Monday, November 16, 2020

The Most Beautiful House in the World

What makes a home beautiful? Ask a child and their response might surprise you. 

 I don't know about you, but I personally love hearing things from the perspective of a child because it puts things, well, into perspective. Children have an unabashed innocence about them (okay, maybe not mine so much, because they're my kids), but it's that innocence that makes their statements so profound or introspective, because their words come straight from the heart. 

Once a week I meet my husband at his work to drop our almost 11 year old son, "Peanut" off with him, so he can drive him the thirty minutes to soccer practice, while I rush off in the opposite direction to pick up our daughter at cheer practice. If you have multiple kids like we do, then you know the drill. It's a never-ending siege of despair, driving children back and forth, every single day until you die. Wait, where was I going with this again? 

Anyway, my husband's office is fairly close to the strip, but not on the strip. For those of you familiar with Las Vegas, you know the areas off of the strip aren't the nicest parts of the city. They aren't the worst either, but just your typical city streets as far as the eye can see, with lots of buildings, bus stops, people, and bustling traffic every which way you turn, which I don't know about you, but just the word "traffic" alone makes me immediately break into hives. 

Across the street from my husband's office park building is a row of mobile homes. They appear to have been there for quite some time as they're a bit older, or should I say "established", with some of them being more run-down than others. They've definitely seen better days if you know what I mean and many of them could use a little TLC and perhaps a fresh coat of paint. 

As we were sitting in the car waiting on my slowpoke of a husband to meet us in the parking lot so we could do the dreaded kid exchange and then rush off to go our separate ways for the evening, my 4 year old son, Seanie suddenly and without any warning at all, pointed towards the street, gasped and said, "Mom, that house is so beautiful. I hope we live in a house that nice when we move to Idaho"

His comment caught me completely off guard, as he's never mentioned anything like this before, and it took me a second to figure out which house he was even referring to, as all I noticed at first glance was a run-down trailer park that was honestly pretty easy to overlook, but there he was pointing insistently at one particular house, situated directly across the busy street from us, perched on top of the hill. 

I say this next part not to brag but to explain that the Vegas neighborhood we currently reside in is probably considered middle class, maybe even upper middle class but I'm honestly unsure of where the line is drawn on that whole class thing because I'm about as classless and casual as it comes in my heinously ugly, ripped pajamas that I live in and have owned for multiple decades, but refuse to throw out, but I'd say that the majority of the homes in our neighborhood start at around a half a million dollars and go up into the millions, so in terms of beautiful homes, our current rental neighborhood should definitely qualify or fit the bill as being considered "beautiful" especially when compared to these.  

However, to my brutally honest, 4 year old son, Seanie, those older, shabby sheek, run-down mobile homes were far more beautiful and impressive than any other house he'd ever laid eyes on before, including our fancy rental neighborhood with the steep HOA dues, perfectly manicured landscaping and all the modern amenities one could ask for. Yet, somehow, despite all of that stuff, he still preferred this other house instead, so much so, that he hoped that our new house that we're having built in Idaho (more on that in a future blog post) is even half as lovely as these older mobile homes are. 

I don't know about you, but it made me pause for a minute and reevaluate what's really important in life and to be grateful and appreciative of all that I do have. I spend so much time stressing out about whether or not things are good enough; our current rental house, holidays for the kids, me as a wife and mother, our old Honda Pilot that's older than Mahlon with a back seat cover that's so old and worn that it won't even stay on anymore, etc. Seriously, there are times where I question and doubt almost every single thing in my life and it's exhausting.  

If you're one who secretly tortures yourself by feeling like you have to portray this Instagram influencer worthy image of having the beautifully decorated home with well-dressed, coordinating children at all times, or you worry you'll be seen as a failure, just stop right there. I was raised by a total perfectionist mother who could've easily given Betty Crocker or Martha Stewart a run for their money, but unfortunately, she didn't make it long enough to be an Instagram influencer or Pinterest mom, because she died in 1996 after a long battle with cancer. She didn't even live long enough to see her two children morph from awkward teens into even more awkward adults, and I have no doubt if anyone was able to ask her right now which was more important; seeing her children and grandchildren (that she never got the opportunity to meet) grow up, or painstakingly decorating our home to resemble a Norman Rockwell painting, she'd opt to see her children and grandchildren grow up in a heartbeat. 

