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!!!

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. 

The most amazing tofu tacos you've probably never had

I know what you're thinking...tofu? BARF!!! Is this chick for real? But before you click out of this post and take me off of your blogroll forever, please just hear me out. These tofu tacos are so ridiculously good you'll want to slap your husband (okay, so you'll want to slap him anyways, for reasons other than tofu tacos, but this gives you a valid reason).

It's extremely unusual for me to post recipes on my blog because as you all know, I suck at all things domestic, but on the rare occasion when I do actually hit one out of the park, I figure it's only fair that I share my success and wisdom with others. Sure, there may be some of you out there who've achieved successful careers, nice homes, fancy cars, vacation condos on tropical islands that I can't even pronounce, but I can cook tofu. We all have our special talents and do the best with what we are given. 

I'll admit that a block of tofu straight out of the package looks pretty unappetizing (AKA pretty damn gross). It kinda reminds me of a giant Magic Clear Eraser but it's wet, slimy and crumbles like blue cheese when you touch it. I haven't had a chance to clean my tub with it yet to see if it has the same cleaning capabilities as a MCE, but I'll get back to you on that one later. 

My husband and I discovered the awesomeness that is tofu tacos at this amazing, trendy restaurant in Bend (which will remain nameless because I would die of embarrassment if they saw my photos which are pitiful compared to their artistic culinary masterpieces). We loved these silly little tofu tacos so much that we were going daily for awhile. Not only did we start to feel a little stalkerish about going to the same restaurant and ordering the same food item every single day, but dining out really starts to add up. We needed to figure out a way to make them ourselves so we could save some money and completely pig out on them without judgment (e.g. someone taking secret cell phone photos of us stuffing our pie holes with tacos) in the privacy of our own home. 

Although we have no idea what the recipe or ingredients are in the tofu tacos at our favorite restaurant (my husband first suggested that we should ask them for their recipe but I was like, "Um, babe, we eat here everyday. Do you really think they're going to just hand us their super top secret recipe so we can copy it and stop spending money at their restaurant? Probably not!"), so we decided to try our own knock off tofu tacos.  Although they don't look anywhere near as pretty as their tacos, the knock offs turned out incredible and now my husband and I are literally gorging ourselves right into the next pant size.

Ingredients you will need for the tacos:
white corn tortillas
olive oil 
tofu (I bought two firm blocks because I wanted leftovers)
cajun seasoning (I use Weber N'Orleans Cajun Seasoning)
lime juice
Salad/spinach greens or cabbage or both for the topping (I like both but my hubby hates cabbage so I leave it off)
cilantro for the topping
jalapeno peppers for the topping (optional)

Ingredients you will need for the spicy chipotle sauce: 
1 can of chipotle peppers in adobo sauce  (you wont use an entire can unless you want to set your mouth on fire, which I did the first time I made this sauce....lesson learned)
3/4 to 1 cup of mayo (didn't measure out very accurately..told ya I sucked at cooking)
1/2 cup of sour cream (feel free add more if you want)
1/4 tsp of minced garlic (I may have added a couple of these as I love garlic)
lime juice to taste
lemon juice to taste

Directions for the tofu tacos:
*Drain the tofu, blot well with paper towels, cut blocks in half width wise into two equal pieces and then cut into smaller cubes
*Add cajun seasoning into a plastic bag or container. Squirt tofu squares with some lime juice. Shake cajun seasoning onto tofu until it's well coated
*Cook tofu on a skillet over medium heat with a little olive oil until it starts to turn slightly crispy
*Warm corn tortillas on a frying pan with a small amount of oil and heat on both sides
*Cut up cilantro, salad greens/spinach, cabbage, and jalapenos and set aside

Directions for the spicy chipotle sauce:
Add mayo, sour cream, minced garlic, 1/2 can of adobo peppers, and a few squirts of lemon and lime juice. Blend in blender (I use my NutriBullet) until smooth. I will admit, I adjusted amounts until it tasted good to me (adding more lemon or lime for example) so there is no right or wrong way to make this sauce. I know, I'm super duper helpful.

Once you warm the corn tortillas on the skillet (a couple of min on each side usually) with a little oil, it's time to arrange your tacos. There is no exact science to this process. I put about 4-5 cubes of tofu in each taco, add some salad greens, cilantro and the spicy chipotle sauce on top. My final step is to squirt some additional lime juice on top (I love lime juice if you haven't noticed). You can also add some freshly sliced up jalapenos on top, but I find these tacos are spicy and hot enough without them so do what you wish but definitely have some water nearby because these tacos have quite the kick.

