If you give a mom some motivation ...

She'll probably start to clean her room.

And while cleaning that room, the Ginormous Tupperware of Scrapbook Stuff is liable to drive her suddenly crazy.

And she'll want to put it away.

Then she'll decide that the best place to put it is in the kitchen hutch. Which is full of sewing materials and kids' crafts.

So then she decides to move the sewing materials into the basement cabinet, and the kids crafts into kitchen cupboards.

And then she'll realize that the basement cabinet is already stuffed, and it would be better to put up some shelves.

So she'll run to Home Depot.

And while at Home Depot, she'll notice these nifty kitchen cupboard organizers, which would help make more room for kid crafts.

So she'll buy some.

When she gets home, she'll put up the shelves, and put the sewing stuff on them.

Then she'll move the dress-up clothes from their pile on the floor to the basement cabinet.

She'll commence putting in the nifty kitchen cupboard organizers to make room for kids crafts. Which are really hard to put in.

Motivation is failing.

By the end of the day,

only one nifty cupboard organizer is put in.
kids crafts are strewn all over the kitchen.
the new sewing materials' shelves are falling down.
scrapbook stuff is still in the Ginormous Tupperware.
and her room is messier than ever.

In which I am every marketer's dream

I'm a highly suggestible person. If it's marked two-for-one, 10% off, or Last Day Only!, I need it.

I first realized this highly undesirable trait when I was sixteen years old. I was at the dollar store with a friend, looking at nail polish, when I saw it. A pearly pink bottle with a bright red sticker: "Last Chance for This Item! Discontinued This Month!"

I bought it immediately.

Upon arriving home, I understood exactly why they were choosing to discontinue this particular color: because it barely showed up on my nails, and gummed up if the wind brushed it the wrong way.

I still have that nail polish - to remind myself of my stupidity. Whenever I see a Fabulous Sale!, I think of that innocent pink bottle, and tell myself NO.

For the most part I succeed, but I still have these "frugal urges" every once in a while ...

Like the other day, when I passed the billboard for the hospital to see that the waiting time was only six minutes!, and had to fight the compulsion to check myself in.

I mean - what a deal, right?!

In which I type a word I never say

So after said car accident, I went to the chiropractor for the first time.

Apparently, chiropractors are a big deal. I didn't know. 

They can ease ear infections, alleviate menstrual cramps, remedy indigestion, and they're working on a cure for cancer.

They also make me fart a lot.

See, early in our marriage, My Man and I decided to enforce a strict "pooter whenever you darn well feel like it" policy. Unless it's particularly bad, in which case you'd better leave the room. Or at least warn each other. But for the most part, it's generally Free Toots around here.

And sometimes I forget that other people may not abide by said policy.

So back to my back.

I'm told that the accident whacked the curve right out of my neck. This is bad. You're not supposed to have a straight neck. So I've been going veryveryoften for alignments and physical therapy. Apparently I'm a sucker for pain.

Yesterday, I had my first dose of deep tissue massage (to work out all the soft tissue scars that won't let me bend my neck. Since I generally like bending my neck, I agreed.)

First there's the question of what to wear. Or not. They said to "undress to the level of your comfort." Well, lady, if it were that easy, I'd wear my sweats. Or perhaps a Snuggie. But then they might write "prude" under my patient notes, and I'd feel dumb.

So yesterday, with Scentsy burning and some nice Chopin in the background, she instructed me to "go ahead and get between the sheets." And then she leaves the room.

Pressure!

I had to make a quick decision, and decided to strip to my underwear.

(I can't wait to see what google searches will come up with for this post ...)

Feeling slightly kinky, I told her she could come back in. Hopefully it was too dark to see my blush.

Then there's the trouble of what to talk about - or not. I mean, we'd just met, and she's rubbing me all over with oils. I might as well know her favorite color.

Finally I just shut up and let myself enjoy it. And then ... I felt it.

A little bubble descending. That would totally ruin the Scentsy.

So then I'm alternately clenching and trying to "relax" without stinking up the place. I was practically sweating with effort. Not only will I be labeled a prude, but a gaseous one at that. I might have to switch chiropractors.

But success was had, and no flatulence was expelled. Forty-five minutes of victory.

Feeling awfully proud of myself, I got dressed and waited for the doctor for my adjustment. And -

POP!

I might have to switch after all.

In which my rhyming skills are not showcased

Heading to the library

Feeling rather fine

The sports class there is lots o fun

With three young boys of mine!

Slowing down to turn

I see

The car behind me whizzing.

"He's going much too fast," 

I say,

And sure enough - 

KaPLIZZING!

But really the sound is more like

Ka-BOOM

Alas, Babylon, did you happen?

That sound is not 'jarring,' not 'crashing,' not 'bashing,'

It's like my own brain is a-wackin.' 

First thought: the kids. Are they okay?

Then - not again!

Ka-BOOM!

That darn whizzing car done pushed me on

Smack into a pissed off SUV. 

So mini-van momma takes out

One. Two. Three

And the other drivers, they start wiggin.'

And everyone's wailin' and weeping and woanin' 

(Whatever that is - we were doin'.) 

But the cop, he was nice, 

And passed out Beanie Babies,

And the great 'venture came to an end. 

The kids have a great story to tell

And the insurance has a bill for ten grand.

In which I finally join civilization

I have a cell phone.

I could totally get used to this texting thang.

And I say unto you

It came to pass that a pestilence spread across the land. 

Mr. Squishy was struck thereof, and behold, his fall was great.

Sunshine was soon to follow, and Little Prince did not escape the scourge.

The NBC also followed in his brethren's path, and his lamenting could be heard throughout the land.

Wherefore it must needs be that we must partake of much medicine. And their voices are as thunder.