Now all of this isn't to say that you shouldn't have pride in your home, keep it nice and decorate to your heart's desire, or heck, coordinate your children's outfits, if that's what brings you joy, but don't let it consume you. Do it because you enjoy doing it, not because you think you have to in order to keep up with the Joneses, because I assure you, it matters way more to you than it ever does or did to your kids. Believe me when I say that you are enough, they have enough, it's all good enough, I promise you that much. 

I may not be a perfectionist like my mother was, but even I get caught up in the cycle of stressing over insignificant nothings. For example, I've been so wrapped up in all of the silly, cosmetic details of our future, new home, that one night I actually lost sleep over wondering whether or not we chose the right subway tiles for the kitchen backsplash, and OMG, what are we going to do if the painted cabinets clash with the granite countertops? Little things that seem so important now, but really aren't all that important at all in the grand scheme of things, and certainly not important compared to the really big things in life like getting diagnosed with a terminal illness or losing a loved one, etc.

So, the next time you're worried because your home, apartment or whatever, doesn't look anything even remotely close to the ones that grace the cover of an HGTV worthy magazine, remember that to somebody, somewhere, your house is not only enough, but it might even be the most beautiful house they've ever seen. 

I can't help but smile whenever I see the little white house perched on top of the hill now. It's funny, but the longer I stare at it, the more beautiful it becomes to me. 





Wednesday, October 28, 2020

Ooops, I Did it Again

So, y'all ready for another classic "Kristen screwed up again" story? Here you go...

I've posted before about my pure and utter disdain for scary movies. I've blogged about it in the past, on at least two other occasions, possibly more. But yeah, I'm a total chicken shit when it comes to anything spooky or scary. The Haunted Mansion ride at Disneyland still frightens me this day. I know. 

Last night in the spirit of Halloween week, I decided to watch some scary movies. First, I watched The Shining which really isn't scary to me at all because we're big Stephen King fans and i've seen The Shining so many times, I could probably recite it in my sleep. Even though it was pretty late when The Shining ended and I really just wanted to sleep, I decided to wander downstairs to join the husband on the couch for a few minutes, as late evenings are really the only time we have to spend together. Who was I kidding? I wanted food, but whatever. I was downstairs with the husband and the food. 

Much to my chagrin, my husband was watching Sinister, a movie I had never heard of before because I DON'T LIKE SCARY MOVIES! But hey, this movie was on regular TV, so how bad could it really be, right? WRONG! I do not recommend this movie to anyone, especially right before bedtime. 

After a night of unnecessary terror, we headed off to bed for what was supposed to be a peaceful slumber. I've always been afraid of the dark, since before I can even remember being afraid of the dark. I slept with my main bedroom light on throughout my entire childhood, and even into my young adult years (until I got married and my husband was like, "Are you serious? Turn off the damn light"). I'm not talking about leaving a light on in the closet, or bathroom, or even a night light, but rather a full blown, overhead light on because in my head, the more light, the safer I am. I don't know...It makes perfect sense to me, but I get that it's a bit eccentric. I don't like sleeping in the dark because I don't like not being able to see what's around me. 

Last night, I happened to be extremely exhausted, so despite feeling a little uneasy and just yucky after watching Sinister ended (I won't spoil it if you haven't seen it, but it's an awful, awful movie), I quickly fell fast asleep. At some point in the middle of the night I woke up after having an unsettling dream which is the absolute worst when you're a chicken shit because it means going back to sleep anytime soon isn't likely. I used the restroom, and did a hurdle type jump into my bed so the monster or demon under my bed wouldn't grab my foot or leg and pull me under and murder me (come on...you KNOW you do this too). 

I don't even remember falling back asleep but I must have fallen asleep rather quickly because the next thing I know, I'm suddenly awoken by a dark, creepy ass figure of a man standing just a few feet from my bed. Talk about terrifying, right? I knew I was going to die a horrible death at any second. He was going to start stabbing or shooting, or something violent and brutal to end my painstakingly ordinary and less than fulfilled life, so I did what any rational person would do as they're realizing the last few moments of their life is upon them. I began to scream. Except, I didn't just scream a little bit. I screamed as if my life was in danger, like "We all about to die here" type of scream. My goal was to wake up my sleeping husband because maybe, just maybe, he could fight off the killer, or at least distract him or take one for the team so I could grab my kids and escape to safety. 

