Matching hat and scarf!

I have lost my beloved Twinkle Handknits hat and matching scarf:(

Since I do car riders at school in the morning, I really need a hat.

I absolutely love the pattern for the Super Bulky Button Hat from Kaleidoscope.  It is such a fast yet nice looking hat.  I used a Bernat Softee Chunky in the Nature's Way color and the cream colored Berant Chunky (the name of the colorway escapes me) instead of the Malabrigo Chunky it called for.  Yes, it's not a natural fiber but at the rate I lose scarves and hats but it seemed prudent to buy cheaper yarn.  The colorway is beautiful.

Ray is modeling it.



Instead of the button, I used a clip on flower.  That way, I can change up the accent if needed.

I then went to the scarf.  I started of with the cream and did something.  I cast on 15 stitches using size 17 needles.  The white part looks like two pyramids--one standing wide base up and the other inverted.   The next pattern was a simple checkerboard.  The next is YO and K2tog.  The next is plain old knit.  Then back to the YO pattern, checkerboard and inverted.  Kind of wonky.

Merry Christmas!

May you have all the Presence you need!

Warning: Necessity is really THE mother of children

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.  I've concocted stories lies to make parenting easier.  The following is a partial list of the little white lies whoppers I've told to my children:

1.  The M in McDonald's does not mean that they only serve children on Mondays.

2.  Toys R Us is not really a toy museum and you can really touch the toys.

3.  Seeing a toy to buy on a commercial, well, is easier to buy that I've let on.  When the announcer says, "You must be 18 to buy," it does not mean that the child who would play with said toy has to be 18 years old to buy it.  In reality, I, as the parent, could buy it.

4.  There is not really a shortage of Wii games because of El Nino.

5.  The police didn't really threaten me with prison if you didn't eat all your veggies.

6.  The dogs will not really protect you if there is a zombie outside your window.  Since it is 1:30 a.m. when you stumbled down the hall to wake me and the dogs didn't even stir, it's a safe bet to say that Zack and Darby would probably sleep through an Undead Apocalypse.

7.  Even though taking Holy Communion will fill you up spiritually, this one little wafer will not tide your hunger over until we get home thirty minutes later. (I think Wesley has caught on to that one)

8.   Mommy is hiding the bag of jelly beans from you.  The dogs do not have the capacity or the thumbs to to open my secret stash so there is only one reason for the hiding--I don't want you to eat any jelly beans until I can fish out all the red ones.

9.  Telling my daughter that taking a sip of my coffee will result is in new orthodontia is really horrible.  I know that but in my defense, I need all my morning coffee.

10.  When I ask for patience during our morning prayer to school, it's not for parenting.  Rather it is for biding my time until I can escape to a tropical island without detection.

Bonus Lie:  I don't watch cartoons to monitor their content.  I just like cartoons.

For all of these sins and the ones I'm sure I've done but cannot remember because my daughter drank my coffee again, I am sorry.

For those heroes who were, are and will be teachers....

 

Earthbound Angels

I saw earthbound angels today

Lifting others with their grace

Always trying and sometimes falling

A shine within their peaceful face.

 

Some were holding hearts and hands

With their charges throughout the day

When the moon dripped diamonds in the night,

The angels still protected as they pray.

 

And in the end their children know

To come to them for love

For earthbound angels are teachers

Who are sent from up Above.

Warning: When you decide to become a graffitti artist, get spell check.

You know, my son, Wesley, is very bright.  There are times, however, that even the brightest child can display bursts of goofiness.

Example 1:
If you read this warning, you should know Wesley's proclivity to Sharpies.  Recently, in middle school, the new fad is to "tattoo" yourself with Sharpies.  This trend coupled with his Sharpie usage and unpredictable goofiness in this warning is trouble. 

Last month, he comes home with proudly displaying his tattoo.  "I wrote 'I was here'," my little junior Andy Warhol announces. 

I try not to laugh as I read his leg.  "It says, 'I mas here.'  You wrote upside down, didn't you?  Don't worry--it will come off when you take your weekly bath."

Wesley shrugs off my attempt at spell check.  "No, it won't 'cause it's in Sharpie."

If you're going to be a criminal, be a great one and use spell check.  It will come in handy with future body art, ransom notes and any correspondence with your attorney.

Example 2:
While this is not in the graffiti arena, I felt that it fit in this warning.  Wesley volunteers me to make cupcakes on Wednesdays to sell at school to replace a poster making machine.  I don't mind because hey, we all need posters, don't we?

I make the cupcakes and Wesley makes a sign proclaiming that my cupcakes are great. 

Notice the spelling of "homemade".  While I admit I can be a word that rhymes with witch, I am no ho! 

Warning: When applying a new hand lotion, make sure it is not actually a self tanning lotion because if you don't rub the lotion on your arms, your hands will be several shades darker than your arms.