And I was much grieved because of my afflictions, insomuch my frame had no strength.

And it came to pass that the Lord stretched forth his hand and my posterity was much healed for the space of two days.

But I know of a surety that patience hath not been learned, for behold, He saw fit to let the pestilence return, yea, even return with much awfulness. And there was weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth.

And behold, my brain hath melted. Even so. Amen.

I can't believe I'm going to do this

So for my 5Pillar homework this week, we had to write a narrative on either Jane Eyre or The Chosen. I decided to summarize Jane Eyre, since it's one of my favorite books of all time. And somehow, the writing came out ... Irish. Or pirate. You be the judge of my accent.

(It helps if you've read the book already ...)

When you know your kid reads too many books

On a recent family bike ride, a particularly smelly truck blew past us.

Sunshine, on taking a whiff, shouted, "I smell Jupiter!"

When we expressed confusion, he explained, "Yeah, because Jupiter's made of gas!"

Duh.

In other news

I found a plastic cow in my refridge-adair today.

Next to the milk.

My kids are freakin' geniuses.

Haiku

The bane of a cold
Pale, dry, leathery sick lips
I hate your guts tons.

Holy Hannah and Golly Ned

My house missed me.

And I missed my house.

(We turned off the air conditioning, and this - THIS! - is what happened to my (previously upright) candles.)

Jeepers.

In which I have a lot to say

and no time in which to say it.

I'll be back.

Promise.

Just so you know

• Little Prince and the neighbor kid previously known as the Biggest Brat Ever are now the bestest of friends. I think it has a lot to do with the trampoline Santa Claus brought for Christmas.

• Ouro Branco had ear surgery last week, and things are astonishingly, miraculously, unbelievably better than they were.
  

• Also, I have been pregnant my WHOLE ENTIRE LIFE AND I SWEAR IT WILL NEVER END.
  

That is all.

Continue.

Pretty sure

that kindergarten teachers are solely responsible for the depleting of our rain forests.

You'd think

that after almost fifteen years of wearing mascara,
I'd be fairly good at putting it on ....

I may be taking too many pictures

because as I went to get my camera to document Little Prince's trampoline acrobatics the other day, he protested thus:

LP: DON'T GET THE CAMERA. (Simple. Direct. To the point. I like it. Except not.)

Me: But I want to remember you, LP. (Such logic. I impress myself.)

LP: YOU HAVE A BRAIN, MOM. (....)

Indeed.

Image here.

Hating laundry is a dominant trait

Especially when it's time to wash the blankie.

New competition for Jay Leno's spot

Apologies for bad lighting and excessive giggling.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qnQbuvqhQTM

If you're looking for intellectual stimulation or spiritual fulfillment, you will not find it in this post.

I am going to complain about laundry.

That's it.

I will do this for approximately three minutes of your time.

(ahem)

I HATE LAUNDRY.

I hate it like My Man hates peas. I hate it like Ouro Branco hates getting his ears cleaned. I hate it like Little Prince hates tying his shoes. I hate it like Mr. Squishy hates a diaper change.

I HATE IT.

It's always there. I can wash every single dirty item in the house on a given day (this is strictly theoretical - it has never happened) and that very night, every hamper will have a dirty article of clothing in it. I have nothing to show for it. It is always there, waiting to be done.

That Girl ... That Girl ... wash us ... we're dirty ....

The clothes SPEAK to me. In really low, gurgly voices that sound like they're coming from beneath a sewer.

('Cept for socks. They're kind of high pitched.)

Speaking of socks, what's up with them, anyway? I have approximately 879 single socks without mates. LP currently has two pairs to his name that actually match. And don't get me started on trying to sort Da Boyz' socks. Did you know they sell socks in bags of 9-36 months, and 3-5 years? THAT WOULD MEAN MY THREE CHILDREN ALL WEAR THE SAME SIZE. I'm buggered every time I have to fold those squeaky voiced suckers.

And laundry is not a quickie little chore. It's not a fast swipe of Clorox bleach wipes or a two-minute sweep job. IT TAKES ALL FREAKING DAY. Sort. Pretreat. Load. Start. Wait. Switch. Pretreat. Load. Start. Wait. Take out. Switch. Pretreat. Load. Start. Fold. Wait.

And the folding - the FOLDING! And the putting away - the PUTTING AWAY! It truly takes me a week to get everything done, and by then I have to start all over again.

Every woman has their thang, and laundry is obviously not mine.

(My mother and brother love doing laundry. I'm thinking about disowning them.)

Now floors, I can get into floors. I like sweeping. I like mopping. I like not crunching when I walk. I like making beds. I like doing the dishes. I even like dusting and getting fingerprints off the walls.

But laundry? PLUCK THE EYELASHES STRAIGHT FROM MY SENSITIVE UPPER LIDS.

A friend and I were discussing the other day that this is when polygamy starts sounding nice. You could interview your husband's potential wives:

"Oh, you're into windows? Sorry. We already have a window washer."

I'm looking for someone who delights in laundry. Who relishes in beautifully creased clothing. Who yearns to match endless pairs of pipsqueaks.

I will wash your floor every day in return.

(But you're not getting My Man.)

Holiday Haikus

Hosting thirty peeps
Laughter, sleeping in - jokes, games
Laundry out my ears

*****

Christmas means fam'ly
Fam'ly means fun and lotsafood
I gained too much weight

*****

Good thing I got a
Freezer for all the leftov-
Ers; it is handy

*****

(Haikus are very
Hard to match the syllables
And still make sense)

*****

I do like presents
When they entertain my kids
Long enough to clean

*****

Pretty sure my fam'ly
Is the best thing about me
I love them lots-lots

*****

Haikus are good fun (but)
Subject matter limited
When fam'ly reads them