Saturday, July 27, 2013

Facing your phobias and no this is not a how to guide

What do you do when you have an enormous phobia?  You face it head on.  And then you curl up in the fetal position and cry until you stop foaming at the mouth and can put a coherent sentence together.

This has been my life this past week, which is why I haven't been around to post.  I've been trapped in my own personal hell called downtown Portland.

My dear, sweet, wonderful hubby wanted to do something nice for our teenage daughter so he signed her up for a singing, dancing and acting class. Our daughter wants to be an actress/singer, plus that's just what we parents in Portland do. We sign our kids up for artsy fartsy stuff, while secretly hoping that they will rebel and go into a different career field that will actually pay the bills.  He signed her up at a local theatre on our side of town and assumed (you know what they say about people who assume things) that the class was going to be at the same location he signed her up at. Um, NO.

I was already nervous about driving her back and forth to and from the theatre when I thought it was near his work (actually it's close to Voodoo Doughnuts which I can totally live with), however, the night before the class on a Sunday night at 10 pm, I heard him say these dreaded words, "Hey babe. I was wrong.  Her class is actually downtown."  I froze.  I cringed. I prayed to sweet baby Jesus that he was just messing with me.  But he wasn't.  I fearfully asked him where downtown and he made a grimace and said, "Downtown, downtown. As in smack in the middle of the city".

I will admit, I freaked the hell out.  I technically already live in the city where we have a lot of heavy traffic, but it's not like downtown city traffic with one way streets and pedestrians everywhere.  I can literally count the number of times i've driven downtown alone and each time i've had a horrendous panic attack.  Hearing the news that I was going to have to not only drop her off around lunch time but pick her up at 3:30 so that meant TWO trips into the city every single day for TWO flipping weeks, sent me over the edge.

Needless to say I didn't sleep very well on Sunday night and by Monday morning I was ready to barf...I mean drive my daughter to her class.   I hit a few snags along the way, but it was a fairly smooth drive and thanks to my GPS on my iPhone, I figured out how to get home.  When I got home, I bragged to my husband about how victorious I was for making the round trip twice....TWICE PEOPLE!  He responded with a sly, "Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you that Mondays aren't that bad at all. Tomorrow will be much worse".  Say what motherfucker?

Tuesday rolled around and he was right. Traffic was bad. The streets are short and my extended minivan is not exactly city friendly, but I did it.  Then Wednesday rolled around and I nearly lost my shit.  I ended up flipping the bird while trying to merge onto the Morrison Bridge.  The other driver freaked out and slammed on his breaks and then refused to let me in.  I waited until he finally decided to move his arse into the right lane and then I merged over.  Then came the fun part.  Making it across those damn city street intersections!  The blocks are so short and traffic backs up so even though there is a green light, you can't go through the green light or you're stuck in the middle of the intersection like a sitting duck.  And people don't like sitting ducks shaped like giant ass Dodge Caravans that block the entire intersection.  NO, they don't!  In fact people get pretty snarly with you and shake their heads as they gawd forbid have to walk around your van while you are hogging up their precious cross walk.

So, yeah, i'm blocking the crosswalk while a group of rebellious looking youth (geez, i'm getting old and turning into my parents) start to walk in front of my van to cross the street. I must say that flop sweats and slip on shoes do not go together well.  I lost my grip on the break pedal and accidentally lurched forward at the group of street kids. It was a total accident and in reality I didn't really even come close to hitting them, but it scared me and i'm sure deep down they were scared too even though they had to act tough.  Scared or not they didn't find it very amusing and I probably came close to getting the poop beat out of me.  One of them stopped right in front of my van with her arms crossed in front of her.  She was really mad and I was a little scared because i'm not a fighter kind of chick.  I'm more of a cry and lose bodily functions kind of girl.  However, I have this anxiety/temper thing that comes out when i'm feeling really stressed so instead of ignoring her I held up my hands and waved them at her and mouthed the words "You can go now" and I rolled my eyes at her. I don't know why I do the things I do. Seriously. It was dumb and i'm lucky she didn't break my face into pieces.  Either way, I managed to get my daughter to where she needed to be and then I sobbed like a newborn baby when I finally got out of the city and had merged onto the freeway to head home.  Cause that's totally normal to cry when you get out of the city, right?  Right?  Okay, moving on...