'nuff said.  Not going to elaborate.

Warning: My children will take the gold if whining was an Olympic sport.

Welcome to WhineFest 2012!  This year's contestents are Wesley and Regan.  The official is the Mean Mommy.

Here is the schedule of arguments and whines:

1.  Who gets to pick out their donut first?  (Wesley)
2.  I want to go first getting my hair cut. (Wesley)
3.  Feeding the dogs while throwing a fit. (Regan)
4.  This rare number 2 yellow pencil is mine (Wesley)
5.  What to record on the DVR--Gator Boys or Big Time Rush? (Regan)
6.  This sock is mine.  No it is mine. (Both)
7.  I'm running away to be with a family who appreciates me. (Wesley)
8.  Long division--God's revenge on children (Regan)
9.  I can't get out of the car because my stupid bookbag is blocking the door. (Regan)

Please be advised that whine topics may be subject to change and the official may drink some cheap wine. 

Warning: Don't stop for possums or other rodentia

I was driving to school at 6:00 a.m. the other week with a bickering Wesley and Regan. 

On Monday, a flash of four legged creature caused me to brake suddenly.  Oh my God, I almost hit a dog.  I get out and it is still dark. 

"Here, puppy, puppy," I call softly.  After all, I don't want to wake anyone--I'll leave that task to the smackdown going on in my backseat.  Regan is "hammer fisting" Wesley who is screaming that he'll do a kick on her.  No wonder the puppy ran away.

I get to the ditch where the dog was hiding and see a set of glowing pink eyes and a large hairless tail.  So, the puppy has conjunctivitis and male pattern balding?  Oh, but no, it's a large possum growling at me.  I squeal like a stuck pig and dive back into the car.  Fortunately, the kids are still arguing and pay no mind to the hysterical parent.

Tuesday comes and I watch for the possum.  Instead, a intoxicated squirrel falls from an overhanging tree onto my poor Vger, the now paid for Dodge Avenger.  Like most inebriated rodents and humans, the squirrel has no apparent injuries and scampers off back to the tree.  My children remain clueless as they argue the merits of school pizza vs Mom's frozen pizza from Walmart.

Hump day finds a wake of vultures greedily eating the remains of what looks like a raccoon.  I speed up and try not to get splashed with raccoon guts.  An aggrieved vulture swoops down on Vger splaying it with vulture poop.  Wesley raises his head from his video game to comment that "that bird was a large eagle." 

By Thursday, I'm a nervous wreck.  What assault will the Animalia Kingdom have for me today?  Fortunately, I don't have wait long.  Bambi and his horrid mother prance across the road, stopping momentarily to pose for the classic "deer in the headlights look" and listen for my multi-cultural swearing (I can swear in Spanish, French, Latin, English and Korean, thank you very much.  I believe in the fruitless hope that swearing is ok if it's not in your native language.)

Friday--I'm ready.  It's Ticked Off Chick vs. Wild Kingdom.  Alligator, snake, wasp--it doesn't matter.  I'm loaded with a Super Soaker Thunderstorm.  Only one living thing will make it and that thing will be me.

The assault started with the fading sound of a cicada and then....the cat, Phat Phrancis.  She hopped onto Vger, giving the vulture poop a wide swath, and started purring under my hand.  She jumped into my hands.  Oh, she wants to be friends.

With the  precision of a field marshall, she dropped the dead cicada onto my shoulder which rolled down my arm.  I am sure she had coordinated the entire animal attack this week.

What a canis (Latin for female dog--not a sin because it's in Latin).

Warning: Godzilla needs our sympathy and not "being made fun of because he's a lizard."

Summer boredom has overtaken the Hissyknit household.  Wesley is busy directing plastic army men in a life or death battle with a neighborhood friends.  I'm still addicted to my Kindle while Regan complains that she has nothing to do.

I flip on the TV and search for movie.  Thinking it would be funny (it wasn't), I left the channel on to Godzilla.  It was almost over and Regan soon became engrossed.  And then there was the scene where the humans are trying to blow up the eggs containing mini-Godzilla-ettes.  Predictably, the eggs hatch and out pops hungry tyrannosaurus rex thugs.

"OH, NO!" Regan screams loud enough to shatter my eardrum and make Zack howl.  "The poor Godzilla lizard babies!  Make them stop!"

"Regan," I sighed.  "The baby lizards are trying to eat the humans.  They have to die." Then I think for a second and continue, "You know this is not a real event."

"I don't care.  They are killing them just because they are hungry."  Apparently Regan has been in dreamland all her life because she has not observed Zack eating and fighting over food with the cat.

"Mommy, just because they are lizards doesn't mean they don't have rights." Regan states with her blue eyes shining with ears.  "You don't get blown up when you fishtail into Sonic for a bacon cheese toaster."

