Learn to Swerve.

and it goes a little something like this...

Well GARSH.Thanks for the support, and votes of confidence. As you can see, I don't really pay much mind to the likes of those who find fun and delight in bringing others down. I've got way too much to deal with in life to defend my actions to people who really could care less about me as a person. I mean, I've got tattoo and piercing appointments to make for Aubree, husbands to divorce, and 3 other children who still have to be led astray before they get too old to say no. I can't be bothered with message boards and haters.
I actually penciled in some time with the children I so desperately wish to ruin with hair dye, and went to McDonalds, (yet another tick mark on my mother of the year point tally,) with the infamously  talented Courtney, who took some photos of my kids and me. As I have NONE of us together. Mikey looks absolutely morose over his plight in life being the only boy in a house full of sisters. I'd offer to make him a brother, but this train done jumped the tracks, and sadly, I'm not thinking he's too keen on the idea of sharing a room. So. For now. He poses with the pout.

In scrappy news, I did happen to find a little silver lining in my cloud there. Seems some fabulous ladies and I, (notice I did not include myself as one of the fabulous ladies) were asked to be part of a delish Kit club, Label Tulip. Which I'm sure you can tell from perusing the home page, is not only an extremely well thought out kit, but has quite the following of fresh funky designers. some of my favorites as a matter of fact. I really hope to do these amazing kits justice. I have always had good luck with kit clubs because the product is all there, and my only job is to make it work. I got my "start" in the industry if you will, working on a kit club, and I figure, what better way to jump back into it, than with a kit club! So. Check them out, and look forward to me actually scrapping something! I know you could care less, but I'm excited.

So much going on around here lately. I'm having the hardest time eating whatever I want, and staying below the weight I've set for myself. I realize it seems like an easy fix, stop eating so much, but as I've mentioned before, I exercise, SO, that I can eat whatever I want. As of late though, the only exercise I get is chasing the dog out of the garbage can, and hauling laundry up 2 flights of stairs. It's not really the same, as jumping on the treadmill for an hour.  My ultimate goal is to be a size 9. I currently have 2 sizes to go. I just want to say, I'm back to my high school weight, and then, ,who really cares what I do past that. And it's not unrealistic, at all. I've thought about taking drastic measures, like slim fast, or Alli, but the complications of having leakage really RUINS, any happiness I might get from being skinny. So. I suppose I'm left with just good old fashioned calorie counting. Meh. I don't like it. Not one bit. But I've got to do, what I've got to do.

I'm sure you've had enough of my idle prattle, and it's actually 1am, which means 6 hours until that dreaded siren of death comes calling me from my peaceful slumber. I'm going to have to catch up on my sleep, if I want to stay awake all night and scrapbook come next week. Thank you all again for the comments, and I'm sorry for those of you who also mentioned having been put out to dry on that wretched blog.

And as my dear estranged husband likes to remind me. "All women are inherently crazy. It's not their fault" If that doesn't make you feel better, than Dr. Seuss certainly should "Be who you are, and say what you feel, because those who mind, don't matter, and those who matter don't mind." Like Mia. She could care less really that she's called a boy on at least 100 different occasions. She just goes with the flow. And I  personally think she does a wonderful job of making it look good.

I'm bringing Scrapsmack back. Yeah.

Guess who is officially cool enough to once again get a coveted spot on the official blog of those who know?
Oh yeah. It's me. And I thought I had lost my touch. Ha.

I was apparently right on about the whole, letting my 4 year old get her hair done thing. Seems when one wants to really get it served to her on a gold smack covered platter, one should always involve a child, and some left over hair dye. It's just what I needed. Oh, and the fact that I made the mistake of saying, "Mike is gone in more ways than one".

Which, if any of you have ever had someone deployed, you know what I'm talking about.

Having Valentines, Birthdays, and Anniversaries while one of you lives in a 4x4 cell is really not all it's cracked up to be.But rather than explain that, I sort of left it to the viewer discretion.
My bad. Next time I'll be specific.
Mike is gone, as in Serving his Country, and gone as in, His internet connection is crap, so the time we get to spend together is anything but "up-close and personal." No, we are not divorcing.

Unless of course I find someone else willing to put up with my crap, and wonderfully father 4 children. Not to mention fund my ridiculous diet-coke habit. Just those alone would require sainthood in themselves. I know I owe nobody an explanation, and could very well have ignored it, but what's the fun in that?

I was however VERY much impressed with the people who stuck up for me. 

I had no intention of reading it, you know with that whole house cleaning, child rearing, ditch dodging thing I have going on, but my source assured me there were nothing but good things to be had, aside from the initial, let's talk about Ruth Akers thing.. So glad I took the time out of my busy, mom to 15 schedule, to read it. Gave me some hope that there are people who really do care about people. Not just me mind you. People in general.

It was actually somewhat amusing, when I showed it to Mike, (the Mike I am still very much married to), he was like, "Man, I didn't know scrapbookers used voabulary like that. You paper people take this stuff way too seriously."