Thursday's drive was actually not that bad.  I was starting to get my groove back and feeling like I was earning my city driving stripes and then Friday happened.  I was trying to merge onto I-84 West and I couldn't even merge because traffic was backed up onto the off ramp which basically means, "You ain't  going anywhere".  We sat in traffic for over 30 minutes because there was an accident that had two of the three lanes blocked.  By the time we passed the accident, the lanes just opened up and we made it to her class, but she was really late. Feeling stressed to the max, I made it out of downtown and I raced over to Trader Joe's, fought like hell for a parking spot and then drove to Winco cause when you're already in hell, why not just stay for awhile?  I barely had enough time to go home and unload all of the groceries before I had to drive back into the city to pick up my daughter.  Getting into the city wasn't so bad, but getting out was another story.  The freeway was a parking lot.  Luckily I know a shortcut thanks to my hubby so it could've been much worse. We had to stop at another store on the way home to get medicine because my 8 y/o broke her toe by doing gymnastics in the house (after I told her numerous times she was going to break something but no one listens to me) and I was a dummy and forgot to buy it earlier. I got home just before 5 pm.  I felt like collapsing onto the floor in the fetal position and drooling on myself, but my joints were throbbing so I lathered myself up with joint cream instead.

I admire anyone who can drive around big cities like it's no big deal.  It is a big deal for me.  I'm tempted to move to a small, country town out in the middle of nowhere where the only other residents are some sheep and maybe a couple of goats.   I'm also in awe of bus drivers.  They are like rockstars to me now.  Forget the Biebs.  Do you honestly think he could drive a gigantic bus in downtown Portland without plowing people over or peeing his pants?  I don't think so!  Seriously though, I would rather clean public toilets using my own toothbrush than to be a TriMet driver in Portland.  Okay, so maybe I would use my husband's toothbrush instead, but still, that would be the most terrifying job in the world. Forget Deadliest Catch (okay don't cause I freaking love that show) but there needs to be a show about bus drivers who drive around in the city.  Is there a show like that?  I would totally watch it, on my couch with my brown paper bag and the flop sweats.

This is a TriMet bus in case you're wondering what the hell TriMet is (image courtesy of Google):
Five days of this torture left (not that i'm counting down or anything). 

Thursday, July 18, 2013

Peanut butter hoarding

Choosy moms choose Jif, apparently every single time they go to the store (which is often).  The sad part is I was completely oblivious to the overabundance of peanut butter in my pantry until the hubby got home from work and said, "Holy hell, why do we have a million freaking jars of peanut butter?"

I replied with, "There aren't that many. Just a few" and that's when he started pulling them out of the pantry one by one and lining them up on my counter.

Holy poop! It's like we're saving up for a peanut butter armageddon or something!!!! 
Is there a 12 step program for peanut butter hoarders? Peanut butter anonymous?  Anything?  Hello, I obviously need some help here people!!!!  How is it that we have SEVEN jars of peanut butter, but yet we're constantly running out of toilet paper and have to resort to using napkins?!   You wanna know what's even more pathetic than having a bazillion jars of peanut butter? Spell checking the word "seven". Yup, guilty as charged.

So, what do you do when you have 12,000 jars of peanut butter?  You make a crap ton of peanut butter cookies (or bunner bunner cookies) as Peanut calls them.

Yes, i've shared this recipe on my blog before, but i'm going to share it again.  And then i'm going to drive to the store to buy more peanut butter.

Three Ingredient Peanut Butter Cookie Recipe (created by someone really creative and awesome on Allrecipes because there is no way I could ever come up with a recipe that didn't completely suck): 

1 cup of peanut butter (or 7 jars...kidding)
1 cup of white sugar
1 egg

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Mix ingredients together and drop onto greased cookie sheets.  Take a fork and make a criss cross pattern.  Bake for approx 6-8 minutes.  Do not burn these!  They will taste like dog poop.  You're welcome.