Not only was I successful in waking up my husband, but I woke up the dog, the kids and most likely all of Las Vegas. The next thing I know the dark murdery figure man starts to gesture, in an annoyed fashion, eerily similar to my husband when he's annoyed with me. Geez, maybe ALL men really ARE the same? Unbelievable!!! Along with the gesturing he was saying things like, "Shhhhh, stop screaming. Stop it. Stop screaming, it's just me. DAMN IT KRISTEN!!!"  OMG, it's worse than I thought..the killer knew my name!!!  

It took my tired, confused brain a few seconds to realize that this creepy creeper looming over me, wasn't an axe murderer, but was in fact, my husband. Ooops. I'm not sure why he felt the need to creep around in the dark. Perhaps he was trying not to wake me by not turning on a light, but if that's the case, mission failed there buddy. 

Our 4 year old successfully stayed awake for the rest of the night/morning, and my husband left for work a little disgruntled (likely from the lack of sleep or lack of hearing in his left ear), but this is what you get for creeping around in the dark like some kind of TLC song or something. 




Wednesday, October 23, 2019

Mahlon aka "RSVP Boy" is TWELVE Today!!!

I'm not even going to apologize for not blogging in so long. What's it been now...one year? Two? I stopped counting long ago. I know I have some long overdue updates for those who don't follow me on social media, like "Hey, guess what? We moved to Las Vegas".  Yes, that's right folks...back in late May, we packed up all of our belongings and moved from our beloved first ever purchased home in Bend, Oregon to Sin City (which is kind of fitting actually).  It's a weird, mixed sort of reaction whenever you tell people you're moving to Las Vegas, as there is definitely a preconceived notion about life in Vegas. I mean where else in the entire world can you simply mention the words "Sin City" and people know immediately that you're talking about Vegas.

Goodbye Oregon
Hello Las Vegas 
Our master bedroom balcony view...not too shabby, huh? 
The first time we took the kids on a nice little family drive to see the strip and we got stuck behind this lovely vehicle. We've had plenty of "You know you're in Vegas.." moments since arriving here. 

I myself had mixed reactions about the move. I thought that I was tired of Oregon and ready for a change, but I found it much more difficult to leave Bend than I ever anticipated. I cried a lot the first few weeks (ok, months). I really missed our first home (which still hasn't officially closed yet, but will hopefully be sold and off our shoulders in the near future). I missed my dad who was just a mere 5 minutes away and a huge source of support for me (not to mention the world's best grandpa). I even missed our redneck, crazy neighbors who let their dogs poop in our yard and wore scary masks to jump out and scare me once in the dark when my husband was out of town (long story). Luckily for them I don't carry a weapon on me and I was too stunned and terrified to make a move.

I wasn't necessarily happy in Bend, but I was comfortable. Life just made sense there. It was familiar and safe and I knew precisely what to expect. Plus, I was on a first name basis with the baristas at Dutch Bros. However, the bitter cold and high cost of living was getting harder and harder to ignore, and my husband was forced to freelance from home as there weren't any career options for him there. He was growing increasingly unhappy and I felt a bit selfish for holding him back as I was the whole reason we moved to Bend in the first place, so that I could be closer to my dad. Plus, with him being the primary, sole financial supporter (I hate to use the word breadwinner cause I do a lot of shit around here too. Raising our slew of kids is no joke), that's a lot of pressure to place on a person's shoulders, especially when they're extremely crazy talented and you know that their talents would be greatly appreciated and rewarded in a bigger city.  I knew in my head that it was time to go, but my heart needed some time to catch up.

Whenever I tell someone here in Vegas where I'm from, they immediately comment, "This must be such a culture shock for you" and perhaps if we had never lived in a big city before, I'm sure that's absolutely the case. Life in Vegas is the complete opposite of rural, sleepy, ski resort town of Bend. In Vegas, everything moves lightning fast (except for internet). I truly don't understand how a city such as Vegas has the worst, slowest and most expensive internet on the entire planet but I digress. Living in Vegas is pretty much exactly the same as living in Northeast Portland, but instead of rain and grey skies, you have palm trees, oppressive heat, killer scorpions and more Californians than you can shake a stick at. Sorry, that's the Oregonian speaking again. California jokes are as common as breathing over there.

