The tough take a 2 month hiatus, runaway to the city of sin, invest in plenty of diet coke, baby-sitters of all various sizes and shapes, and fail to not only remain sane in the sincerest form of the word, but pretty much. Lose Their Minds. I can only thank my friends, and my family, the family that isn't sharing off their rocker status right along with me, that is. Mostly my 9 month pregnant sister in all her perfect angels flying out her hind quarters glory. She really is a saint. I love her.
So. Inquiring minds might be inquiring as to what I've been up to lately. Or they might could care less. I know not. That's how out of it, I've actually been. See. What people fail to mention is, when your mother was the only woman alive who could not only command an army of 12, keep a house spotless, and sew quilts for homeless in her spare time, she leaves LARGE shoes to fill. Larger than the ones I was almost forced to purchase during the last trimester of my second pregnancy. Thems was big shoes.
I've still not learned the art of keeping children in line, keeping laundry piles small enough to not suffocate wee babes when they topple over, and the toilets spotless enough that when Mia chooses to drink from them, they offer little toxic waste. But. I have learned a few things these past months. A few. I won't share all of them, as I'm sure you all have as much free time as I don't. But I will give you some updates. We all love those. I say all. But really. I just mean those who actually pay attention.
I'm getting fat. Yes. that's happening. Seems eating from a drive-thru plastic bag for 2 weeks in a strange city isn't the most conducive flow to weight loss. Nope. I'm gaining. More-so than the DOW after the google merger. I know. Easy fix. Stop eating. We'll get there. Eventually.
I'm back to streaks. Oh yes. That too happened. I decided enough was enough. If a 26 year old mother of 4 at the end of her long and painful rope wasn't allowed to don streaks and sport her hair in Vegas, nobody should. I give you, exhibit A.
Don't judge me. Or do. I'm past the point of caring. My children are free of streaks. This will please some of you. The rest will be forced to complain over my lack of appearance in the scrapbook world. Say what? Scrapbook? Please. Define? Can you use it in a sentence? I've not picked up a piece of paper that wasn't white and used for the removal of residue, since the visitors, a group of women and their offspring we so lovingly referred to as "the reprobate hobos" came to dwell in our midsts.
They turned out to be less than what was originally foreseen when my father purchased their tickets to come and hang out with us, but we did learn alot about the type of women one can meet on the internet. Dad is sticking to locals for the dating time being. I couldn't be happier.
The kids. Are friggin' huge. Mia turned 1. a month ago. Um. Hi. did I not just give birth to her insanely adorable face yesterday? Some of you may remember that. Well, unless you were one of the under paid hospital workers who was forced to watch me give birth to her sans epidural, you don't remember much but what I relayed to you, but it still remains, she's growing. Too fast.
Does she not slightly resemble a fat little sumo wrestler? Only with a tad bit more cloth?
Yes. She's a ham. A stuffed little ham.
Moving on to other children that I do also have in my care. Charity. Still wearing diapers. Dedicated to those bad-boys like an Amway salesman to his clients. We've made some progress with her talking, and she seems to be full of life. Like any child of mine lacks that? She's getting so big. And pretty too. I mean, she's not just my little chubby girl. She's a beautiful girl. She gets that from her sister.
Ah. Yes. The ever elusive Aubree. Still my most dramatic and attention seeking offspring. She's learning to read. I mean. Like. Teaching herself. I love that. She's smart. Not just a brat. A smart one.
It's been difficult lately to be the mom my kids probably want me to be, and try to maintain some semblance of normalcy in all the chaos we've been submerged in. I know I'm rather vague on alot of my posts about life lately, and I hope to change that soon. I just don't know how much of my life I really feel comfortable posting at this time. See. Vagueness. There I go again.
Mikey is doing amazing, as usual. Trying to run the world from the privacy of his own 2x2 square inch of real estate.
They are the most resilient and amazing kids. I wish sometimes I was more worthy of them. I feel like a failure alot when it comes to them. Doesn't help my little sister makes it her duty to point out what I'm doing wrong. Did I mention this is the sister that has NO kids? yeah. She's great at advice.
I know. I suck at this whole update thing. It's all I can do to get through the day without bears diggin through my garbage. Blogging has taken a back seat. More like it resides along side the trailer hitch.
I feel it's pointless to ramble on anymore about the monotony that is the daily life we lead here. We've spent alot of time at the movies, the park, the ER, apparently MRSA is rampant in these parts, and guess who got infected. Oh yeah. That'd be me. I'm sure it's only a matter of time before something else happens and I'm forced to not only have my right cheek cut open, ( yes folks, I'm referring to THAT cheek) but some other slightly vital part of my body that already hates me for shoving 160 pounds of me into skin that was clearly meant for 120 pounds. You win some, you lose some. I tend to be the one taking home the medal they give to everyone for participating. But I'm still here. That has to count for something? Right?
I've been talked into dusting off my scrapbook supplies, and attempting to create something that shouldn't be used to kill roaches. When I do. I'll be sure and post.
Thank you to all of you who have asked about me. I try and respond, and if I've neglected your email, or your IM, I am really sorry. Spread horrible things about me. Tell people my cooking is wretched. I promise, they'll believe it. I'm going to be around more lately. Las Vegas was enough to remind me that no matter how bad my life is, I could always be that woman who thought it was ok to wear a fish net dress over her string bikini to the Cirque show. It can always be worse. Always.