Tuesday, July 9, 2013

You smell like gorgonzola

I'm bored. And please spare me your, "If you're bored then you're boring" because that's telling me something I already know.  Duh.  I am boring!  Seriously though, the endless summer days just draaaaaaag on at times.  I love my kids. I do. But there are only so many, "Mom, will you get me...." or "Mom, can I have a......." or "Mom, he called me a......" that I can take without snapping.  Jeezus!!!!
Yesterday was one of those days where I kept checking Facebook like a bazillion times, hoping for some excitement, but apparently boring people have boring friends because there wasn't any good drama to speak of.  Rather just pictures of cats or food or cats eating food...sigh.  Of course it's highly possible that i've been blocked from most of my friends. I don't really blame them.  I'm kind of a whiner.  I know people hate the whiners on Facebook, but I personally have a soft spot in my heart for the negative nellies.  I'm more of a "If you can't say something nice, then come sit next to me" kinda gal.

I was so bored that I decided I was going to grab the bulls by the balls and pay some bills.  Then I realized that we have several major bills all due this pay period and my hubby doesn't get paid for almost two weeks and I nearly vomited blood from the stress.  So, now i'm bored and broke.

My boredom continued throughout the day and by the time my husband got home from work, I was excited to finally have some adult interaction.  However, my excitement was quickly squashed when I looked to my left and saw him snoring away on the couch, thus leaving me on my own to get his spawn into bed.  That hard working bastard who thinks he deserves a nap!  Geesh!!!!

To top it off i'm almost out of Bengay and i've been in a crap ton of pain lately.  My medical problems suck but since we owe about five kidneys worth of medical bills, I can't really afford to go back at the moment.  I've been lathering myself up with enough Bengay to cover the Golden Girls.  Last night Peanut turned to me and said "Momma, you really stink".   Bo's also had an endearing comment for me, "Mom, you smell like gorgonzola."  Alrighty then.  So i'm boring, broke, in pain and I smell like stinky cheese.

The worst part (aside from smelling like gorgonzola), is that I feel guilty for not being one of those perky moms with tons of energy who dresses her kids up in matchy matchy outfits and takes them to the zoo by myself.  Have you ever been to the Portland Zoo? It may not be the San Diego Zoo, but that son of a biotch is huge!  I can maybe walk through the entrance and then i'm done.  I don't have the stamina nor the patience to attempt outings with my three youngest kids on my own (my teens are gone for two weeks).   I would be on the evening news for sure.

The headline would go something like:

"Tonight's top story....A mom of five got eaten by a gorilla as she fell into his cage while attempting to tie her son's shoe.  Investigators are still trying to piece it all together and many questions still remain like why couldn't her son tie his own shoes?  Zoo employees on the scene believe the gorilla mistakingly thought she was a piece of gorgonzola cheese."

Do gorillas even like gorgonzola?

But anyways, yeah, i'm kind of a klutz.  For example last night I tried to rub some lotion on my legs as I attempted to hoist my giant leg onto the counter.  Just when my hubby was starting to get turned on and had high hopes of getting lucky (yes, sadly when you've been together for a million zillion years, all it takes is a bare leg and the hubby takes that as a sexual advance), my foot slid off the counter and I smacked my face on the counter on the way down to the floor.

Today has been much better though.  My kids woke up screaming for brownies.  My husband said no as he was walking out the door and then looked at me and said, "It's up to you."  Great, just throw me to the wolves why dontcha?