After three years of country living, I wasn't prepared to return to city life, or should I say my anxiety certainly wasn't. I'm driving a lot here. Like, picture 3 kids in multiple sports, where everything is 30-40 minutes away and you're getting on and off multiple freeways the size of Texas.  And no longer do I get the luxury of my boys being able to walk around the corner to catch the bus while I wave from my warm home in my ugly pajamas. Nope. Here, I have to get up, put on actual clothes and a bra which is super irritating, and drive my boys to and from school, all while dealing with insane traffic, chaos and so many idiots that you want to move out into the wilderness or the middle of the ocean on a boat where you never encounter another human, ever again. I'm not even exaggerating here. I seriously lose all hope for mankind every single day after I do the drop off and pick up routine.

While I may be having a rough time adjusting, the kids are doing surprisingly well. My 15 y/o daughter attempted to attend a large public high school here in the city with well over 3300 students, but she lasted one whole week before she went back to online school from home. I was proud of her for trying though, but social anxiety is hard, and moving from a small town to a large city where you don't know anyone is tough.

Mahlon is adjusting to life in middle school. Yes, that's another update! Mahlon is in middle school now! HOW DID THAT HAPPEN?!!! It feels like just yesterday he was turning 9 years old and my little vent about his birthday party went mega viral.  He actually turns 12 TODAY which absolutely blows my mind that three years have passed already. And just in case you're wondering, NO we aren't even attempting to have a birthday party in a brand new town where we literally don't know anyone (we learned our lesson on that one). Instead, Mahlon wants to go back to Circus Circus Adventuredome and ride the rollercoasters...a definite perk of living in Vegas; there is always something fun to do here.

Mahlon on his 9th birthday

Peanut is 9 and in the 4th grade and quite the amazing little club soccer player, and the baby of the house, Seanie Mac, isn't even a baby anymore, but rather a smart, sassy and spunky 3 year old, who much like his big brothers, is a total character and a natural born performer. If you follow @seaniememes on IG, you'll instantly fall in love with this little spark plug. He's a kick and so ridiculously smart.

BoBears Age 15
                                                                        Mahlon at Age 12
 
Peanut Age 9 
Seanie Mac Age 3

I'm honestly not even sure where I'm going with this blog anymore. I briefly considered letting my domain registration expire a few months ago when it was up for yearly renewal, but didn't have the heart to officially shut down the blog forever, as it once meant so much to me. I don't even really consider myself a "blogger" anymore at this point. It used to be such a significant part of my identity, but things change, people change, situations change. I've lost touch with most of the big time bloggers I used to chat with and correspond with on a frequent basis, as I wasn't really part of the group anymore once I stopped blogging (not that I ever really was part of their group). For those of you dying to start a blog, I'll let you in on a little secret..... the popular blogging crowd is a bit like a high school clique and I've always been the loner type (mostly by choice).

However, I do catch myself in those moments where something really funny or crazy happens to me. For example, if you aren't my friend on FB then you missed our very first encounters with the deadly Arizona Bark Scorpion (think husband holding an upside down Swiffer Wet Jet with oven mitts on his hands attempting to stab it with the pointy end, or perhaps clean it to death...who really knows?? All while I stood on the staircase screaming hysterically because I'm super helpful in emergency situations), but anyways, I'll catch things from time to time that I find particularly amusing and think, "I should totally blog about that" but by the time we get home from our 9,000 activities and then eat dinner at 9 pm, I'm usually too tired to blog, especially because I write articles for money now (primarily ghostwriting), so writing is my actual job now. Plus, unlike what some people may think, I honestly don't get paid a single dime to blog, so, priorities, people. If I have to choose between buying groceries (okay, mainly coffee, chocolate and cheese) and making y'all laugh, I'm going to choose the cheese every single time, cause a girl's gotta eat.

Anyways, tonight we're going to go out as a family to celebrate Mahlon's 12th birthday (still can't believe my Mae Mae is 12) and then come home, eat some cake and then this weekend we'll take him back to the strip to go to Adventuredome, eat lunch at the Hard Rock Cafe and then probably head over to M&M World. For our daughter's 15th birthday a few weeks ago, my husband and I took her to the NYNY Casino and we rode the big roller coaster a couple of times, ate dinner at one of the fancy restaurants inside the casino, bought cupcakes at the Hello Kitty Cafe (AMAZING...highly recommend) and had a lot of fun. Living in Vegas definitely has its perks!





So, I guess much like my life, I'll play things by ear for now and blog whenever the mood strikes my fancy.