If he only knew.

I have scrapped a few pages lately, posted some, submitted some. You never really know. I doubt I'll ever be the girl with a BILLION design teams again, the one who's children are neglected so I can get all my work done. (that's sarcasm by the way.)
Those of you just now tuning in. That's why I was the feature of the day last year at this time. I had so many DT's and all. My kids were going to hate me, and Mike was going to leave me.
But really, now that I think about it, need I neglect them, when I can just give them all highlights, and ruin their childhoods that way? I think not.

I know I only feed the fire by posting this, but sometimes, it does one good to say what they're thinking. And we all know, I'm capable of that.

I've been itching to be more of a dedicated scrapper lately. I know alot of people think it's greed, and selfishness, or maybe a love of attention that makes one want to be on a DT. For me, it's neither. Sure free stuff is fun, and seeing your name in print, or on a website is fun to share with those who have no what freelance scrapbookers are, or those weird relatives at a family reunion, but for me, the real driving force behind the Design teams, is the REASON and the WHAT behind the scrap. For some people, me included, they need more than just an idea to get going. I need a cause. Yes, I love my kids dearly, and I scrapbook for them, but I'd be lying like a bear rug if I said the only reason I scrapbook was to preserve memories. I love being able to say, Oh, American crafts assignments are due soon, let me grab some AC, and scrap this cute picture. Makes that decision process that much faster, and it gives me a deadline to actually work for. I like deadlines. I love them actually. Seeing that specific date or time on my calendar, gives me the motivation to actually take the ideas that run ramped in my brain, and get them onto paper in a timely manner. IT worked for me.

But with all that is going on, I probably won't be running after any large DT's in the near future, feel free to take me off your hate list for that,  I just wanted to put it out there my reasons, for doing what I do. My reasons for making, creating, and displaying.

I love that I can connect with so many people through scrapbooking. I have met 90% of the friends I have today, through this hobby, and whether or not I ever make it to the coveted magazine Design Team, or the ranks of a world renowned scrapbook blogger, I've made friends. Good Friends. Best Friends really.

And those friends, accept me, no matter what I do, who's hair I highlight, or how long my husband deploys. They know me. They love me, and frankly, as small as that might seem. That's reason enough for me.

Ifs, ands, or butts.

Where do you go, my lovely? Where do you go?

Well. I go crazy. Mostly. But I did decide to take a brief hiatus from the "Whoa Is Me" drama I've been writing about lately, and get back to just being "me".

The me who scrapbooks. Oh yes. No need to reread that. I did it. I'm not ashamed. I made a page. (Singular). Even posted that bad boy at Two peas. Where I'm sure the majority of people are going, WHAT in the WORLD? She's still here?

Yeah. The leper of the scrapbook world, is slowly making a comeback.
It's nothing I'd put my name on in a public forum, but it gets the job done.

(Exactly what job remains to be seen)

.
I also against my better judgment, decided to color my hair. Again.

See. I get these wild hairs no pun intended, where I think to myself, "Self", your life needs something. Something that doesn't involve getting arrested, getting pregnant, or doing something I can't speak freely about to a family member, and when I get that way, I have to fill that need. With something not laden with calories. So. I turn to my misguided roots. I found this photo of a very attractive girl, with a very sultry, yet easy to acquire hair cut. Or so one would THINK. Turns out, 4 hours, and some not so fun foiled moments later, I actually look like this: 

Really not the same thing, at all. But in the true to Ruth fashion, I decided to just go with it.

So here we be. I also, in awesome mother of the year nominee status, allowed my daughter to get some highlights as well.
I'm sure someone will have something to say about my 4 year old with highlights, but they were free, she wanted them, and she's been so awesome about having to home-school for Pre-K, since it's the price of a small car to send her to preschool here. I think it bodes well for the both of us. Who knows.

Things are just so not normal lately, it's like I'm in a red bull induced fog, that just won't clear. Which might work for some people, but I can't stand red bull, so it makes me a little leery. My dad thinks he's found love, AGAIN, small problem, she doesn't want kids. He has 10. Hmmm??

My husband is still gone, (in more ways than one), and I'm reverting to the only coping mechanism I have. Eating. Which would be great if my pants were too big, or my rear-end didn't double as a parking garage, but, sadly my pants barely fit, and there are enough parking spots on my backside for a sold out Hannah Montana concert. *Sigh* Perhaps, I'll do what I have to, to survive. That seems to be our motto around here. But the good news is, we almost have a super target, and I've not crashed this week. I realize it's only Tuesday, but I'll take it.

My kids keep me going, and not just because they run faster than me, they really do make the day worth living. I had someone tell me yesterday that if they could guarantee they'd have kids like mine, they'd take that plunge, and while some days are much better than others, I wouldn't trade one second for anything.

That's the good thing about kids. They love you, no matter what. No matter how fat, how thin, how ugly, how scatter-brained. They don't care, all they require is everything I can give them, food, love, and the occasional trip to Chuck E cheeses.
And I mean really, for what I get in return, it's completely worth it. 100%.