She had me stuck in her twisted logic web.  The little PETA advocate/Perry Mason/cute blonde.

A New Blog to Read

If you are so inclined, have young children, are Catholic or even bored, there is a new blog for Catholic kids.  My BFF and I saw a gap in the Catechism curriculum so here is the sight:

www.catholicism4kids.blogspot.com

Warning: Don't blame the rotten smell on the dog.

****This warning is not for faint hearted.****

I know what y'all are thinking...6 month old puppy in the process of being potty trained.  This is not to say that she does not have the occasional accident or that she really meant to eat Regan's stuffed elephant.

No, this warning is dedicated to Wesley and his annoying habit of wanting to eat everything in sight. 

"Mom, I don't want to go to make sandwiches today." Wesley complained as I roused him from his bed Friday morning at 8ish.  The kids and I go every Friday to a local charity to make PBJ sandwiches for hungry children.

"I'm hungry," states my own starving child.  "Can we stop at the Texaco to get a biscuit?"  Our neighborhood Texaco station has a mini-restuarant and makes the most awesome biscuits.  "Because we going because YOU [emphasis on you by Wesley] make us.

"Yes," I breathed in and out in an attempt to get out of the house with maiming my children.  I also wanted to get to Vger, my beautiful, now paid for, Dodge Avenger and switch on the air conditioner since it was supposed to be rather toasty (105 degrees).

Wesley happily goes in and buys [Read:  I bought.] a large steak biscuit with egg.  He's happily munches it and for a brief period, Wesley's mouth is engaged without insulting his sister or pontificating on how hard his life is.

Saturday comes and reaches a high of 105 degrees.  I stay home most of the day and Dave has the misfortune of driving Vger to a meeting.  "That's a powerful smell you got going on," Dave grimaced when he gets home.  I'm thinking maybe he doesn't like my new cologne.

Sunday arrives in all its 107 degree glory and as we are going to Mass, I open my door to the foulest and potent smell this side of hell.  Something is rotten in Georgia and it's dying in Vger.  Somehow I knew it was one of the kids.  The smell was wafting from the back seat.  I tore the car apart but nothing.  It was as if my very own septic tank had overflowed into my car.  Both children deny any and everything related to the smell.

Baking soda!!!  Baking soda absorbs odor.  For good measure, I opened up a new Arm & Hammer box to stay in Vger overnight.

We have a cool down today--only 95 degrees but Vger still is malodorous.  The baking soda is a bust.  Holding our breaths, I again search the front seat as Regan searches the back. 

When Regan pulls down the center console in the back seat, I almost pass out.  I learned a few things in that moment:

1.  I will never be a crime scene technician. 

2.  Stinky air travels quickly.

3.  My son will be put up for adoption.

There in the drink console is Wesley's half eaten, rotting sausage biscuit marinating in record high temperatures.  Even touching it has befouled my hands.  I have washed them at least seven times in the past few minutes and I still smell it.

Wesley, of course, blames me.  Apparently he was so sleep deprived he picked up the wrong biscuit, thinking it was steak and not sausage because "as you know, Mom, I don't eat sausage.  You made me pick up the wrong biscuit because I had to get up early to make sandwiches and you tell us not to litter and I didn't want to do anything that you tell me is wrong and....."

I have to go now.  I'm going to try bleach on my hands.

Warning: There is nothing as bad as a lying and opportunistic cat.

Photo of Suspect

Phat Phrancis is an annoying animal.  The cat showed up several years ago after being tossed out of a moving car.  Fortunately Phrancis did not suffer major injuries--just a scraped tail.  I am still on the look out for that car after all these years to exact justice.

Anyway, Regan saw the incident and immediately wanted to keep the cat.  To my detriment along with my dwindling bank account, I agreed.  I have and still maintain that Phrancis is an annoying animal.  I present my evidence.

Prosecutor's Exhibit Number One

Her first visit to the vet was to treat the tail that had been scraped during the throwing-out-the-window incident.  He was a new vet and probably had never passed the feline birds and bees course at vet school.  Doctor Whoever pronounced Phrancis pregnant. 

To some people, my next question might invite shock or anger but to others

• who are born not cat people
• who tried to be cat people but failed miserably for a variety reasons
• who have little money in a checking account
• who really can't handle two dogs, two kids, four hermit crabs and two cats

they will understand my inquiry.  For the record, I am all four.

I asked Dr. Whoever about (ick factor coming) a feline abortion.  Yes, I am Catholic and according to the tenets of my faith I shoud be adamantly against abortions.  I still feel the need to go to Confession even when I write this.  Dr. Whoever apparently was very pro-life and very upset that I even ask the question.  I felt like dirt that clings to worms after they've eaten through a compost pile.

Bottom line:  Phrancis was spayed and not even preggers.  Her pregnancy scare was an apparent attempt to solicit sympathy to the tune of $146.00 for spaying, shots and an overnight visit.