Friday, July 13, 2018

Friday the 13th

People are always surprised to hear that I don't like scary movies. Perhaps it's because we turned Seanie Mac into Georgie from IT for Halloween, but in all honestly, pretty much everything scares me. I never liked the dark, stemming from an incident at the creepiest amusement park on the planet, called The Enchanted Forest (which was recently featured on Ghost Adventures, so who's laughing at me now, huh?) I was deep into the pitch black Rabbit Hole cave when I was just a wee one, and my older cousin let out a blood curdling scream, and my mom said I was absolutely terrified of the dark from that moment on. Hmmm, I wonder if we could've sued them for emotional damages? Kidding!! So yes, my secret is out. I'm a gigantic chicken. I can't handle the dark at all, nor scary movies. I came home beyond hysterical in middle school because a teacher read us a Goosebumps style book about a monster hiding in a basement and I was traumatized for days. Don't even ask me about that one time I spent the night at a friend's house (she lived in one of those really old, creepy historic houses too with secret passageways and shit), and we watched Silence of the Lambs. It's the one and only time I've ever seen that wretched movie, and I wouldn't use my own bathroom for months because we had a heater grate above the toilet and there was a scene where they pull open the grate and a dead body fell out. I could give you a million other examples of movies that I never got over, but you get the idea.

If for some reason you still don't believe me and need more proof, my husband took me to the latest IT movie last fall and it was one of the worst experiences of my life, next to that one time I got a perm and looked like a Poodle. I've seen the original IT and I can actually tolerate that one just fine because it was made for television so it's not gory and it's a bit cheesy. Plus my kids have watched it a bazillion times so I'm sort of desensitized to it now (I tried to watch it when I was a kid and didn't even make it past the first scene).

So I knew that Georgie was going to get his arm eaten off (sorry for the spoiler if you live in a cave and haven't seen or heard about it). But, this damn Pennywise was so flipping creepy that I literally hunched over in a ball, wedged my fat rolls into the stiff, uncomfortable arm rest of the movie chair, covered my eyes and literally stayed frozen in the fetal position (fat rolls planted firmly into the arm rest) until the torture was over.

My husband saw the new IT movie about a month before me during a soccer tournament with our teenager (she handled it much better than I did), and he assured me that I could totally handle it. He knows I despise movies where things jump out and that's pretty much ALL this damn movie was from start to finish, so needless to say I was not happy with him when the lights turned back on and I had to let go of the arm rest that I had pretty much clung to for dear life. He acted shocked that I didn't like it, which just made me more upset and he was like, "You're pretty pissed at me, aren't you?"  DUH!!!

Since IT was the last movie of the night to play at the theater, it was really late when it got out and I had to pee super badly. I dashed into the empty bathroom and I'm midstream when all of a sudden all of the lights went out in the mother f#$king bathroom!!!! I think I screamed, but I was so petrified that I'm not even sure an actual sound came out. It's like when you're having a nightmare and something is chasing you and you try to scream but you can't at all...yeah, it was pretty much like that.  I've never pulled up my pants and bolted out of a bathroom that fast in my entire life.  In fact, I'm pretty sure I peed my pants a little too.  Not cool at all movie theater people. Had I slipped and fallen on my own urine, cracking my skull in the process, it would've been all of your asses on the line!!!

I've heard rumors that IT Part Two is coming out next year and my response when people ask if I'm going to see it, is something along the lines of "Eat shit and die" so that's a big fat nope. Besides, I can scream for free at home, like for example, whenever I step on the scale or step foot inside the kids' bathroom.

My next scary movie experience would've been a few weeks later when we tried to have a happy family movie night. Somehow despite the first hand knowledge that I hate scary movies, my husband was still somehow shocked that I had never seen the original Poltergeist before. Husbands are so observant aren't they? We settled down to watch the movie and at first I thought, "Hey, this isn't so bad", but by the end of it, I was feeling a little frightened and tense. I headed upstairs while my husband stayed downstairs to watch a little more television. So, there I was, totally abandoned by my loved ones, and left all alone in my room. I was seconds from falling asleep when I realized that evil was lurking inside of my closet (aside from outdated, heinously ugly clothes that no longer fit).  I was much too scared to scream, so I literally sent my husband a frantic text message while hiding under my covers, trembling with fear.

Actual text message sent to my husband: 
(excuse the bad language but I was about to die so...)


