And next I'll be applying for a job in the design department at Victoria's Secret

In my effort to always make my house appear perfectly designed and polished (stop laughing), I would store my husband's superfluous and ridiculously redundant extra pillows under the bed.

They just didn't jive with my black and white bedding, since they were, well, not black and white.

The other night, my husband is arranging his side of the bed to lay down... Pause. Does anyone else's husband do this? Or do you do this? Like a mother bird making a nest for her babies, where every tiny little stick and feather has to be perfectly placed before you can even THINK about sitting or laying on it? Fluffing blankets, shaking pillows, straightening the sheet, for the love of all that is good and holy JUST LAY DOWN AND SHUT UP ALREADY!

Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, so my husband is floofing and fluffing and doing whatever it is that he does with all his bedding and I look over to see a cloud of dust around him like PigPen from Charlie Brown. He stands very still, letting the flying dust settle all around and on top of him... "Uh... my pillows are a little dusty," he observes. Genius.

I try not to laugh, because well, duh, and because I feel responsible for the dustiness. And the subsequent sneezing.

So I decided that if I made his pillows more attractive to match our bedding, I wouldn't have to hide them under the bed! Man, I'm smart.

I'm at the fabric store and Logan is just as happy as can be because we're making something special for Daddy and he can't wait and he loves all the pretty colored fabrics and wants to pick out the color all by himself because Dad would love a Batman pillow and then he could... Yeah.

So we're at the cutting counter where I'm also buying some pink sparkly tulle and elastic (for a different project - rest your brain trying to figure out why I would make my husband lay his head on pink sparkly tulle pillow and what the heck elastic has to do with into pillowcase-making). Logan asks the 103 year old lady helping us what the elastic is for. She proudly shows him the elastic waistband of her denim-colored non-jeans and explains what it's for.

Logan tries to locate his own elastic in the waistband of his real jeans, but can't because jeans aren't really supposed to have elastic in the waistband, unless you're 103 and work at JoAnn's Fabrics. But he did manage to find his underwear waistband.

"Like this!?" He says and gives himself a wedgie pulling half his underwear out of his pants.

"Yes, honey, just like that!" The old lady says.

We get our items and we're on our way to the checkout.

The cashier lady invetories my odd collection of fabrics and elastic and asks what we're making. Before I can even open my mouth, Logan says, "We're making underwear for my daddy!"

Yes, Logan, pink sparkly underwear made of tulle for your dad.

I can feel all the eyes watching me.

We have a couple of neighbors that surely I've mentioned before, that don't care for us a whole lot. Well, since I'm a grown-up, I've just learned to look past our differences and go on about my merry life (read: Give them more crap to talk about.)

What good, decent and honest parent doesn't make a huge pile of leaves and chuck their kids into them over and over?


Certainly I want to be all those nice things, so I'm just doing my part for the betterment of my parenting career.


And you can just see the smile on his face, despite what my neighbors might be saying to each other behind those blinds.


Plus, I would be very disappointed in myself if one day when I'm old and gray and didn't have these photos of my child flying through the air into a pile of leaves.


I guess I'm just sentimental like that.

Same time next year?

Dearest Owen,

Two years have gone by since we met and became instant friends. Do you remember that day? We sure do. It may have been a little traumatic for you, but it was a day that changed our lives forever.


You are quickly becoming a little gentleman, with the best manners, saying "please" and "thank you" without any guidance and melting the hearts of perfect strangers, as well as your own mom and dad.


You have a compassionate heart and love to hold hands. You can't be parted from your blankies and "babies" for too long without incessantly asking about them. You're a goofy and fun-loving child, and we enjoy being the parents of you.


Being the baby of our brood, you get spoiled a little bit more, but your sweet nature has definitely spoiled us in return.


I don't want to think about where our lives would be without you in it, and I'm so glad that God chose you as our son. I hope you realize how much you are loved and always possess the carefree spirit that lives inside you today, as you turn two years old.


Happy birthday, little man!

Love,
Mama and Dada

I hope the Craig's List lady doesn't read my blog.