Then the phone rang.  It was my dad who sounded like something was wrong.  I started to panic as he is the only parent I have left and he already had prostate cancer about 15 years ago.  He started off the conversation with, "I have some bad news".  I braced myself and took some deep breaths.  Then he continued with, "I have to go to Portland to do some judging" (my dad is a retired circuit court judge but still works on occasion in case you're wondering).   I nervously asked him, "Ok, so what's the bad news?"  He responded with, "That is the bad news. I'll be in town for a week."   Really, dad?  I mean you couldn't just say on the phone that everything was okay?  My dad thinks he's a comedian (kinda like me), but he's not funny (kinda like me), so his jokes are never funny and are typically inappropriate (now you know who I got it from).  After I recovered from nearly having a heart attack, we started talking about other stuff.  Then the kids realized I was on the phone and they decided that was the perfect time to start screaming about brownies.
The screaming and chaos got my dad off the phone real fast and could possibly explain why he would associate coming to visit us for a week as "bad news".  I would love to see what's in his suitcase. Probably a lifetime supply of ear plugs and Tums.   I don't know, but I must end this now as my son is yelling, "Mom, come wipe my butt". Apparently tying shoes isn't the only skill we need to work on this week.

Saturday, July 6, 2013

Weekends with Peanut Layne

Well, it's official.  I'm the worst blogger in history. Yep, I am.  I'm lucky if I blog once a week at this point (on a good month).  Not to mention it takes me forever to moderate my comments so please don't feel bad if it takes me a month or longer to approve your comment.  It's not you, it's me.  ALL ME.  It's called laziness and it's contagious in our house.  I'm behind on writing blogs, reading blogs and commenting on blogs (geesh, do you think i've said the word "blog" enough?) so that's my goal for this week (to actually get blogging stuff done), along with losing 50 lbs. That's not too much to ask is it?

So, what has been going on in the Peanut Layne house you may be asking? Or maybe you're not asking at all, but who cares, because i'm gonna tell you anyways!  This weekend has been super exciting. Ok, so no, it hasn't.  Last night (Friday night), the husband and I put the kids to bed and partied, and by partied I mean we sat on the couch (separate couches because I need room to stretch out my legs, and the hubby hates the smell of my Bengay lotion) and watched a National Lampoons marathon on VH1.  The husband made a Dutch Bros coffee run which was super sweet but I knew exactly what that meant...he was going to expect sex for his good deed.  Yep, I saw right through his random act of kindness.

Before the sex the husband started complaining about not having any junk food in the house.  He had this brilliant idea to take some tortillas (I think they've been in the fridge since season 3 of know before the series turned to shit) and spread butter, cinnamon and sugar all over them.  He insisted I help him eat them, and since i'm not one to turn down sugar, I agreed.

Within about 10 minutes of eating the sugary tortillas of death, my stomach was gurgling and angry with me.  Just what you want when you're about to have sex.  I didn't have the heart to tell my husband that the entire time we were having sex, I was concentrating on bowel control.

Today the party continued as I had to run to Winco to buy groceries.  As I was walking out of Winco, I dropped our pizza face down on the parking lot ground.  Gross.  I got home and handed it over to the hubby and told him to check it for hypodermic needles before tossing it into the oven.

Speaking of the hubby he ditched me tonight so he could go a local pizza place/bar and watch a UFC fight with his buddies. Our 8 y/o daughter asked me as he was leaving, "He's not going to one of those root beer places is he? Cause those are really bad."  After I finished laughing I figured I would take this time to catch up on chick flicks but come to find out the husband set a bunch of parental controls. DAMN HIM!  Of course I hit the wrong button while cursing over the parental controls and it landed on Spongebob so my dreams of watching TV tonight have been shattered.

I wish I had more funny stuff but I got nothin.  My 5 y/o son said the strawberries I bought looked like butt cheeks.  The sad thing is, they kinda do.

Wednesday, July 3, 2013

Apple Magic Trackpad from Staples Review

I love Staples. I love Apple.  When asked to do a review by Staples for an Apple product, I couldn't say no.

My Apple Magic Trackpad arrived super quickly which is fantastic because I couldn't wait to try it out.  I have a slight Apple obsession and we have a house full of Apple products (iPhones, iPods, MacBook Pro and a couple of Mac computers).  The only thing missing in our house was an Apple Magic Trackpad.  We had a really annoying old mouse and we've been missing a mousepad for several years.  I think my daughter used it for an art project and cut it up into pieces or something. Who really knows?