Prosecutor's Exhibit Number Two

Photo of Suspect Weaving and Intent to Initiate Fall

Her second visit to the vet was for a broken leg (while she indeed break her leg, it's why she did it--I had tripped over her while she was weaving in between my legs and I called a nasty four letter word.  She was fine when I left her in the driveway).  I have no idea how she managed to break her leg--she's a cat for Pete's sake.  Aren't they supposed to be graceful?  And she also found Regan who turned her big blue eyes to me and asked if "to fix Phrancis".

Somehow she turned this into a week-long camp out in my living room.  She was hand fed by Regan while my dogs who I loved more than most people had to stay outside.  Phrancis was pampered to an inch of her conniving little life.

Bottom Line: $773 worth vet bills.  Oh, Dave had just been laid off from his job.

Prosecutor's Exhibit Number Three

After dropping off a dead chipmunk near Regan, Regan concluded we were not feeding her good cat food if she had to find her own dinner. 

$24 a month for a schmancy cat food while my beloved dogs exist on Pedigree and Fit and Trim.

Prosecutor's Exhibit Number Four
.
Last week Regan comes racing into the living room to tell me that Phrancis is really, really hurt.  When we closed our garage door, Phrancis was sleeping on top of it.  When it closed, she got stuck.  I ran outside to see Phrancis dragging her back two legs behind.  She was not yowling in pain so I, in a panic, concluded that Phrancis was paralyzed.  I called our vet (who is not that same as Dr. Whoever from Exhibit One) who told me to bring her in. 

Regan kept reassuring Phrancis that we'd take care of her.  If she needed a feline wheelchair, "Mommy would get it for her".  If she needed help to learn how to walk again, Mommy would do it.

Bottom Line:  $135 to be diagnosed with a bruised paw.  Yes, that's right--one bruised paw--not two but one paw.

Photo of subject stretching on alleged bruised paw

Prosecutor's Exhibit Number Five
I spied a dead garter snake in my cul-de-sac.  Poor snake, I thought and dismissed it from my mind.  Two hours later the snake corpse was in the midde of the driveway.

1.  This caused another panic from me
2.  Because of said panic, I ran into my garage.
3.  While running, I slipped a fell on a can of old green spray paint.
4.  The green paint can ruptured and sprayed large green blobs on the siding of our house.

Photo of green house

After I calmed down, I saw Phrancis playing with it--pushing it around and leaping on it with her "bruised paw".  I then realized the snake was not a zombie but playmate and tool for the evil cat.

Bottom Line:  Unknown--I have not yet begun to interview siding companies

The prosecution rests.

Introducing....Darby the Aussie and the newest member in the Hissyknit Insane Asylum.

Warning: There are many not-so-subtle signs that there is discord in the family.

During Law and Order's twenty year run on television, I've learned that most communication is non-verbal and that hostility can take many forms. So thank you, Lenny Briscoe, for your wise mentoring.

1. During morning prayer, thanking Jesus only for Daddy and conveniently forgetting Mommy. (Regan)

2. Refusing to pet the dog after Mommy has because of the cooties. (Regan)

3. Leaving Mommy's wet underwear in the washing machine when asked to put the clothes in the dryer. (Wesley)

4. Snubbing Mommy during the "Sign of Peace" handshake during Mass and giving her "I'm a Butthead" look. (Wesley)

5. Cooking with ingredients that are hated by 25% of the household. (That would be me to get back at Wesley for the wet underwear)

6. Telling Mommy that you'd rather clean your room than eat with the family. (Wesley)

7. Informing the doctor that Mommy's underwear was dyed blue during an unfortunate craft exercise. (I don't remember which one of my spawn did that)

8. While at the vet, you complain that the dog eats better than you. (Wesley)

9. Eating all the marshmallows out the Lucky Charms (That's me again)

10. Complaining to your deceased great grandmother's grave and headstone that your mother is crazy. (Wesley)

11. Announcing that you are quitting the family. (Both Wesley and Regan at different times during the day)

12. Going sockless to Mass because "my mom doesn't match socks". (Wesley)

13. "My hair is sticking up because Mommy won't brush my hair with the pink brush." (Regan)

14. Writing "I want to be adopted" in the dirt on the trunk of the family car. (Handwriting analysis show that it was Wesley but the cat might have done that based on the pawprints around the window)

15. Resetting the DVR to record Power Rangers over Mommy's Supernatural episode. (Wesley)

16. Resetting the DVR to record Big Time Rush over Mommy's Grimm episodes. (Regan)

17. Resetting the DVR to record MASH repeats over my Design Star episodes (Dave)

18. Resetting the DVR to record Man Vs. Food episodes over Dave's Big Bang Theory. (Me)

19. Making faces and sighing constantly at the movies because your mom is too cheap to buy the Junior Mints from the theater. (Regan)

20. Threatening to call the police because Mom is a criminal for sneaking in the aforementioned Junior Mints bought at Walgreens. (Wesley)

I do still knit, you know...