I'd like to say that my husband and I are frugal people. We spend our money wisely, by making researched decisions when it comes to big ticket items, getting the best deals, using coupons and the like. But, that's really just a glorified way of saying we are cheapskates.

Okay. I'm fine with that. We are CHEAPSKATES.

So when it came to buying a big ticket item for our son, of course, I shopped around. I searched for coupons; I searched online (trying to avoid the dreaded trip to Toy-R-Us [shudder]); and ultimately, I hit up Craig's List.

I found what we were looking for, at a decent price, but I was hesitant at thinking that I might as well just buy new or try to find a cheaper price at used - the seller lady would NOT BUDGE on her price.

A couple days go by, and I can't find a better deal than the used item on Craig's List, so I caved.

I tried to give it one last attempt to barter with the lady on the price, but dang, if she wasn't more stubborn than me!

So, after work one day, hubby and I loaded up the kids and we head over to this lady's house to look at the item.

But first we stop at the bank. As a little background, I was offering the lady to come down $10 on her price, to $140 from her asking price of $150. I guess that extra ten bucks was going to put her in the poor house, so I finally gave up. We withdraw the $150 from the ATM and head to this lady's house.

We follow Francesca (our Garmin lady) into a newer area of the city. The houses start getting really nice. Francesca takes us through another neighborhood and the houses start to get really, really nice. Francesca announces, "You have reached your destination on right," in front of, you guessed it, a really, really, REALLY nice house!

"What the crap!" I scream to my husband who is drooling at the expanse of this house. "This lady wouldn't come down TEN FREAKING DOLLARS on the price, but she lives in this mansion!?"

"Well, it was probably her butler that was trying to sell it for her." He replies.

He is no help.

We are walking up to the door, and I'm huffing and puffing under my breath about the price, because it's TEN DOLLARS! Ten Dollars. You know how much stuff I can get for ten dollars? I mean, come on!

Hubby looks at me and says, "Don't worry, I'll get your $10, honey."

We ring the doorbell.

The lady comes to the door, dressed in a really cute matching pink jogging outfit and a very fluffy white dog. A la Paris Hilton (gag me). "Hmpf!" I said under my breath. "Figures. Stupid bee-yotch."

"Excuse me?" Apparently she heard me. Her reply was like a 1,000 butterflies floating around in the air with angel halos and money dripping from their wings.

And then it happened. I saw a side of my husband that I have never seen before. Picture Larry the Cable Guy, dressed in a tie and slacks. So, not really Larry the Cable guy at all, mostly just the voice.

He says, "Sorry, ma'am. What my wiiife here was sayin' is that this here house is much niiicer than we got at our traaailer."

What the....?

I was at a complete loss for words. So I just let him continue.

She showed us around to the garage, where she had the item - of course it was in the space next to her pearly white Jaguar convertible.

She brings it out and we are talking -- well, it was mostly my husband twanging and me just standing there with my jaw on the floor.

"Okay, so $150 is the price," Princess Barbie says.

"Oh. Well... uh... Let's see here..." My husband starts digging into his coat pockets and starts pulling out one and five dollar bills and handing them to her, counting as he goes.

I watch her and she stands with her hands cupped, catching crumpled dollars into it, batting her eyelashes like she's in a pageant.

"...thirty-eight, thirty-niiiiine, aaaaand faarty." He says. "Thaaaat's all I gots, ma'am."

"Oh, well, I was asking $150 and I told your wife that --" She started.

"Way-ell, I thinks I got more money in the truck." [Truck = SUV, who knew?!] So he starts walking back to the car, and I'm standing there, nervous and shaking like a leaf while he digs around and searches for more money.

At this point, I was so embarrassed, I just wanted to get the heck out of there. Forget about the ten dollars! I knew we had the money because we stopped at the ATM, so I start walking towards Mike when I see Brandon hopping out of the car.

He's digging in his pockets, and he says, "I have two dollars, ma'am, will that work?" And comes up with two, very wrinkled, dollars for the lady.

"Oh, well, thanks, sweetie! Yes, that will work. I'll take $142 for it." She says, the words floating out of her mouth like silky chocolate.

And then I have an epiphany.

I realized that we've just managed - well, my husband has just managed to save us eight dollars and leave with what little is left of our dignity, and the slightly used item we came to purchase.