For those who don't know what an Apple Magic Trackpad is, it's an amazing little gadget that replaces a mouse. It's very similar to the trackpad that is built into a MacBook, but even bigger and easier to use.  No more banging your mouse on the desk out of frustration.  This is a hassle free, one handed, multi-touch device and you will love it!  You can click, scroll, swipe and rotate with ease!  The Trackpad is cordless so no annoying wires or cords to get in your way and prevent you from doing what you want to do.


  • Works on any surface
  • Comfortable design
  • Glides smoothly
  • Great features
  • Accurate tracking
As a blogger, i'm on my MacBook or desktop a lot (probably too much) so this device comes in really handy and saves me lots of time and aggravation.   My husband works in the film industry and does many hours of professional video and photo editing, so much to my dismay, he loved my Apple Magic Trackpad so much, that he "borrowed" it and took it to work.  I don't think i'll be getting it back anytime soon, so I will be ordering an additional one in the near future for our home computer. 

Here is my Apple Magic Trackpad stealer hard at work: 

You can purchase your Apple Magic Trackpad HERE.  And while you're at it, I recommend ordering a Staples Easy Button if you have kids (or even if you don't have kids).  The kind people of Staples included one with my trackpad and my kids play with it all the time.  Heck, even my teenagers love it! 

Full disclosure: provided me with these products for review. The thoughts and opinions expressed are strictly my own. Feel free to shop their entire line of apple accessories online.

Monday, July 1, 2013

One crazy week

Oh lordy, i'm almost 40.  Okay, so 35 but still I feel old.  This week has been absolutely insane.  I know I don't usually write a weekly wrap up, but this one is definitely wrap up worthy.

It all started on Thursday with Peanut. We're going through some worrisome stuff with him that I haven't been posting about because I don't like to get all personal when it comes to the kids. I had to take him to the doctor and then over to the lab to get blood drawn.  I hate it when the kids have to get poked with needles. It's seriously heartbreaking, but Peanut did amazing and didn't shed a tear.  I was impressed, as was the lab tech.

I made it home from a long, out of town doctor's appointment with Peanut, quickly threw some dinner into the crock pot and sat down on the couch to clear my head and regroup.  I had a million things to get done before I headed out of town the following day for a Pee Book signing in Seattle, but sitting down and relaxing for a minute felt like Heaven.

Then my husband called. He was complaining of a migraine.  Both of us get migraines so I didn't think much of it.  Since it was late in the afternoon I told him he should just come home.  He had some really important stuff to get done at work, so he said he would run to the store next to his office, get some headache medicine and go back to work to finish up but that he would be home soon.  Not even 15 minutes after we hung up, he called me again which I found odd, but figured maybe he just forgot to tell me something.  However, as soon as he started talking, I could tell that something was immediately very wrong.  The first thing out of his mouth was, "I need help. My body is shutting down."  Say what?  I of course freaked out and started yelling into the phone, "What do you mean your body is shutting down?"  Inside my head I was thinking, "Can you PLEASE elaborate for me?"

He wasn't able to talk much but managed to squeak out that he was at a gas station near his work.  Then the phone went dead.  I freaked out.  I grabbed my purse and yelled at the teens to watch the younger kids and that I had to go.  The younger kids have this funky routine at the door where you have to give them a certain number of hugs and kisses (yes, we're all a little wacky in this house).  However, I didn't even say goodbye.  I grabbed my purse and ran.  I weaved in and out of traffic like Sandra Bullock from Speed.  Seriously, I don't even remember how I got to my husband, but I made it in record time.   By the time I got to him, he was slumped over the wheel and not making much sense.  I had to transfer him into my van (not an easy task when someone is close to death and weighs more than you) and then move his car so it didn't get towed.  I was driving around downtown Portland trying to find a spot to leave his car where A) It wouldn't get towed B)Wouldn't get stolen C)Wasn't too hard to parallel park as I suck at parking.