I try to knit at least once a week but I can't seem to knit in public.  While it's sort of sweet when people want me to knit them a blanket, I try to refrain from fussing at them for making me lose my count.  Do they not know how mean I am and I have two pointy needles and yarn? 

Anyway, I started knitting dog/cat collars to give to my local vet so he can sell them to raise money for the practice's rescue program. 

I cast on 4 stitches in acrylic yarn and knit an I-cord.  Bind off and slip a book ring thingee through it and there's a pet collar.  Took ten minutes and looks a rope--which people now see it as the beginnings a noose.  I don't know where they get that from.

Warning: Just because you see me flaying around the front yard, don't assume I need psychotropic meds.

So you are innocently walking when you spy a crazy person jumping up and down with a pair of shears in one hand and swatting the air with the other.  Or maybe you see a nice looking guy talking and motioning to thin air.  Maybe you have seen a headless torso of a large animal in a bay window.  Yes, I see you know where our house is.

Perfectly normal people will jump up and down when dozens of fire ants looking to relocate near my favorite rose bush start biting.  You also would yell rather nasty four letter words as you (and I admit this is a bit stupid) try to stab the ants on your toes with your pruning shears.

Perfectly normal people do use their mouths when talking on their cell phone via a blue tooth.  And yes, Dave does overly use hand motions when talking.  He does not have a mental condition nor is he talking to imaginary people or dogs.

Perfectly normal people have dogs that bark.  So Zack likes to prop his front legs in the window and bark from behind the shades.  I will also concede that when Zack does this, you cannot see his head because of the blinds and you can only make out this large hairy body.  Maybe it does scare you because you believe we are conducting Frankenstein like experiments.

Walk a mile in my ant bitten feet and see how fast your neighbors offer to do an exorcism.

Warning: I'm the Anti June Cleaver.

Top Ten Reasons I'm not June Cleaver:

1.   My children learned the alphabet by reading fast food restaurant signs.

2.    I often give the phone number of Child Protective Services to Wesley.

3.    I've threatened to put Wesley and lately Regan up on Ebay.

4.    I refuse to put up my children's folded clothes. Instead, I, in my role as Supreme Dictator, demand that my children put up their own clothes.

5.    I deliberately cook stuff I know my kids won't eat so Dave and I can eat together after they go to bed. {Before anyone whines, I do cook them something easy}

6.    I wear weird clothes to Science Club while picking up Wesley at school after the meetings.

7.    I ask for the family discount for circus tickets when Wesley threatens to run away to join the circus.

8.    I demand a kiss from Wesley when he wants ice cream money.

9.    I sit outside under the shade drinking a cold Diet Dr. Pepper while Regan is picking up sticks and Wesley mows.

10.  I eat the curly-q thingee off the top of a Dairy Queen ice cream cone before I hand it to my kids. It's payment for stopping, don't you know?

BONUS 11.  I plant squash and other vegetables on Wesley and Regan's Facebook FarmTown Farm knowing they hate squash and zucchini.

Lemon Cheesecake Bars.

Yummy, yummy, yummy

3 cups Froot Loops crushed (makes about 1 1/2 cups crushed)
1 stick of butter, softened
1 8oz stick of cream cheese softened
1 can of sweetened condensed milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/3 cup lemon juice
1 8oz tub whipped topping thawed

Preheat 350.

Mix crushed Froot Loops and butter and press into bottom of greased 8 inch dish.  Bake for 12 minutes and allow to cool.

Meanwhile, cream the cream cheese until light and fluffy.  Add milk and mix well.  Add vanilla, lemon juice and whipped cream until well blended and lump free.

Poor cream cheese mixture onto cooled cereal crust.  Refrigerate for 2 hours until set.  Very, very, very good.

Warning: Don't walk in my house if you are sticky.

Again, trying to go the cheap route and make my own moisturizer.  I found a recipe for a rich lotion with coconut oil, cocoa butter and get this--raw honey.  Yes, you read it right and you probably are thinking that me making this is a mistake.  You are right again.

I'm happily melting all the ingredients and come to the honey.  It called for 2 tablespoons of raw honey.  I had approximately half of it and I figured, "Hey, what's the difference between Karo syrup and honey.  Both are sticky and really good in baking."

Also I justified it in thinking Martha Stewart always improvises and we're not that different.  Sure, she has dozens on staff, is obsessive about quality and has been to jail.  In retrospect, we're not all that much alike.  I don't have a staff except a lazy Collie, I'm not that concerned about using Cool Whip as opposed to making my own whipped cream and while I've been inside a jail, it was to visit a client whose child I had put in foster care and not for insider trading.