And we even taught our son that no one - not even classy folks like us - are above a little money swindling.

He gets the genius from his dad. His mom still has hers.

Necessity is the mother of invention.

Or is it laziness is the mother of invention?

Well, either way, when it comes to brushing your teeth, and being short, I guess you have to improvise.

This really needs no introduction...



I know it's not "safe" to allow my child to do this, but in my defense, (a) it is really hilarious and (b) we put non-slip pads on the bottom of the top stool. Which is held together by large amounts of wood glue since the stool belongs to three little boys.

Think it could be considered an entry for thereifixedit.com?

Now Hiring. Inquire Within.

A few months ago, Brandon lost a fake tooth. I call it a fake tooth, because even though it was his first baby tooth to come out, the dentist took it out, so it doesn’t count. It’s fake. A few days ago, he lost his first real tooth. An eensy weensy tiny one in the front, on the bottom. We practically lost the thing because it’s so tiny!

He was definitely excited. We were at Grandma’s house when the tooth finally came out, and of course, Grandma had to give him some money. And by some money, I mean FIVE DOLLARS.

Five dollars? For one tooth? You know the tooth fairy has to one-up Grandma, and being this is our first tooth of all the kids, I’m going to need a second mortgage by the time all these teeth are gone!

Oh, and then Brandon charged people a quarter to look at his tooth. And another quarter to look at the hole in his mouth. Smart kid.

Well, six dollars and seventy-five cents later, we went home and wrapped the tooth up for the tooth fairy to come get it during the night.

Dad wasn’t with us during this exciting time, but Brandon called him and told him, and Mike assured him he would be home before bedtime to see the tooth.

But he wasn’t.

Brandon was okay with it and was probably more excited about doubling his income overnight. So I assigned Mike the task of tooth fairy so he could at least play a small part in this whole Real Tooth Losing thing.

The next morning, I asked Mike how much money he left Brandon for his tooth. Mike stares at me.

Blink. Blink.

“What tooth?” He asks. I gave him a second and then I saw the light come on… “Oh crap! I completely forgot!”

He hurried to Brandon’s room as quietly as possible because the boys were certainly going to wake up any second. But he was too late.

Brandon met him in the hallway, tooth in hand, puzzled look on his face...

Brandon: “The tooth fairy didn’t take my tooth!”

Mike: “Oh, well, I talked to her last night, and I asked her to leave it so that I could see it and she said that was okay.”

Brandon: “But she didn’t leave me any money either!”

Mike: “Are you sure? Lets go look.”

Mike was able to hide the money in his hand, reach under the pillow and… “Look, Brandon! Here it is!” Brandon was excited. But also disappointed because the tooth fairy left him the same amount of money that Grandma gave him.

So, then the next night, we re-positioned the tooth for the fairy. Again.

Mike was in charge. Again.

The next afternoon, I asked Mike what he did with the tooth (so that it can properly hidden, of course).

Mike stares at me.

Blink. Blink.

“What tooth?”

Another New Year's Resolution. In September?

I know it's not really New Years, but I'm one of those people that likes to make jokes in times of seriously serious seriousness. You know, the annoying person that you just sigh at and wish would shut up? Yeah, that's me.

But in all serious seriousness, I'm ready to turn over a new leaf.

Three weeks have gone by, and I've been on emotional roller-coaster the entire time. I'm ready to get off this ride and get back to normal. Or what I was used to as normal.

I've been busy teaching my children. And not teaching them the usual ABCs and 123s. Instead, I've been teaching them about life and death. Very recently, our always reliable babysitter was taken away much too soon. And for reasons we aren't totally sure of. I know I've ranted about her at least once here, but we always hurt the ones we love, right? No? Crap.

Okay, I'm not telling anymore not-funny jokes. Promise. Sorta.

But, really, teaching young, impressionable children about this sort of serious stuff is something that no adult - parent or not - is prepared for. However, the resilient little babies they are, always see the silver lining. I've learned quite a bit in the short time since her death, but most of all, I've learned to cherish every moment with the ones you love. And I learned how to accept lies. Lies are O-K. At least I'd like to think so...