I know, I know, you're super jealous of my mad food photography skills, along with my fancy puke green fine china--courtesy of Walmart

I promise you that these babies taste so much better than they look. And I should probably mention that I added WAY more spicy chipotle sauce than a normal person would (hence the reason why my mouth was on fire). You probably wont want to start with this much sauce and had I not dumped a crapton of sauce all over the tacos, you actually would've been able to see what they looked like underneath (sorry). I told you there's a very good reason why I don't blog about cooking. I promise these tacos are good, and before you know it, you'll be buying the large boxes of tofu at Costco.

Valentine Schmalentines

I apologize for not posting every day like I promised. I haven't been in a very good place lately. I don't know if it's winter depression, or maybe some leftover, residual post partum depression or what, but I've been down and out and just blah about everything. The motivation has been sucked out of me like a vacuum and all I really want to do is pull the covers over my head and sleep (which can't and wont happen because I have a hyperactive ten month old who is now taking steps on his own).

So, it wasn't really any big surprise that I would be blah about this year's Valentines Day as well.  Not that I was ever really all that excited over it. I'll admit, I'm not very romantic. In fact I'm pretty dude-like in many aspects. If you absolutely must have an example, I just finished clipping my toenails on the couch and then I stuffed my face with nachos (after going on a taco binge earlier today). The sexiness is just radiating out of me today so ladies hide yo men!

Don't get me wrong, I'm very happy for those of you who have cheesy, romantic, flower filled, gushy Hallmark card holidays. Everyone should feel loved and appreciated, and just because I'm having a woe is me, poopy flavored lollipop of a year, doesn't mean that everyone should suffer (although I hope you all choke on your chocolates....KIDDING.....I choked on a Mexican pizza many years ago at Los Dos Amigos and it was pretty damn terrifying). 

My husband isn't much better. If it were up to him holidays wouldn't even exist at all.  Yes, it's true, he was super duper romantic on our first Valentine's Day, but let's just say that over the years it's just sort of become another day for us on the calendar.  Last night we had to run to Safeway so while we were out we grabbed a box of chocolates that were on clearance and then upgraded our coffee purchases to include travel mugs (they were offering them for half off).

Happy Valentine's Day honey, here's some discounted chocolates and a plastic coffee cup

I may sound bitter, but I swear, I'm really not at all. I'm terrible with flowers. TERRIBLE! I'm like the Black Dahlia of the gardening world where all living plants come to die a slow, torturous death (luckily I'm better with children, right?) And I don't wear jewelry, other than my wedding ring and my plain silver hoop earrings that I bought at Target for five bucks many (many) years ago. Romantic trips are out too because, well, do I even need to say it? We have four young kids still living at home.  

There is one teeny tiny little thing that I wish my husband would do that doesn't even cost any money, and I've hinted at it so many times that I've honestly just given up at this point. And that's okay. I know there are several things on his list that I've neglected, despite him nagging at me, so we're even, and that my friends is marriage. It's a compromise, and there are lots of good days and bad days, and many in between, just okay days. He shows his love in many other ways, as he's an amazing father and provider (hello, the poor man works his tail off so his wife can stay home with their 10,000 kids) and he does lots of little things for me that I probably take for granted and don't even recognize half the time. For example, sometimes he'll pick up little items for me on his lunch break, like a new pair of shoes, a pair of pj's, a dessert he knows I like, etc. He grabs our favorite vegan chicken strips at Trader Joes which we consume late at night after the kids are in bed, sometimes even with wine! Bonus! 

I don't need a dozen roses or a fancy box of chocolates to know that he loves me and is committed to our family. In fact, tonight we're actually celebrating V-Day as a family, which we've also done in previous years, and those are always my favorite Valentine memories to be perfectly honest. The kids will only be with us for so many years and once they're gone we'll have many years of intimate dinners and weekend getaways.  So for now it's quick trips to Safeway for discounted chocolates and plastic coffee cups. But hey, for dinner we're having cheese fondue (I make the best cheese fondue by the way), along with some chocolate fondue for dessert.

I hope that all of you have a wonderful, amazing, love filled Valentine's Day.  And if you're not having a wonderful, magical V-Day, let me leave you with this little fun filled image.....once I finish posting this, I will be heading back to my bathroom to continue scraping the stuck on, sticky icky Amoxicillin which spilled out all over my drawer, ruining what little make up I owned (it's a sign that I should never wear make up), with a butter knife. 

You're welcome.