When my concoction cooled, it felt heavenly on my face.  I was so eager to show Dave my "new face" that I tripped over several piles of clean clothes and landed on the carpet.   Since there was no bleeding, I continued on my journey to impress Dave.

Dave and Wesley were watching a "Big Bang Theory" when I called out.  Wesley looked over and jumped a good two feet in the air.

"Mom, you're growing fur." Wesley had a horrified look on his face.  (Tangent here:  Wesley's concern was not over my apparent Rogaine overdose but rather me picking him up at school looking Scooby Doo's cousin)

I turned my hands over to discover my honey moisturizer did not dry smooth but like fly paper.  All the dog hair on the carpet stuck to me when I fell in my bedroom.  My hands were as hairy as a Yeti.  I had also managed to grow a bluish goatee (thank you Zack the blue merle collie).

I dived back out of sight to clean up before Wesley decided to take a picture of the new Bearded Lady who pays blackmail money to an eleven year old.

P.S. I did make a really nice beauty oil for my face minus the honey.  I've been using it for a month and could not be more happy with it.

Love, Love, Love Face Oil

1/2 ounce coconut oil
1/2 ounce shea butter
1 teaspoon sweet almond oil
1/2 teaspoon vitamin E oil
A little bit cocoa butter (about a thumbnail size)
1/4 teaspoon beeswax

Combine all in a double boiler.  Melt until the beeswax is almost melted.  Remove from heat and stir with a Popsicle stick.  Pour it into a clean container with a dropper or other top.  When you use it, pour out 4-5 drops.  Rub your hands together to warm it and apply to face.  I use this every day after cleansing.

Warning: Here is the recipe for Trouble.

This recipe is for Trouble.  Beware because it can double in size very quickly.

Ingredients:
Wesley or any 11 year old boy
Basic or Intermediate Computer Knowledge
A parent's cell phone number
A laptop computer
Internet access
Blanket
A hiding spot.

Mix Wesley, a blanket, a laptop computer and internet access.  Let the mixture stew for ten minutes in a corner or other hiding spot under the blanket.

Uncover to find Trouble in the form of a boy who registered with Ebay and won an auction feature a large bulk lot of plastic green Army Men.

Mr. Trouble now finds himself in charge of land maintenance (aka lawn mowing) this weekend to pay off the auction that Mr. Trouble's mom had to pay.  

Warning: When one of your kids becomes a smart aleck, the other is sure to follow.

Me as Dr. D

You know I thought since Wesley has slipped effortlessly into the role of Agent P to my Dr. Doofenshmirtz, I'd be spared with my other child, Regan.

Regan as Agent P

Oh but God has a warped sense of humor or the very least, has it in for me.

Walking into my bedroom last night, the strobe night light from Regan's room illuminated the floor for a second.  I screamed like a Dracula victim when I spied a snake resting near my bed.  After I pelted the reptile with shoes, I peeled myself off the closet door when the snake failed to move.  I discovered Regan planted her plastic but live looking snake.

The next episode was getting into the shower only to find Regan had coated the shower floor with conditioner.  Apparently she was practicing for the rubber dinosaur Olympic ski run and I should have been more careful (her words and Dave's unspoken thoughts) I don't know how I will explain the large bruise on my ankle or my posterior.  However, I am open to suggestions.

The final straw was flopping on the bed and onto a miniature car show featuring Hot Wheels cars in various states of condition from the wheel-less to the new car that was purchased this past weekend.  I am also open to suggestions for a good chiropractor.

I am now trying to invent a Turning a Deliquent into a Nice Child-inator.

Warning: Don't play hide and seek in a funeral home.

Yes, this seems to be a no brainer.  I won't go into details but suffice to say, Wesley will not be hiding under any furniture in a darkened room in a funeral home in the near future or distant future for that matter. 

PS He is fine and actually did not see anything except my angry face.

Warning: You should not argue with your parents during a bleeping tornado warning.

This past Friday around 2:00 a.m. I woke up to a huge thunderclap followed immediately by a flash of lightning.  Usually I sleep like a baby during thunderstorms so it was very unusual for me to be roused out of la-la land.

Then the phone rings.  It's Dave's friend who tells that Channel 2 news is broadcasting that a tornado is cutting a swath of destruction down toward our house.  Regan is already awake holding a passel of stuffed animals.  Dave runs to get Wesley out of bed.  It is important to note that Wesley sleeps on an elevated bed with a complete desk underneath.  The following is the of gist of the conversation:

Dave:  Wes, get up.  We're going to the basement.
Wes:  Leave me alone.  I'm sleepy. 
Dave (a bit more impatiently): There's a bleeping tornado coming our way.
Wes (who is a bit more awake):  Really? Where?  (At this point, Wesley hangs down from the bed and presses his face against his window)
Dave (who by now is nearing anger implosion):  Get your bleeping bleep out of bed now. 