There is a very long and drawn out story to our learning of her death that I will spare from the publicity of the internet, but our children were with us when it happened and some very generous neighbors preoccupied them during the hardest parts. These neighbors had one very important and vital gift: a parrot.

So, when Brandon and Logan are reunited at the end of the day, here is how the narration goes down (Oh, Brandon was at school, so he had no idea anything out of the ordinary had happened, so he could only learn of the whole sordid truth by way of Logan):

Logan: "We were at [babysitters] house and dad couldn't get the doors open and [babysitter] didn't answer the phone and the police came and I told [babysitter] that if she didn't come out then the police were going to come in and arrest her and then the amb-a-lance [not a misspelling] came and there were lots of lights and then there was a parrot and its feathers were green and soft and it talks! It says, 'Hi' and 'Bye' and I got to touch him and hold him on my shoulder and there was a dog and the dog and the parrot are friends and, Brandon, did I tell you about the parrot?"

The whole time, Brandon is trying to interrupt but clearly can't get a word in edgewise, saying "Mom, is that true?"

Logan finally stops to take a breath and then closes with: "And then [babysitter] went to be with Jesus and I'm gonna go back over to her house when she's done."

And that's where I'm going to leave it.

I don't feel it's necessary to correct what might very well be true in my child's eyes. I'm not going to leave him with a twisted view of his own reality, because even though it's not 100% true, we all have to lie a little to be good parents.

Yeah, that means you too, Mom; I ate all that bread crust and did NOT make my hair grow any faster!

Rhetorical Questions. But open to answers.

First of all, have you ever seen anything cuter in your entire life?



Seriously, who dresses this child?



Where is the maid? (Someone needs to tell her she's doing a horrible job.)



When will my house be back to normal?!

(Um, excuse me, Owen, but let's leave the question-asking to Mom, kay? Thank you!)

Wrinkled

...yet shiny and new!

Do you know what I'm talking about?

Well, if you take a gander at your address bar up there, you'll notice you've been redirected to my brand-spankin' new domain, www.girloutnumbered.com!

Total and complete awesomeness abounds!



In between my big announcement, I'm showing you some photos, because honestly, people don't like to read posts with just words, they want to see things! Or is that just me?

Well, either way, this is Logan at the Cardinals game this past weekend. It was a really good game, despite the 2+ hours of rain delay, which didn't bother us one bit, since we were in a covered, air-conditioned suite! Sweet!



Okay, so here's the deal. If you want to keep coming back - AND I KNOW YOU DO - you need to add this newly birthed (but not by me, thankgoodness) and totally not potty-trained new address to your feeders.

I'll wait a second while you go do that...............



Okay, now that you're back, I've completely run out of photos. So I'll just shut up now and commence the wrinkliness that is MY NEW WEBSITE.

Welcome. Now make yourself at home and start cleaning something.

Another random, for your viewing pleasure.

This year, I was an over-acheiving, diligent mother who bought her son's school supplies months ago, to properly teach him about preparedness and organization. Everything has been neatly waiting in my reusable shopping bags in the appropriate closet until the fateful day when the supplies get to meet their new home for the next 9 months.

Wait.

What?

What REALLY happened was, my mom took my son shopping for his school supplies, because if she didn't I would have been running around Target like a crazy person the first day of school. His supplies were in plastic Walmart bags on the top shelf of the closet, a closet which is not necessarily designated for school supplies or the like. And then, the night before Meet the Teacher and Bring in Your Supplies Day, I scramble to make sure I have everything and mark everything accordingly.

But apparently Brandon felt there was something missing from his school supplies. So he added it himself.

This little guy was in the bag, and I didn't even know it. I was trying to make conversation with another mom at Meet The Teacher when she pointed and said, "What is that?"


Brandon says that this "guy" was not behaving when he was out shopping with Grandma. So he was being punished. With a larger-than-life sticker on his head and a "bib."

Because we all know that when we're not behaving, the best way to be punished is to wear a bib.


P.S. Pay no attention to my antique-and-falling-apart table with a candle wax spot on it. I have more important things to do around here, people. Like taking pictures of my kids' random toys.