Fantasy shoes

I still don't have any floors. I'm trying to be relaxed about having all my furniture piled in one room and walking on subfloors, and as long as I keep taking my beta blocker, it's not too bad. Yesterday, I left Mitch with the kids for twelve hours while I went shopping over in America with Jessica. I'm pretty good like that. He even was able to get some flooring done, which means twelve hours of dvds he is pretty awesome.

Part of my quest yesterday included searching for some cute but sturdy shoes for winter. Shut up. I really do need some practical shoes. Whatever. I found nothing that fit the bill, but I stopped dead in my tracks when I spied these beauties. Of course, having the feet of a transvestite, the saleswoman said they didn't have the red ones in my size, just the black. AND she said they didn't even make the red ones in my size. I felt very, very, sad, like I was six and Santa had brought me a shiny new bike, only to take it away and poop on it and throw it in a fire.

I dropped Jessica off at home, did some more city errands, and hit the ferry. Jessica called me when I was almost home to say she'd spent a lot of time searching the internet, and indeed, the saleswoman was correct. No red shoes in my size. Ever. Anywhere. This morning, I still felt empty inside, so I checked Amazon, just as a last ditch effort, and............................ THEY HAD THE SHOES OF MY DREAMS IN TRANSVESTITE 11!!!!!!!! They'll be here on Wednesday. I'm wearing them to the Nutcracker on Christmas Eve with the family. They'll probably hurt, but they'll be so cute that it will be worth it. And I'm forty, for crying out loud. I need to kick it up a notch. And that concludes three paragraphs about a pair of shoes none of you has any interest in, but, OMG!

Next stop, Depends.

Dear internet,





Yesterday, Grace came home from school and said, "Mommy! Today I asked all the kids in the class how old their moms were and guess what?"

*crickets*

"You're the winner!"

At least I'm pretty certain I'm the least mature mom in the class.

Chicken feed for nightclubs

If we'd never moved to the country, and I'd never agreed to let the kids get chickens, then I'd never know about this product:



You know, it may surprise you to know that I go for weeks at a time without even looking at the chickens, because it does seem I do most of my writing about them. I actually don't give them much of a thought, save for Hef, the rooster. And that thought is that he belongs in a pot of boiling water.

"But you always wake up before him!" exclaim my family when I complain or sigh every time he crows. It isn't that I hate him now, it's that I'm hating him in advance of this summer when I don't have to get out of bed in the dark to make five lunches and breakfasts...

Free range and organic, too!

My kids have all grown to love the eggs they collect from the chicken coop every day. When I give them their breakfast choices in the morning, and if eggs are on the list, they all ask,

"Are they fresh out of the butt?"

Because nothing beats eating an egg that is still warm from a chicken's butt. Or so I'm told.

Lego mania

Henry's Lego birthday party on Saturday, in which a blue cake in the vague form of a Lego was served. No reports on blue poop the next day. The pinata was spray-painted, then stuffed with toys and candy. Later, I had to call all the parents to tell them the candy tasted like spray paint and to throw it out. God, I'm awesome at throwing parties.






Henry was beyond thrilled to have both friends from his old house and his new house attend. Sunday, I was in a funk the likes of which could only be cured by viewing Colin Firth movies in which he's wearing tight Victorian era pants or a sweater of some sort. Mitch obliged me by taking all the children to launch a rocket over at the football field.

The Principal's Office.

Mitch and I were called in to the middle school principal's office to meet with both the principal AND the school counselor today. They even made us wait for three terrifying minutes on the chairs I'm sure are reserved for troublemakers. This was my first trip ever to the principal's office (since I'm so good), so I asked Mitch for some pointers (ha, ha, hi honey!) on what to expect.

It turns out Jack isn't getting kicked out of school, but has had some behavior issues related to being bored in school, especially math. Generally, conduct unbecoming a class president. Also, he's been challenging authority and being obnoxious in class. I don't know how on earth he ended up with those two character traits. Why couldn't he have inherited an unnatural love of shoes or extreme skill with a miter saw (I don't really know what a miter saw is, or if it even is a real tool, but I'm sure you get my point.)?

We kicked around ideas after I squelched my urge to scream, "You must have the wrong child! I breastfed him! He's an angel from heaven! I feed him whole grains and have a firm but loving hand in discipline!" Meanwhile, I'm sure my husband was all, "Yes!!! Question authority! Fight the Power!" We talked about moving him up a grade, but first the school is going to try and give him more challenging work. He doesn't want his friends to know he's smart, so we're going to work on How To Not Act Like an Asshole to Prove You're Not Smart at home.

Now I've got to go take three boxes of cake mix and turn them into a Lego brick.

The end of Fists of Fury?

Jack's favorite pastime is pestering Olivia until she flies at him in a rage, all hair and fists and feet. He thinks it's hilarious, and it actually is, but I told him it has to stop. Olivia is enjoying her reputation for being a brute too much. Jack ignored me until this week, when I decided that every time he provokes Olivia, he has to pay her one dollar. Harmony!

That is, until Henry offered to pay the dollar for Jack.

Dear America,

I hate glitter, because it's the Devil's craft supply. But today, I pink puffy heart you with glitter and ribbons and rainbows.

Love, Kate

Vote (and not just for the free Starbucks).

Go vote! Here in Washington, voting is so civilized. No waiting in long lines, you can just pop your ballot in the mailbox. It's heartening, though, to see Americans standing in line for something other than a raincheck for $500 off on a plasma tv. I can't take the suspense. Tomorrow, my day is so full, I will only be home between 4:30 and 5:30, barely enough time to shove food in the kids before we go to Jack's Middle School Band Concert. It's capitalized so you know that it can't be skipped to watch CNN. I'm sure I won't be the only parent with ear buds plugged in to NPR. Well, I probably will, but the rest will be plugged in to some conservative station...

Seven words that annoy me

"I just need to beat this level."

Pop!

Birthday Bubble Wrap from Kate on Vimeo.

We spread bubble wrap on the floor to greet Henry on his eighth year of life. Pay no attention to my messy kitchen.

Eight

Breakfast in bed with Dad, who was busy installing flooring on his birthday. He still sleeps with his stuffed animals tied together with his bathrobe tie, so they don't get lost in the night. I've been told by parents and teachers that when he walks the girls to their kindergarten class, he kisses them both on the forehead. His favorite food is homemade mac & cheese, favorite reads are Tin Tin, Harry Potter, and Captain Underpants. He loves to collect eggs from the chickens, play with Legos, hang out playing video games with his brother, collect the mail, and go on errands with mom or dad (but no siblings). He hates to take showers, unload the dishwasher, collect the newspaper, and ride the school bus. Seven has been a good year, and I think eight will be great.

Give me something good to eat. Please.

"Trick or Treat!"

I have a houseful of cranky, under-rested, over-sugared kids, but who doesn't? I have no pictures of Jack's Halloween costume. He went as a "Cereal" killer, which involved a lot of boxes of cereal in which the characters had their eyes "X"-d out and little plastic knives and arrows. It was clever, but he recycled it before I got a picture. Henry went with a buddy, our first time without him for Trick-or-Treating, and I didn't like it, but he had a blast, and so did the girls, who attended three parties in one day.


Bacon and Eggs, and his best friend, Toast


Something tells me we're not in Kansas anymore



A sweet flower fairy


The Sorting Ceremony


Trying to make a candy angel.