Dave pulled him out and threw him down the stairs with me.  Regan is crying and not because of the impending tornado but the fact her stuffed animal collection is uncovered.  Wesley is grunting in anger and plops down across the basement near the only window.  He promptly tries to fall back asleep as I pull his skinny bleeping bleep off the window seat and to the secure part of the basement. 

While I'm throwing pillows over the top of Wesley, he grumbles that it isn't fair he can't sleep because of this and he wants to complain to someone (me).  I am tempted for a moment to pile more pillows on top of him but I abandon this to catch Regan as she makes a break for the stairs for her stuffed animals. 

In the meantime, Zack moseys into the room and plops down on my pillow, yawns and falls asleep.

Dave, the luckiest bleeping guy, is still upstairs listening to the weather.  Why does he get to face the tornado and I have to deal with the kids?  This is so not fair.

Three minutes later and no tornado, the all clear is sounded and Regan runs upstairs.  Wesley throws off his pillows, moaning about how I ruined his life by throwing pillows on him for no reason.

I envy Dorothy.  I would have liked to visit Oz.

February 27 of the Lenten Nice Or Suffer Eternal Damnation Quest

1.  Regan gave me my purse before I left for school.  Minus my wallet and new phone.  I also managed to leave my lunch and water bottle.  Fortunately, I tore up the car and found $2.00 in nickels and pennies to buy a burnt corn dog and cold fries. 

2.  One darling child was throwing a temper tantrum.  She threw down her glue which splattered all over my shoes and part of my hair.  She boarded the bus home safely while I constantly repeated the Hail Mary in Latin.  To be honest, it wasn't the prayer so much but the Latin.  It sounded like I was chanting a curse.  Other than the bus monitor lady clutching her heart, everyone was fine.

3.  I went the speed limit home.  I know that is not a "nice thing" but I'm flat out of opportunities.

Warning: Eternal Damnation is bad.

It's tough.  Tougher than having a c-section 11 years ago.  Giving up my Diet Dr. Pepper and sweet tea for forty days is excruciating but there was another task I gave myself.  I know we are not supposed to whine about our Lenten obligations but hey, I'm not perfect so here goes.

I also took on the impossible task of being nice and not losing my temper.  Yes, you read that right--I vowed to be nice at least three times a day for forty days.  If you have read any past entries, you will come to the conclusion that I'm just plain mean.  I try at times to be nice but my meanness overwhelms any and all desire to be nice.  Here goes my Lenten Nice Or Suffer Eternal Damnation Quest.

February 22:  Ash Wednesday was pretty easy.
1.   I managed to down my fish sandwich without doing my fake gagging.  Plain water followed as well as two Tylenol for the impending caffeine withdrawal headache.  I think I fooled everyone in thinking that I'm okay with dry fish and stale bread.
2.  I allowed someone to pull out in front of me without screaming obscenities.  Letting a jerk in a Range Rover steal my parking spot at Kroger was number 2 nice thing. 
3.  When Wesley stepped on my toe while he portrayed Darth Vader in his one act play was number 3 nice thing.

February 23: 
1.  The cat is still alive despite cleaning herself in the middle of the driveway while I was trying to back up. 
2.  When a student at school upended my water on purpose, I calmly cleaned it up. 
3.  The mail carrier dropped off a package and Zack hit me in the head with his tail, I didn't complain.

February 24: 
1.  Friday means no meat. I started eating a watery tomato soup when a child threw his half chewed cracker into the soup. 
2.  Then the little @$#% child ate my banana. 
3.  A nervy squirrel was using top of V-ger as his personal Johnnie on the Spot when I left school.  I held on tightly to purse to preclude any throwing.

February 25:
1.  I dropped spaghetti sauce down my pants which stained my underwear a disgusting orange but I refrained from swearing at myself. 
2.  The T-Mobile guy did not activate my new phone properly which precipitated a visit back to the store.  I even choked out a "It's okay" when the guy told me it would be 15 minutes to access the computer. 
3.  An evil senior citizen shot the finger at me for waiting for her to back out of her parking spot.

February 26
1.  The clerk at Walmart remained unharmed despite the fact he overcharged 2x.  Each time I told Jimmy the clerk that the shoes I was buying for Regan were markdown, he charged me full price and the markdown price.
2.  Zack turned his nose up at my Mexican Chicken casserole when a glob of it fell on the floor.  Come on, Zack, that's one of the reasons we have you.  You are the food vacuum.
3.  Wesley activated my voice command on the new cell phone to accept only his voice.  He also remains unharmed but that could change if he fails to deactivate his voice from my phone.

Can't wait to find out what tomorrow holds for me.  Stay tuned!

Warning: Cologne is an effective deterent in the timeless war between Mother and Son.

Round 5:  The Cologne Offensive

"I don't want to go.  You make me go and it's not fair." My underage combatant (Wesley) complained.

