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Because well, I’ve got to put something here. It’s been a while, Lord knows it. I’ve just been so out of it I can’t even speak a coherent sentence let alone write one. I have fragments and run-on sentences bouncing around in my brain forming nothing truly worth saying to all of you. Just snippets of crazy, ridiculous happenings and moments when one shares a life with some weird kids and a goofy husband.

Things like:

Well ok. So Princess and I kind of had our first tiff off ever. And it was because I yelled at her for pulling down her pants on my front lawn and “peeing” on my bush. Which ended up not being on the bush at all, but all down her legs, socks, and shoes. (Getting the smell of urine out of shoes = NOT FUN) Also, it’s not like she had on a dress or anything to cover her patootie. Nope. A t-shirt. Bare buns to the whole block. I started running towards her to shield her (and my) modesty, by flailing my arms shouting “PULL UP YOUR PANTS NOW!” and instead of , oh, I don’t know pulling up her pants …she began to run away from me shouting back “NO! IT’S NOT FAIR!” (A reference to younger brothers who get to pee standing up) Did I mention our house is on a corner? So we are pretty much in a fish bowl because we have 6 houses with their front windows facing my front lawn.  Call Jerry Springer somebody because there goes that wacko home schooled kid running around on the front lawn without pants on again.

Something else! Yes. Well, Camera Guy has high cholesterol. Did you hear this one? He does. So I’m helping him lower it by dishing him out different vitamins and supplements each morning. Apple Cider vinegar, I hear, does wonders. On Friday morning, I handed him his fish oil and garlic pills. Then I explained to him how the vinegar would help, but it’s really tough to drink straight so I’ll dilute some in a glass of juice for him. He cuts me off, scoffing at my somehow rude accusation against his manliness.

“I think I’ll be fine” He says smugly to me from way up high in his Armani business shoes looking down at me in my ragged pink bathrobe “Give it to me in a glass straight, I’ll show you how a man takes his Apple Cider Vinegar”

Quite eager to accommodate my lord’s snooty request, I measured out two tablespoons of vinegar into a glass and tossed it to him. The kids stood by watching the debacle as it unfolded.

We all watched as he tipped his head back briskly and dumped the tonic in. And we all gasped as he just as quickly clutched his throat and ran for my sink, filled with dishes and began dry heaving. The amount of gagging, coughing, hocking, drooling and moaning that then ensued made me think inwardly “Oh yes please, do show me how a man takes his Apple Cider Vinegar” But instead I just started shouting at him that he better not puke all over those dishes because we don’t have a dishwasher and I am NOT cleaning up man barf today.

As I instructed him to the nearest toilet and how to vomit into one, I held the bottle of vinegar in my hand and scanned the directions for the tonic quickly, when all of a sudden I screeched

“Ah! I am so sorry! It was supposed to be TEASPOONS not TABLESPOONS!”

“WHAAAAAAT?” He was still clutching his throat and tears were streaming down his face “MY THROAT IS ON FIRE!”

Well, I justified it that his cholesterol was pretty bad, so his guardian angel must have known he needed that much of it. Also, I told him I would rather have him dry heaving in a sink instead of me throwing dirt on his casket. He was fine, in case your wondering. A little overly dramatic and humbled but fine. The kids however are scarred beyond repair. That was what I used to put on their tongues if they talked nasty. Can’t imagine them ever talking nasty again. Not after that display. Win for all of us? We’ll see.

Anything else? Not that I can think of. Because all I can think of right now is a cup of tea and Netflix. That’s about as much brain activity that I can handle at this hour. This blog post did me in for the month.

Until next post, buy Apple Cider Vinegar and make your kids pee inside the house!

Sleep for sale

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I should sell my eyeballs on E-bay. All this lack of sleep is making them roll so far in the back of my head, they’re beginning to become useless to me. At least that’s the way it feels.

“What’s wrong with you?” asks my Mom

“Uggggg I’ve been up since 4:30am” says me, zombie Mom.

“What?! Why?” (aka are you special?)

“Because my kids hate me. And now I’m blogging about it.”

Head falls forward and smacks keyboard submitting this enticing new post. Cue sobbing.

Well, I know I shouldn’t expect to get perfect sleep with a 5 month old and a 1 1/2 year old. But they both have been on these awesome 12 hour streaks for a couple months now. So why should I expect any thing less than the best? Or at least if it was less, not shrinking down to a sick teaser trailer for slumber. It goes something like : after nursing every 2 hours through the night, we find ourselves putting Mr. Chubs back to bed peacefully at 4:30 am. At 5 am,  eyes just start to relax, and you find the perfect spot in your pillow, at 5:01 am Pretty Princess stands up in her crib and starts screaming for a book. Faster than Michael Moore eating a ho-ho, I spring out of bed, and within one mighty swoop administer teething meds, provide binky and sing “Twinkle Twinkle” and plop PP back in crib. It’s 5:19 now.

By 5:30 Mr. Chubs has been irked out of sleep and is up again thanks to his thoughtful sister. PP and Mr. Chubs continue this cyclically half-hour pyscho-drive-mommy-insane streak until we arrive at 7:45 am, for whence Zombie Mom can no longer take it and picks up PP out of crib to hear her shouting

“YAY! MOMMY! BOOK!”. (toddler code for: I win)

And here I sit, straining my eyes to type out this profound event. With Pretty Princess climbing on my back asking for a bagel, a pile of children’s books sitting stacked in my lap and another window open on my browser showing me flight deals for a weekend escape to Bora Bora. First, looks like I’ll have to make some good money on selling my sleep before I can afford those tickets.