Six Months

In just six short little months, our lives have become almost unrecognizable. As you already know, we had a beautiful, chubby, baby boy in March.  In July we packed up and moved the fam from Portland to our dream location.  My husband found an amazing new job in his field, and we were extremely fortunate to find a rental house right away. I should mention that finding a rental or even a house to buy in this very desirable tourist town is like an episode of Survivor. People will straight up cut you to be the first one in line at an open house!  Unfortunately our two oldest kids (who are technically grown now but they'll always be kids to me), decided to stay back in Portland, so we're now a teeny tiny little family of six. You're probably thinking that means we're going to have more kids, but I can assure you that there will definitely be no more kids in the Peanut Layne household. My husband finally got fixed a few months ago (I know, I know, took him long enough, right?) but that will be in a separate post called, "Bringing four kids to my husband's vasectomy" so keep an eye out for that one.
 

Goodbye Concrete Jungle

Hello Beautiful Desert!

My boys are no longer home-schooled. That's right ya'll! I retired my role as a teacher and sent my boys off to public school in September.

First Day of School

 

 And you know what? They absolutely love it! I had so many fears, panic attacks leading up to the first day of school such as:

Will my youngest be able to wipe his own butt?
Will they get lost heading from the bus to classroom?
Will they say something off the wall and crazy that only home-schooled kids would say?

Okay who am I kidding?

Will they repeat things that they heard their dear old mom say?

But so far they adore their new school and are already making friends. And I adore the fact that from 8:30-3:30 pm, my house is strangely quiet and i'm getting lots of one on one time with Seanie Mac. Speaking of Seanie Mac, he recently cut two new baby teeth, is recovering from his first cold, is eating baby food twice a day, and weighs more than a baby elephant. No, seriously, this kid is HUGE! He's 21 pounds and about 28 inches long, wearing a size 5 diaper and 12-18-24 month clothes. And my arms totally look like Popeye arms from carrying him around the house, but muscles are in so that's good, right?

My Big Bald Cutie Patootie 

 It's funny but I never realized just how unhappy I was until we moved and I was forced to make some major changes in my life.  Before we moved I was in a rut. I was lonely, bored, and miserable, but after nearly seven years in the city, I began to think that my life was as good as it was going to get.  But, I was so very wrong.

It's incredible how a simple change in scenery, putting the boys in school, forcing myself to get out of the house and make some friends, and finally returning to my blog and writing again, is helping me slowly find my way back to myself.  

And boy oh boy, do we have some amazing scenery here! It really does take some effort to be unhappy here.  People are so ridiculously friendly and one simply cannot go anywhere without having a conversation with someone. The cashier will definitely ask you questions about your day, and then proceed to give you a brief synopsis of their entire life story (sometimes complete with medical history).  I found this a little odd at first as I was rarely spoken to in Portland except a quick and forced, "Hi, did you find everything okay?" My big city attitude is slowly disappearing, along with the heavy traffic anxiety induced road rage. I think i've only flipped the bird once in the three months that we've lived here (okay twice) and that's a big improvement from my previous finger flipping numbers.

It's Easy to Love Where You Live
When You Live Here

 

And before you roll your eyes and think i'm living a Pinterest perfect life or something, i'm still not, nor will I ever be. This morning I woke up to my middle son screaming, "MOM, HELP" at the top of his lungs. As I dashed out of bed, nearly breaking a toe on the door frame in the process, I entered the bathroom just in time to see the clogged, poopy filled toilet, cascade out of the toilet bowl and all over my used to be clean floor.  So yeah, you're very welcome for that mental picture (I apologize if you were eating a sandwich or something). Instead of getting my boys picture ready for picture day (insert groan here), I was lecturing them on their excessive use of toilet paper, throwing towels down all over the floor to absorb the poop water, and Febreezing my bathroom.  Yes, some things will never change my friends.

The Post It Note Anniversary

My husband and I recently celebrated our tenth wedding anniversary. We've been a couple much longer than ten years, but we dated for a while before my dear sweet hubby finally popped the question (yes, he was one of those "I'm never getting married" types when I met him). Over the years we've had some good anniversaries and some not so good ones. Then there are the completely forgotten ones, and yes, i'm also guilty of forgetting a couple of our anniversaries (men, you aren't the only ones who forget, or maybe you are and i'm just a really crappy wife).

According to tradition different anniversary years have themes.  The first year is the paper anniversary, second is cotton, third is leather, etc. These themes supposedly help you determine which type of gift to buy your spouse.  For those of you approaching your tenth anniversary, i've made it very easy for you to find the perfect gift because I decided the tenth anniversary should be called the Post It Note anniversary because if your husband is anything like mine, he doesn't remember a damn thing you told him. Ever. Unless it has to do with sex because then he totally remembers, but anything else, you might as well be talking to the dog.