I was still tasting Elmer's Gluestick Clear Coat on my lips from our confrontation earlier this week.  I was again rushing to get dressed to take Regan to her karate class when I felt Wesley enter the room.

In an amazingly quick move that surprised even me, I grabbed the closest potential weapon--a bottle of Ralph Lauren Romance and whipped around (and without falling also--yea me).  I spritzed at Wesley, covering him in an aromatic mist of designer cologne.  As expected, he backed up like he was a lion and I had just hit him with a whip.

"Back, Sheba. Back."  I waved the bottle menacingly toward Wesley who retreated faster than a politician at a news conference.

Wesley ran to his room and slammed the door.  Not to be deterred, I covered his door and surrounding carpet with Ralph.  Ralph Lauren was my holy water and Wesley was not getting away.  I wasn't thinking of Wesley's eventual revenge or future emotional trauma. 

Yes, I know what everyone who reads this thinking--I am a horrible mother.  Be comforted by the thought that I no longer have any cologne and have resorted to using Febreeze Fabric Softener in Lilac as my signature scent.

Warning: If your child wants to help you after a huge fight, don't trust him.

Wesley Wars:  Episode Four

Still smarting from this summer's lawn mower strike, the forced decommissioning of his slingshot (aka my bra) and the Hello Kitty Sock wearing incident, the battle continues.

A few highlights of the past few weeks:

Wesley: You are here to ruin my life.
Me:  I'm glad I met my goal.

Wesley:  You are the meanest person in the whole world.
Me:  Thanks.  I've worked hard to become so.

Me:  Feed the dog please.  It's your turn.
Wesley:  You had me so I would have to work ALL the time.
Me:  Well, I need a refund because you, uh, don't work all the time.

Wesley:  You feed me this junk [meatloaf and mashed potatoes] and it's icky.
Me: Choice B is fried liver and onions.

Wesley:  Why can't I stay over at Logan's [his best buddy] all the time?
Me:  Because the police told me I couldn't lose you anymore.

Wesley: You can't force me to go to school.
Me: Well, yes. Yes I can.

This last loving interaction was this week as we frantically was getting ready for school.  Dave was out of town so I made breakfast (which according to Wesley, all the food was again, junk--come up with new adjectives, Boy).  Wesley brought my purse to me and handed me my chapstick.  I throw it on and tell him too look for my eyeliner as I was trying to put on my watch.  He digs around and hands it to me. 

As I start the first swipe, I realize my vengeful son handed me a black permanent Sharpie.  Apparently I looked angry in clownish, one black eye sort of way because he dropped the purse and ran.  I tried to yell at him only to find that the little @$# % head had handed me a glue stick instead of chapstick and my lips were sticking together. 

Okay so Round Four goes to the Ten Year Old Hooligan.

Snowman Book

I've been a para and teacher for about 4 years now in Pre-K and kindergarten.  I have had more fun dancing and singing with the kids than the kids do.  Looking back, I'm sure it's torture for the kids to listen to my wildly off-key singing and horrible dancing.  But I came up with a poem/song/book thingee that might help other teachers.  We used it for a following directions page and recall.

 The title is "I'm a Little Snowman" to the tune "I'm a Little Teapot. 

I'm a little snowman

Short and fat

Here is my scarf

And here is my hat

See my carrot nose

And three buttons too

A happy smile

And eyes so blue

The Title Page

First Page

Second Page

Third Page

Fourth Page

Five Page

Sixth Page

Seventh Page

Warning: There are no mental health therapists for Pterodactyls

Poor, poor Bob the Pterodactyl. Regan has been abusing this beanie baby for years. He's been shot out of a bra, thrown across the car to land in garlic knots, stuffed in an underwear drawer and other situations. Yet, he remains loyal to Regan and sleeps with her every night.

I have found Bob in a variety of places and every once in a while you have to bow to the absurd and take a picture of it. So it is with appreciation (especially from the dog who escapes Regan's machinations because of Bob's presence) I present a short pictorial history of Bob:

This is Bob dressed in beer koozie from Hawaii.  When I asked Regan why her stuffed animal was "dressed", she replied that he didn't want to be naked.

This is an early picture of Bob.  He got mixed up with Regan's bedding in the washer.  Bob should have applied for a restraining order then.

Bob on ice.  This was about two weeks ago.  Regan said he was having hot flashes like me.

This was about two years ago around Thanksgiving.  Bob was starving according to Regan and he didn't fit into a chair. 

Lastly, I believe this was a desperate attempt to run away this past Christmas.  I can't go to sleep sometimes because the horrified look in Bob's eyes haunts me.

If anyone can figure out how to add extinct dinosaurs to an insurance plan, please let me know.  I think I owe him a few sessions in therapy if not a beer to fill his dress/koozie.