He came upstairs and searched and then assured me there was nothing in the closet (with a smirk on his face I might add). However, it's not like the Poltergeist is going to come right out and say, "Here I am Mr Crazy Husband Man who might hit me upside the head with that large baseball bat" so whatever. He was there, lurking about in my closet, ready to attack me at any given moment, I swear.

So life went on without any problems, until today. Last night my husband and I both fell asleep on the couch fairly early. He fell asleep before me, and then I crashed shortly after while watching House Hunters. It's hard to stay awake sometimes with some of those couples. I don't know where they find these people, but I'm super happy for them that they were able to find someone equally as boring to marry them. Anyways, this isn't even about House Hunters, it's about the fact that my house is haunted, ok?

So shortly after midnight, I was woken up to this horrible, heinous, something ain't right here sound. It wasn't my husband snoring, or the kids puking, or the usual scary, middle of the night noises that wake me from a deep slumber, but rather, this creepy Poltergeisty sound coming from our TV.  The screen was black but it was making this sound that I cannot even begin to describe to you. Like super loud static with electronic sounds (demons) and stuff. I quickly turned off the TV (which was frozen) but eventually it turned off and we went to bed. I noticed the time was just after midnight, which may not be significant to y'all, until you realize that it's Friday the 13th. Mmmhmmm. Not a coincidence at all.

So, this morning I get up and try to turn on the TV, and it's totally gone, dead, fried, toast. Not only is it making desperate sounds from hell, but it's summer break, and I'm stuck inside of a house with four kids on summer break without a TV!! This means no Bounce Patrol for Seanie Mac, no Dateline mysteries for me, no electronic babysitter to keep my children from whining and asking me make them 3,000 sandwiches before noon!!! I TOLD you we have a Poltergeist because there is nothing truly more terrifying than a mom stranded on summer break without a working TV (except for maybe no wifi, which also happened, because when I tried to unplug the demonic possessed TV, I accidentally unplugged our router and now our internet is spotty at best).

RIP old Toshiba..you brought us many hours of happiness and joy 
I'm so sorry you've been possessed by a Poltergeist
So, please Mr Poltergeist, Carol Anne, or whoever the hell is living inside of my now useless, paper weight of a TV, please go find another family to torture and mess with, because unless you plan on pulling me in through that filthy (never been dusted) dead screen and transporting me to Hawaii, I have laundry to fold, dishes to unload, and sandwiches to make. On second thought, please take me. Please!!!


Wednesday, March 21, 2018

Pukey pasta

If I were a YouTube star or a Facebook live person, I'd start this off with "Hey guys" but since I'm not a star, I'll just keep on typing. I have several new blog posts to share with y'all (I know, it's only been a million years since I posted and we actually don't even say y'all here in Oregon, but I've always wanted to say that) but then I thought, "Oh no, no, no, they'd MUCH rather hear a graphic, disgusting, TMI, description of what went down this week/evening, so here goes! It all started last Saturday night. We took the kids to a popular, crowded pizza place (I could just stop right there and end my story since crowds and people, both kinda disgust me, but that's not even the disgusting part of my story, so I'll keep going). The kids were touching EVERYTHING in the restaurant and the arcade (except for their overpriced food of course). I'm talking they were pounding and pressing on buttons, knobs, dirty, sticky, slimy steering wheels that doubled as a Kleenex, etc, ALL things that a million grubby little hands touch on any given day. So yeah, there were my darling "healthy" kids happily playing, touching, putting their hands in mouth, more touching, grabbing whatever drink was sitting on our table and drinking it (not knowing if it belonged to them or not), probably picking up the chewed gum they found on the ground and eating it, etc.

The following day my dad came over to pick up the grandkids to take them out for the day (doubt he'll be doing this ever again, but please keep reading). They went to McDonald's for lunch and then out for ice cream, I should stop and mention here that my dad is a total pushover/sucker so the kids always con him into the triple scoop, it's bigger than your head, no parent in their right mind would EVER in a million buy that asininely-sized ice cream cone for their child (can I get an amen here?) Shortly after digging into his 10,000 calorie ice cream cone, Peanut apparently began to projectile vomit ALL over their upscale, trendy, expensive, "gelato" for you snobs too good for ice cream, restaurant (yet another local public establishment here in town that we're probably banned for life from ever entering again).