I found a place to park on a residential street and then ran back to my van.  By this point my husband was totally delirious.  He was saying he couldn't feel anything and was kind of flopping around like a fish out of water.  It was scary. Of course we hit like every single red light on the way to the hospital so i'm yelling at cars and pedestrians to get the hell out of my way.  I pulled up to the ER and jumped out of the van.  By this point my legs felt like rubber bands.  I yelled out at the vallet parking guys, "I need help".  Before I knew it an entire crew of medical people were pulling my husband out of my van and transferring him into a wheelchair.  Then he was gone.  The vallet parking guy was asking me my name so he could write it on my ticket stub thingy and my mind went blank.  I managed to remember my name after stammering for a minute and then he said, "Ma'am, I need your keys so I can move your car".  I didn't even realize it, but I had such a tight death grip on my keys that my hand was white.   I handed him the keys and a nurse took me by the arm and lead me into a back entrance.

My husband was already back in a room.  By the time I walked in, I gasped.  There were so many people in the room that I could barely move.  I was sandwiched into a tiny corner by a sink.   They were ripping off his clothes, as his pants and shoes were tossed into the air.  It was one of the worst moments of my entire life. It was something straight out of a movie or ER episode, but minus the actors and bright camera lights.  This was real life and there was nothing theatrical about it.  They hooked him up to every kind of monitor you could imagine.  Things were beeping, people were yelling, and I watched helplessly as my best friend was basically being worked on by about 20 different doctors and nurses.

His stats were stable but he still wasn't responsive.  His eyes were open and staring straight up towards the ceiling.  I feebly attempted to answer questions over the roar of emergency staff.  It was not easy, but I held myself together.  I had no choice. I was their only source of information as to who they were working on, as my husband couldn't speak at all.

He was taken back to CT for a head scan.  He had an EKG and chest x-rays.  The doc mentioned she was concerned of bleeding in his brain.  Sweet Jesus, I felt my knees buckle again.  As quickly as all of the commotion started, it became completely, eerily silent.  The room had cleared out, except for his nurse.  All I could hear was the beeping of the machines.  I broke down.  I began to cry and shake.  I felt like I was going to vomit or pass out.  I actually had a pounding headache myself, but didn't have a chance to take any pills before I ran out of my house. The nurse (who was very awesome by the way) came over and held onto my arm and said, "Come on hun. Let's go for a walk".   She took me around the floor and over to the water station where she poured me a cup of ice water.  "You were amazing in there" she said.  She went on to say how helpful I was and that they were impressed by how calm I remained and that I was able to stay focused and answer their questions.  I didn't really know how to respond, except to say "Thanks, I was just trying to get him here as quickly as I could".  I certainly didn't feel very amazing. I felt guilty for staying so calm during such an emergency.  I felt numb.  I can't explain it, but it's almost as if I was preparing myself for a bad outcome. The doctor advised me to call his family members and advise them of his condition.   I pulled out my phone and saw that I had 8 percent power and no charger. Perfect.  I still had to call the kids at home so I knew what I had to do.  I Facebooked it. I'm not proud of it, but that's the only way I knew how to update family without having to individually call or text them.  I then called the kids and gave them instructions on how to turn off the crock pot and fix dinner.  Thank goodness for the stinking crock pot or who knows what my darling children would've consumed for dinner.

I sat perfectly still in a chair while he slept. At least I think he was sleeping. I'm not really sure where he was to be honest.  It was like he had crossed over into some kind of special place, and I wasn't included. I cried a little, but mostly just sat in my chair.  I had so many thoughts racing through my mind.  I thought about my kids at home.  I thought about my husband.  I thought about Peanut's test results.  I thought of things I never thought i'd have to think of.  A few hours after his CT scan, my husband turned his head towards me and asked, "How did I get here?" Hearing him ask me a question was the best feeling ever.  A wave of relief washed over me, but i'll admit, I was still scared shitless.  I started telling him the sequence of events, and of course he didn't remember any of it.  It took him a little while, but the more we talked, the more he started to make sense.  My husband was coming back to me, little by little.

After several bags of IV fluid, some heavy duty pain meds in his IV and some anti-nausea medicine, he was looking more like his old self.   His doctor came in and said that his potassium levels were really low so she's assuming this was a bad mixture of dehydration, low potassium levels and a killer migraine.