No ifs ands or buts about it.  (well maybe some butts, but it's a small price to pay when you consider the rewards.) A very small price indeed.

When it rains...

You can pretty much tell what kind of day you are going to have within the first 2-4 minutes of being awake. Or so it is for those of us with children.

Case in point, 7:45, the alarm goes off, yet strangely enough, my bed is empty. Which, might SEEM normal to most married women who's husbands are deployed, but when you live in a 6 bedroom house with 15 people, waking up alone means one of 2 things: The Lord has called your family home, and you were not invited, or the children are up to NO GOOD. Being that nobody in this house is quite ready to return to their maker, I began to panic.

Without so much as a 25 second head start, to prepare me for what I am going to see when I open my  bedroom door, I hear the voice of Aubree: "Mom, if you see brown stuff in the tub, it's either Chocolate, or poop".
I've never been a betting woman, but I'm willing to lay you money, I'm not going to find a Dove bar.

Seems the potty train, the one I bought tickets for 3 weeks ago, hoping Charity would climb aboard with me, had left the station. Not only had it left without her, it has become quite apparent, it's not coming back this way for a good 2 or 3 months. (What do you want to bet, there's no refunds on that badboy?)

I cleaned up that awesomeness, and figured with a start like that, we could only move upward. I guess I see now why I failed statistics. Figures and me... we're just, No.

I took it upon myself to let Mikey pack his own lunch last night. He has been begging for hot lunch, and while the idea of it is tempting, (no packing, no paper products, no forgetting it on the bus, ) the idea of forking out $3 a day for something I'm pretty sure he's flinging at unassuming kindergarteners, just isn't getting me excited. When I initially offered this idea up, I fully intended on supervising him in the process. What I didn't count on, was the complete removal of all the keys on my laptop by my niece, and my still diapered 2 year old, as I bathed a sickly Mia, who was still all smiles, but very much in need of a cleaning.

I always heard it said genius children are known for taking things apart and putting them back together at early ages. They got the complete removal of the keys down, yet when it came time to reassemble their little "project", their IQ's suddenly failed them.

After playing sherlock in my room for a good 2 hours, I managed to locate all but 4 of the keys, the "v", and the first 3 function keys. I set out to putting the kids to bed, and was delighted to take a moment to myself.

When I realized at 8am, that I hadn't yet surveyed the contents of Mikey's lunch box, I asked him to let me see it. He removed from his backpack, what I imagine a small group of large men would feast upon after having been left in the wilderness to fend for themselves for 2 weeks.   I realize that this may appear to be a whole lot of processed food for  one child to eat, you have to understand we usually take a wrap, an apple, and ONE sweet delicious or salty snack. Never have we just opened up the floor for whatever strikes your fancy. And yes, that IS an entire can of spaghettios in there. I had to draw the line at bringing the can opener .

He was not impressed when I made him remove all but the cheese stick, and the oreos, in favor of some fruit, and a something who's first ingredient isn't "glucose". Things settled down for a bit when the kids finally got into school. Only to take off again when it was time to meet the bus. The doors open, and Mikey steps off. Ok, 1 down, 1 to go. The driver waves good-bye, and begins to pull away. Ummm, I do believe I have another 6 year old aboard your trusty yellow wagon. He disagrees, and proceeds to drive away. I turn to my son who informs me, Isaac's coat is camoflauge, it's possible he's still on the bus, just not recognizable to the untrained eye. I take his knowledge into account as I head to the school for my brother.  Sure enough, there he sits, in the cafeteria, awaiting someone to pick him up.

I've become the "mother" to 4 new children. And while I am more than willing to do it, sometimes I just don't think they want me. I can't say I blame them.

We get home from our little excursion, and I decide to climb Mt. Everest, AKA, the laundry pile, only to be met by a leak in the washing machine, which has dampened the ENTIRE pile of clothes. I start troubling deaf heaven with my bootless cries, and swear off clothing all together, when my favorite boxcar child, is once again running the opposite way of the train tracks. I don't even want to see what she's done, and vow to duct tape her diaper on her, until she's secured acceptance into an Ivy league school. (Of course they'd have to be willing to change her diapers.)

At this point, the day is all but shot, and I'm drowning my sorrows in a cup of cold-stone, (Why diet, when one can have self-loathing, and fat-rolls for free?).

It is then I remember the words of someone, although who, fails me right now. "This too shall pass". Almost as if I'm being prompted to just say, you know what, tomorrow WILL be better. It HAS to be better. I give into the urge to cry, and things seem to improve almost immediately. It could be worse, I could have a criminal record still, and be going through all this. Either way. Things do have a way of seeming so funny when you break them down. And I hear crying burns at least 10 calories an hour. So yes, when it rains, it does pour, but I do have the rainbow to look forward to. And for those of you wondering,It might be raining, but I'm not grabbing my umbrella. Heck no. I'm building my ark = )