Mange Syphilis

Salmonella

e.coli

I've discovered this website: giantmicrobes.com. They sell these darling stuffed versions of horrible diseases. My favorites, from top to bottom: Mange, Syphilis, Salmonella, e.coli. Only $6.95!

G: "Mommy, my nail polish is ugly. Will you help me fix it?"

Me: "No."

M: "Then will you help me clean the garage?"

Me: "I can't, I have to help G fix her nails."

New Toy

She looks so innocent. The reality of this picture went down like this:

I heard a noise from upstairs when the girls were supposed to be napping. I went to investigate, and there was G in my bathroom, calmly painting her fingernails, as well as the tile on my tub.

"G!"

"I can't sleep mommy!" continues calmly painting nails (with my Christian Dior nailpolish, I might add).

"G! There is nail polish all over the place and you're supposed to be in bed!"

(sigh) "I told you. I can't sleep, and there's only a little spot on the bathtub and I'm sure it will come off with cleaner." finishes up her last little fingernail and holds them out to admire them, oblivious to the steam coming out of my ears.

"Okay, G, you are no longer allowed to take a nap in my bedroom and now you must go and sleep in H's bedroom." (They aren't allowed to nap in the same room--a story for another time).

"That's fine, mommy. I need to let my nails dry anyway."

Wolf Urine: Because you can't fool Mother Nature.

For those of you who have yet to get your Valentine a little sumpin' sumpin. Here's the thing. I really need to figure out how to keep the deer and bunnies from eating my herbs. I can't just grow them on my windowsill, because that would be one more thing to water, and I am already watering five people and two animals. So I'm thinking about this wolf urine. It doesn't tell in the description if I'm supposed to drink it or spray it on the theiving deer. Maybe I'm supposed to fill a bucket with it and rig it to the top of the garden fence, so when they creep past the gate, SPLASH! But then I think about Henry and how he'd trick the girls into going into the garden, and, well, you know the rest. By the way, I found this on Amazon!

Through the miracle of commercial advertising, the girls have decided they want Bratz dolls for their birthday (yes, I know it's months away, but they kind of plan things they want between Christmas and their birthday). I downloaded this picture off the internet for those of you that don't know what a Bratz doll is. G was moaning to me about it yesterday, and I kept saying, no, I won't allow dolls in the house that look like that. "Like what, mommy?"

"Like little tramps, G." Of course she doesn't know what a tramp is, let alone what one looks like, but I'd been painting all day and she really has a knack for bringing me to the edge sometimes.

(Loud sob) "BUT I WANT A DOLL THAT LOOKS LIKE A TRAMP!"

G is lately obsessed with patterned tights. She won't wear plain ones and we only have two pairs of patterned ones. I've been trying to locate some (at least that's what I tell her while I try to wait out this little trend), but size 5t tights "with pretty things on them" just don't fall out of trees in Coupeville.

So on Thursday, we were in the pharmacy waiting for G's ear antibiotics. She was miserable and sitting on my feet at the register. A woman of advanced age came in wearing shorts (!). Gwas fascinated by the age spots on her legs, then says, "Those are nice tights with things on them! Why don't you ask the lady if she got them in Coupeville, mommy?"

And may I have some narcotics with this antibiotic, sir?

When we first moved here, Jessica and I discussed all the possibilities that abound when living in a wilderness area. She had the great idea of hiding little statues around the property for the kids to find. Last week in Seattle I was at Ross looking for a variety of Ross-type stuff and I found an entire aisle devoted to garden statuary of the wonderful tacky variety. I got these two guys (yes, that gnome is riding a turtle). The kids have yet to discover their whereabouts, though...

You may be thinking, Basho the Sumo Wrestler table? Garden Gnomes? Giant antique whales? What's happened to the formerly citified Kate? Has she gone trailer park on us? Yes, I guess I have. But it was probably always in me. I draw the line at pink flamingoes, though. They're so 1985.

On Wednesdays, when all four children are in school, I've been meeting my husband for lunch. We ususally do a little shopping, too. This week, we went into an antique store and both spied this old whale. Since it cost considerably more than Basho the Sumo Wrestler Table, we decided to walk away.

HOWEVER, last night when I came downstairs from cleaning up dog pee off of the puzzle the boys and I had been tirelessly working on (run on sentence), there it was on the dining room table. Awwwww. He loves me. And I love this whale. Since our intention is to hang it in our 24 foot entry-way, though, we have no idea how a gimp and a disaster-prone klutz are going to get it up there.

Yesterday we were back at Whidbey General, our home away from home. G had a terrible ear infection, but is back to her constantly chattering self now. When we got there, the girls recognized it.

G: "Oh, this is Daddy's hospital. MYEAROHMYEARITHURTSMYEAR!!!!!!"

O: "I don't like this place."

G: "Daddy had holes in his face here."

O: "With blood falling out of him."

G: "MYEARMYEARMYEAR!!!!!"

Happily, M no longer has blood falling out of the holes in his face and he's really getting around now.

Island County Sherriff's Report:

1/31/07 At 1:35 pm, an Oak Harbor caller reported a giant llama running around in the pasture next to the roadway on the right side of Monkey Hill Road.

2/2/07 At 7:22 pm, a NW Second Avenue resident reported that his estranged wife hit him in the eye.

