a little girl. Do they even make heating pads anymore? Probably not, because they're DANGEROUS for stupid people like me. I laid it across my stomach and set it to high. Ahhhh. Blissful warmth. I kept it on there for a good long time, too, but I turned it off before I went to sleep, because I'm no dummy! I wouldn't want to burn myself.

This morning I woke up and my stomach hurt. A lot. Damn, I thought to myself, am I ever going to shake this bug? I got ready for my shower and glanced in the mirror. Hole. Eeee. Crap. Such an angry shade of red all over my lovely, squishy mid-section. I would post a picture, but then not only the proof of my idiocy would be there, but worse, the horrors of bearing four children would make you lose your breakfast. How on earth am I going to roll my stomach up to stuff it in my jeans today?

27 Dresses

On Saturday, I took the girls to Mount Vernon for a birthday party, but I'm not driving over an hour just for a birthday party, so I decided to let them pick out some fancy dresses for an upcoming wedding/Easter/their birthdays. We went to the mall (Woohoo! Real stores! Suck on that, Wal-mart!). They both fell in L.O.V.E. with the same dress. You would think, great, how easy, I can just buy them matching dresses, but NO. They don't want to match. That's for losers, not almost-five year-old twins. They were reaching near-hysteria over said dress, so we left the store with no one getting a dress. Five stores and 26 dresses later, we were back in front of the original dress, because Olivia spent two hours convincing Grace that she looked way cuter in the pink and green plaid dress than in the coveted flowery dress. Plus! it went with her hair! Grace, never one to make waves, tentatively agreed to get the second choice dress. I was ticked, because I really wanted them both to have the dresses of their dreams. They're nearing the age where they'll think fancy dresses suck, and I'm trying to get the most out of these girly years, here. Grace convinced me that she did love her dress and so I relented. We then went to the shoe department, and damn if they only had pink sparkly ballet flats in Grace's size. Karma, she can be a bitch. Overall, they were both pleased when we left the store, Olivia resigned to wearing the gold glitter shoes she already has.

The birthday party was at one of those giant playland places. Think McDonald's Playspace on steroids. It was kind of what I thought hell must really be like. About 90 degrees, hundreds of screaming kids, crappy pizza. It made dress shopping with the girls seem like a day at the park.

Yesterday we went down to Seattle for another birthday party. This one was for Mark, a big boy of 39. A good time was had by all, and just as we were getting off the ferry for home, I started getting chills. By the time we pulled into our driveway I was full-blown sick. I spent the night in bed, you know, unlike the rest of you, who probably spent the night doing fun things. Miraculously, though, I don't feel too bad this morning, so yay! Jack also woke up in the middle of the night with a migraine, and between all that and the time change, our house was a pretty grumpy place this morning (Although the girls have been skipping about, singing, "We got a flu shot, we're no-ott siiiiii-ick!"). Only Henry went to school.

The Blonde chain of command

Kate: "Grace, will you please put this book upstairs on my nightstand?"

Grace, walking into playroom: "Olivia, mom wants you to put this book on her nightstand."

Olivia, carrying book to Henry, who's watching tv: "Henry, mommy wants you to put this book on her nightstand."

Henry: "Grace, mom wants you to go put this book on her nightstand."

Grace: "Okay!" And scrambles up the stairs with said book. Oy.

I pink puffy heart Mr. Clean

Does anybody know what is in this? It's a freaking miracle product. So far it's gotten Sharpie off of the wall, that crusty ring of stuff off of my enamel cooktop, ball point pen off of Olivia's swimming doll (unfortunately the head still rolls off when she starts swimming), and untold grossness off of the shower doors. I'm thinking of dumping Mr. Mitch in favor of Mr. Clean.

Sick Day.

Ah, Spring. Henry was up at 1:30 and 5:00 this morning with a headache and allergies. Since my own head weighed about 75 pounds, you could say it wasn't the best night. When I walked into the tv room to nudge him into getting ready for school this morning, he was sound asleep. I called the school, and he woke up just as I was getting off the phone. He started crying and saying he was "Fiiiiiiiiiine! Please, mom, I don't want to miss school!"

"Why, Henry?"

"Because it's fun! And it's boring here."

Yes, this is the kid that is known for hating school. I think I must be doing my job well if he thinks it's more fun to go to the torture that is first grade than to stay home with me.

Week in Review

It's been a busy week, here in good ole' Coupeville. My oldest child has gotten his first F on a test, and also a D+ on a test, so I guess he's improving? He's working his butt off on this History Day project which finally ends at WWU next weekend, and you can bet he's trying to blame his poor academic performance on it. So, between the alarming slip of Jack's grades and Henry's ambitions to destroy his school, you could say we've had better weeks.

The girls are busy planning their birthday party, which isn't for three more months, so, you know, they'll be really ready, I guess. They're also swimming during the day now, because Henry is starting baseball next week in the evenings (coached by the broken-bodied Mitch). Now that Grace has moved up to level 2, she thinks she no longer has to even attempt to put her face in the water, and she spends her whole lesson avoiding my murderous gaze.

The dog seems to have rolled in something really, really dead, and Project Runway is over. Sadness.

Sigh.

"Mrs. Henrysmom? This is Henry's teacher? Mrs. Soandso? I was wondering if you could stop by for a moment today to discuss something with me."

Crap. Crappitycrapsticks. I get to the classroom and Mrs. Soandso has a very serious face.

"On Friday the children were talking about what they wanted to be when they grow up, and I really hate to have to tell you this, but Henry said he wanted to be be someone that demolishes schools." Then, she sits back a bit so I can fully comprehend the shock she's wearing on her face.

I didn't exactly burst out laughing, but I did bite my lip pretty hard to keep myself in check.

"I see. Well, as long as long as he's been able to talk, Henry's had the dream to be a wrecking ball operator, but more importantly, his Dad's job is basically demolishing schools and rebuilding them. I think it's pretty safe to say that Henry in no way poses a threat to the safety of this school, if that's what you're worried about. I think he's just combining his dream job with his desire to follow in his father's footsteps." At this point, the students had all filed in and I noticed Henry listening very intently to this conversation. And if that little shit didn't have the cat that swallowed the canary grin on his face...

Pretty far from Wisteria Lane

This is my Wisteria vine. I pruned it. Too much, do you think? The only thing I can move freely is my fingertips from all the gardening I did, so Lucky You, dear readers reader. That took me most of the weekend, but we did do other things as well. We had bacon. Jack had his buddy Dylan up from Seattle, and they were Very Big Boys and went to the Mussel Festival by themselves with their Big Boy cell phones. Then, they came home, walked down to the beach, and caught some baby eels in a jar. Dylan cut his finger, and he wrote "I'm going to get you" on a rock with the blood. They played some video games, too, so all the important bases were covered: independence, blood, video games.