My dad apologizes to the restaurant staff, and attempts to help clean up what he can with those cheap little restaurant napkins (wish I had video footage of this), but they insist on calling in their emergency cleaning crew because it's THAT bad, and my dad slinks out in shame and brings the kids straight home and I can see that Peanut is just one big giant pukeball before he even enters the house. I briefly considered not answering the door and pretending that we weren't home...kidding, but seriously, this is not an enjoyable moment in any parent's life and you briefly imagine what your life could've been like, had you only raised dogs or cats, because at least when a pet starts barfing you can just open the sliding door and push them outside until they get it all out. NO, I didn't actually do that to poor little Peanut so no need to get excited and write me a nasty email. This boy had so much puke ingrained into his clothing, there was even puke smashed into the tiny little grooves of his brand new Adidas that I still have no clue how to get out (washed them twice already and they are still bright McOrange with chunks of gelato). Within 24 hours of Peanut, Mahlon proceeds to throw up on our couch during family movie night (I personally enjoyed Daddy's Home 2 and didn't think it needed that harsh of a review, but that's just me). Poor Mahlon threw up all night and into the morning.

We woke up today all paranoid like "Alright who's next?" like we were on an episode of Survivor and we're ready to take each other out if need be to protect ourselves. Seanie Mac only wanted dad all day and since he's usually a hardcore momma's boy, we were both on edge like "Watch out, this kid's gonna blow any second" because this boy is SO insanely attached to me that whenever he goes to dad instead (like on purpose), we automatically assume something's up and he's sick because #momlife. As the day progressed without any puke, we loosened up a little bit and were like "It's okay. We're all good. Crisis over" and I took Seanie downstairs for a small pre-bedtime snack. I barely had time to hand him his sippy cup when without any warning at all (because almost two year olds are kinda selfish and inconsiderate) he starts projectile vomiting all over my kitchen. This wasn't just a little puke folks. Nope. Remember the puke scenes from Stand by Me or Problem Child 2? Well, that's exactly what my kitchen resembled tonight. I'm not quite sure how he did it, but he somehow spewed all over every square inch (I always knew that boy was gifted). My husband graciously cleaned it up, while I carried a drippy, pukey baby upstairs and straight into the tub.
So, here I am, sitting on my bed, next to a gurgly, rumbling, squirming baby with scratchy, uncomfortable towels spread out all over my bed (just in case he gears up for round two which we'll call "The bedroom scene"), armed with a large shiny puke bucket at my feet, (AKA the big metal pan that we cook our spaghetti in and will still continue to use for pasta after this is all over with). You've been warned if we ever invite you over for an Italian theme night at our house. 

Friday, October 20, 2017

Diary of a Wimpy Kid Party Take Two

It's that time of year again. The leaves are colorful, the air is crisp, the kids are back in school, and this means that fall is upon us. As soon as the calendar switched over to October, I began to feel an enormous sense of pressure take over on how we should celebrate Mahlon's tenth birthday. We originally planned on hosting it somewhere outside of the home, especially since we got so many comments about how we shouldn't of hosted the party at our house, but we recently purchased a new home and then my husband suddenly lost his job without any warning. Financially things haven't been so great for our family (will update more on all of the other stuff that's been going on in our lives these last several months in a separate post). Since paying hundreds of dollars to invite his entire fourth grade class and fall soccer team to a fancy party place was definitely out of the question, we decided to just invite a handful of his closest friends over to our house for pizza and cake again. I wont post the actual party date as I don't want any media showing up on my doorstep.

Basically we're having a Diary of a Wimpy Kid party, take two. 
In case you're wondering why we would dare to repeat last year's fiasco, Mahlon is dead set on having the EXACT same birthday party he attempted to have for his ninth. I'm talking he wants every single detail to mimic last year's party....same cake topper, games, decorations, goodie bags, pizza, literally EVERYTHING exactly the same (except for the whole nobody showing up thing of course). Bless his little heart. When I asked why he didn't want to just pick a fresh new theme (I was trying to convince him to do a Halloween theme since he loves scary movies and costumes), he looked at me with his big brown eyes and said, "But mom, I didn't get to play any of those fun games with my friends last year because none of them came. I just want to share those games with them". I know, I know, this kid sure knows how to punch you right in the emotional stomach, huh?  Plus, he still loves Diary of a Wimpy Kid more than anything (who doesn't?)