After what felt like an eternity they unhooked him from the monitors and let him walk around.  He was able to go to the bathroom, so they agreed he could go home that night, provided he follow up with his doc first thing next week.  This was music to my ears because when we first arrived, I was told he would most likely be transferred upstairs and would remain there for several days.

By the time we got home it was almost morning.  I told my husband there was no way in hell I was leaving him to go to Seattle.  I mean what kind of wife leaves her husband who had just been in the hospital a few hours prior to drive three hours out of town?  This one right here.  He insisted that I go, and since he's a workaholic he was going to be heading back to work anyways so I went.

My trip to Seattle was fun! I was a free woman for 12 hours.  TWELVE HOURS!  I didn't even know what to do with myself!  I was able to pee alone multiple times and the radio station was all mine.  I cranked up the tunes and fought Friday afternoon Tacoma traffic. Holy poop, I don't even know how people can live there and deal with the traffic.  It's insane.

I got to hang out with fellow Pee Book author, Rebecca from the Frugalista Blog.  It was tons of fun to chat with a fellow blogger about bloggy related stuff.

Here we are dressed in black.  
We didn't plan to match.  Or did we? I'll never tell......

I would like to point out that i'm actually wearing a dress.  I'm pretty sure the last time I wore a dress was my wedding day. Unless you count the hospital gowns that I gave birth in. Okay those definitely don't count.

Here I am signing a book.
I look so serious. I don't mess around when i'm trying to spell and write at the same time. 

I made it back to Portland around midnight.  The kids were in bed and I was attacked by my husband shortly after I walked in the door (damn dress).   I thought that things were getting back to normal but the following morning I was woken up by screams of terror coming from the family room.  I heard something about "Flounder Junior is dead".  Flounder Junior is (was) Bo's fish that she won at her school carnival back in May.

You may have seen his mug on my Facebook page. 
Upon arriving at the crime scene, I saw Flounder Junior lying lifeless on the hard wood floor, along with a toddler standing suspiciously close to his bowl.  We still don't know if he plunged to his death, or if Peanut had something to do with it, but he was our only witness and he wasn't saying much.

Poor Bo's was super upset as this was our first family pet and his death was pretty traumatic for all of us.  When she realized that dead fish typically get flushed down the toilet, she became absolutely hysterical, so we decided to have a funeral for Flounder instead.

Yes, while you were probably out doing normal Saturday night stuff like strolling the aisles of Target or going out to dinner or a movie, we had a funeral....for a fish.

Flounder's casket

Saying our goodbyes to Flounder Junior 

The griever and the potentially guilty party

By the time Sunday rolled around I figured things had to calm down.  They just had too.  But it ended up being 97 degrees on Sunday.  We don't have air conditioning since it rarely ever gets that hot in Portland.  I made the mistake of trying to cook dinner on the stove (chili of all things because nothing goes better with 97 degree heat than a steaming bowl of hot ass chili, right?) and I cooked corn bread in the oven at nearly 400 degrees because i'm smart.

I was so hot that I was literally dripping sweat.  I started chopping onions and slipped and almost took off part of my thumb.  Blood was squirting out all over the counter as i'm screaming for help.  I could've just ordered a pizza, but that would've been way too easy. Nope, rather we had steaming hot chili with bloody onions (literally).

Today is my 35th birthday and it's Monday.  Yay.  Nothing says "Happy Birthday you old bitch" like a Monday morning.  I don't think I slept more than an hour last night.   This morning I was woken up by my five year old son turning on the stand up fan full blast about two inches from my face.  I mean who really needs a nose and eyelashes, right?  My kids want me to take them to OMSI and buy them stuff today cause apparently once you have kids your birthday is supposed to be a special day for them.  How silly of me.  So, as soon as I post this i'm off to the kitchen to cook blueberry muffins.  Hopefully i'll actually get to eat one before they are gone.  Then i'm spending the rest of the day curled up in the freezer.  It's supposed to be another scorcher.  Or maybe it's just the hot flashes kicking in.