1/28/07 At 3:19 pm, a woman reported that her ex-boyfriend took a swing at her while he was shopping at Wal-Mart with his wife.

Henry gets ahold of the dollhouse and helps make it look much closer to reality. I added the lady of the house in the bottom of the picture. She's, um, cleaning the oven.

One would think Olivia would be the easy daughter to get dressed every day. Not so. It's worse every morning, which is why I dread going places because she'd be happy just to wear pj's all day. Right now she is screaming on her bed, "THIS IS THE WORST DAY EVER!" because the outfit that took 20 minutes for her to pick out isn't what she envisioned.

Grace's criteria for an outfit: fancy.

Olivia's criteria: 100% cotton, but also fancy (as every woman knows, this combination doesn't exist), the top has to match the bottom in every way, she won't wear a sweater of any kind, so short sleeves are out, tights can't be too big or too small, no layers. A dress is acceptable with leggings, but not tights, because her "chest feels weird" with tights and a dress. Some days, if I'm very crafty, I can put her in front of an engaging tv show and slip on cotton leggings and cotton shirt without her even noticing. Today is not one of those days.

Granpa and Grandma D gave the girls these GINORMOUS Mickey and Minnie dolls last week. As luck would have it, some furniture arrived at the same time in these coffin shaped boxes. So luckily, our TV room is now a little hospital/morgue/dorm room depending on the girls' moods. As they get pushed around in these boxes all day, I am continually tripping over them in my, uh, rush to unpack the garage. I'm thinking about a proper sailor's burial at sea. We could actually push them accross the road and they'd probably slide right down the hill into Saratoga Passage. But then, they'd have to cross a private beach and Jack would never allow that.

I've been pretty tired and feeling guilty about not cleaning much, but I found a way to gain a real sense of accomplishment. I cleaned and organized an entire house in just 45 minutes, while spending quality time with the kids instead of Access Hollywood. Here are some sample rooms. I can assure you there are no hard-water stains in that toilet, baby. Please take a moment to note a healthful but hearty stew, gently simmering on the stove, and just out of sight is the lady of the house, hair perfectly coiffed, wearing a neat skirt, heels, perfume, and no finger paint on her freshly ironed blouse. A pleasing aroma of spiced apples fills the air.

While I worked on the "house" Henry led the girls in some kind of toothpick and scotch tape craft. I think they were making ladders for the doll houses. I can't begin to describe what my kitchen looked like when they were done, and my camera battery is depleted. As is my tape. As are my toothpicks.

So today I went to Seattle by myself for the whole day. I had a ton of errands to do, but I didn't realize it was the Saturday before the Superbowl, and it was crazy everywhere. There was even a mad rush on Veggie Booty at Trader Joes, leaving none for me to buy (Sad faces of twins here).

Everywhere I went, I would chat randomly with people, until I was clued in to the fact that I still had my "island" face on. Here, everyone just chats with you in the shops like you're actually out shopping together, but I learned today that people in Seattle will assume you're off your meds and back away slowly if you start chatting them up. I would say "my bad" here, but Jack has forbidden me from using any kind of pop slang, because it's "just so wrong, mom."

Mitch called me and burst my retail bubble by saying that our insurance would not cover his most recent surgery and we owe them about the price of a new car. Luckily, I'm now making money off of this blog from the ads at the top. So far I've made 94 cents. Now I can say I'm a working mother!

Windexing one's glass slippers is infinitely more tiring than many realize.

Jessica convinced me to try and unpack at least two boxes from the garage today. I opened a box and found Henry's Floam, but it was really too cold out there for my thin flannel pajamas to do anything else.

Basho the Sumo Wrestler Table

Skymall.com $225.00

I've been hoping my husband will buy me this beautiful conversation piece in high quality resin for Valentine's Day. If he loves me enough, you all will see it in my entryway or warming his butt by the fire when you come to visit....

There's a rumor going around that I've been beaten at Scrabble. Let me explain how it all went down. Grandpa and Grandma D came for a little visit. We had a great time and Grandpa enjoyed making fun of me for bringing my own pot to Toby's Tavern to pick up my fresh mussels. That's just how we do things here. Toby's has the best Penn Cove mussels and they're under 3 bucks a pound, ya just gotta bring yer own pot to pick 'em up. But I digress. We had a ton of mussels, dinner, wine, and salad with blue cheese. I felt a migraine coming on from the bad combo of red wine and blue cheese, but I felt this would not handicap me in a little game of Scrabble. The game was going on and on, and YES, Grandpa was ahead by 23 points, and I conceded by way of falling on the board and messing up the game. As is my good sportsman-like way when I'm losing a game. 4 hours later, I am in total misery, 8 hours later and I'm in the ER for pain and nausea relief that I couldn't get from my own impressive medicine cabinet. They couldn't get a vein (veins shrink up when you get a migraine), so both arms are black and blue with useless needle pricks, but I finally got a lovely narcotic and anti-nausea drug and was back home in no time. The timing wasn't bad, because G and G were able to stay with the kids while my poor husbad shuttled me while I muttered, "just let me die" over and over, to Whidbey General, where we've both seen enough of to last a lifetime.

The point of this LONG story is to give my side, as the story that's being told on the east side of the Mountain is that Granpa beat me so bad at Scrabble it did me in and sent me to the Emergency room because I couldn't handle the loss. REMATCH, Dad.