I got a bit emotional digging up these photos 
One of the games we had planned on playing last year (hey Gershy, remember these are names of DOAWK characters, not party guests who didn't show up..hahaha!!):
 Still one of Jeff Kinney's biggest fans!!!
Here's Mahlon with his little brother at the latest DOAWK movie last May: 
So, there I found myself digging through boxes of miscellaneous party supplies in my drafty, spider infested attic, trying to find the leftover Diary of a Wimpy Kid invitations from last year, and the memories and emotions of everything that took place last October, came flooding back. Before I knew it, I was sitting on the cold, hard attic floor, blubbering like a baby.  My biggest fear of course being "What if this happens to him again?" but I had already told myself that if we didn't get a single RSVP this year, then we would not be going ahead with the party and would try and reschedule for another date. However, this time around, we've literally gotten an RSVP from every single guest and everyone has said "yes", minus one who has a family conflict, so I'm fairly confident that at least one child will show up. Honestly that's all Mahlon wanted last year. If even just one child had showed up, none of this would've ever happened, and I wouldn't even be writing this follow up post.

Custom Diary of a Wimpy Kid invites we had made last year: 
This year's DOAWK cake topper:
he chose the blue book cover instead of red this time: 
 Last year's cake...
I ordered a bigger cake this year as I could barely squeeze this baby onto a quarter sheet cake and I screwed up the pretty frosting border in the process:
If for some evil twist of fate, history repeats itself and no one comes, we'll be much better prepared on how to handle it. Plus Mahlon knows he is loved, and he is much more confident in himself. He has lots of friends from school, soccer and our neighborhood who care about him. Not to mention the tens of thousands of people from all over the world who reached out to show him some love. We are forever grateful to each and every one of you!!! Mahlon would like to record a special video message for all of you on his actual birthday, so I'll be posting a live video, hopefully on his actual birthday which is Oct. 23rd. Of course his birthday just happens to fall on a Monday this year, and it's a school day, so once we figure out a time, I'll post an update on my page.

Thank you again from the bottom of our hearts for the incredible outpouring of love and support that you showed our family. I wish we could invite ALL of you to Mahlon's birthday party!!








Friday, September 29, 2017

Want to write a memoir but don't have the time?

For many years now, I've been telling friends and family that I'm going to write a book or memoir about my life.  Although my blog is primarily humorous, I've been through many difficult life experiences, some of which are so crazy, I could easily star in my own cheesy Lifetime movie. Well, I wouldn't personally be starring in it as I'm not as actress, but maybe I could get Tori Spelling to play me or something, as she's the only actress I can think of off the top of my head who has a million kids like myself.

It sounds easy enough to write a book, right? I mean I've been a blogger for several years so writing a book shouldn't be too far of a stretch. But for whatever reason, the second I sit down in front of my laptop, I end up staring at a blank screen with a small blinking cursor looking back at me, almost mocking me in a sense. Before I know it I'm adding more cleaning supplies to my online shopping cart, or ordering more clothes for the kids who seriously don't need anymore clothes (as I sit in the same pair of stretched out yoga pants I've owned for over a decade). I don't know why I can't just buckle down and get started, but writing a memoir, especially about yourself is so much more difficult than it sounds.

Hello, my name is Seanie Mac 
and my mom orders me lots of clothes because I'm adorable 
Did you know that there are people out there who will do this monumental task for you? It's a dream come true, right? Yes, you can still shuttle three kids off to three different soccer practices across town, come home after 7 pm, cook dinner, clean up the mess, get four kids in bed and actually relax on the couch (or go to bed if you're smart which I'm not), and not have to kill yourself trying to write a book in those rare few hours that most people call sleep.

Plus think about how incredible it would be to own a copy of your special, unique personal life story to gift to someone in your family, pass down to your children or grandchildren, or just to keep for yourself if you aren’t ready to share it with others. I lost my mom when I was young, and my father’s memory isn’t the greatest (plus let’s be honest, many men have trouble recalling those crucial little details that a woman never ever, ever forgets).  To have a memoir written about her life experiences would’ve been so precious to me. I would love the ability to pass something like that onto my children, but if it were left up to myself, it would probably never get written as I just don’t have the time or motivation.

If this sounds like something you're interested in, please visit Nechamie of Writing the Soul to view her packages and to get a free consultation. In addition to memoirs and biographies she offers so much more, including children's books! Yet another dream of mine that I have yet to accomplish.

Disclaimer: This was a sponsored post and I received compensation in exchange for a review. However all opinions are my own.