Here's a classic example:
I had an ultrasound scheduled for 8 am on Monday morning to check on baby's growth, my fluid levels, and basically to see if he's ready to be born because my OB was thinking of inducing me this week due to some recent complications.  I've known since last Thursday that I needed this ultrasound. I probably told my dear sweet hubby no less than 50 times about this upcoming appointment. We've talked about it, i've explained my doctor's reasoning for it, and i've explained that he will need to take our daughter to school because I wont be back in time to drive her.  I made sure there was NO possible way he could forget about this ultrasound appointment.

Last night I informed my daughter that her dad would be driving her to school in the morning. Her reaction was, "Huh? Why?" but apparently she wasn't the only confused person in the room.  My dear sweet hubby turns his head and gives me that look. Those of you who have been with someone for more than five years probably know this look well. It's kind of a cross between utter confusion and the stink eye, mixed with the squinchy face, and add a little bit of constipation on the side. I gave him a chance to redeem himself, took a deep breath and said, "Babe, you know why. I wont be here. REMEMBER I have an 8 am ultrasound in the morning?" to which he replies, "Um no, you haven't said anything about that at all"

This is where I had to excuse myself from the room because spousal homicide is highly frowned upon.

I started to wonder if maybe it wasn't my husband's fault and perhaps he truly had a hearing problem and needed some medical attention, but then I remembered that the man can watch soccer, football and UFC weigh ins and remember every last detail for weeks so I don't think dragging him to a hearing loss specialist would be very useful. Besides who wants to pay hundreds of dollars for a doctor to tell me what I already know...."Ma'am, your husband's hearing is perfectly fine. He just apparently suffers from selective hearing loss whenever you speak."

 So ladies, save the expensive golf clubs for another year, forget about the stupid chocolates or smelly flowers (because seriously what man really wants flowers) go to Costco and buy an industrial sized box of Post It Notes. Write important shit down and slap it on his forehead (you can decide on the level of gentleness you place them on his head) so he cannot "forget".  Because if your husband is anything like mine, the next time you tell him about an appointment, a meeting, a birthday party, a sporting event, basically anything that doesn't involve him getting sex, he will look at you and say, "Wait, what? No, you never told me that."
 

Watch Out Maddie, There's a New Dancer in Town

Tap tap tap. Is this thing on? Hello? Okay, okay so I know I totally vanished off the face of the blogosphere (is that even a word?)  I could give you my reasons but they are sad and depressing and who the hell needs that, right? Anyways, I'm back and better than ever with a few (a lot) more grey hairs than I had a year ago.

First off, I lost about forty pounds.  At least half of it was stress related, but hell, I'll take it.  With the weight loss came a big transformation.  As my depression started to lift, I started focusing on myself and my needs since everything has been nothing but kids, kids, kids for the last eighteen years (oh yeah, I have an 18 year old now…gulp).

I danced a teeny tiny bit in college and loved it, but then I got pregnant with child number three and pregnant women and ballet leotards don't mix, so I quit. I didn't think I'd ever get to take a dance class ever again, but recently I started looking around and there are actually quite a few options for beginner adults who want to learn to dance. Lucky for me, a friend said she also wanted to take dance classes, so we signed up together which made it a little less intimidating.

Although I signed up a couple of weeks before my first class started, I waited until the day of my first class to buy my dance gear. Yes, I'm a procrastinator of the worst kind (just ask my children when their school supplies or Halloween costumes are purchased). There is one main dance wear store in our city that is pretty much the motherlode of all things dance (tap, jazz, ballet, Zumba, gymnastics, probably even stripper attire although I didn't look--next visit).

Since I'm a big chicken and was too afraid to walk into the dance wear store myself, I forced my husband and two young boys to come with me. Much less stressful than going alone, right? Yeah. Sometimes these things sound better in my head than in reality.  Of course the boys thought it was great fun running around the circular racks grabbing sequined hats and feathered boas while I stumbled around the store being completely ignored by two employees who looked like actual professional dancers…tall, thin, elegant, and oblivious to the fact that I'm stumbling around their store like a husband lost in a lingerie shop on Valentine's Day.

I feel your pain Julia Roberts. We are the same.  

After I gathered up some nerve I walked up to the counter and said, "I need help" and one of them took pity on me and said, "Okay, let's get you fitted for shoes."  Of course I just had to wear my black flats without socks that smell so bad that you can't take them off without tossing them into the back of the closet, shutting the door and running away.  They are beyond Odor Eaters. They really should be burned, but I'm pretty sure they are flame retardant at this point. I have no doubt that my feet were disgusting and smelly but at this point I had bigger problems. Like how I was going to squeeze my sweaty, swollen foot into a slipper that was crinkled up to look like an elf shoe made to fit a Build a Bear.  I did manage to get my foot into the shoe, but my toes curled up and the thought of dancing in them made me a little stabby. So she handed me another crinkled up elf shoe that honestly looked the same size as the previous elf shoe, but she swore it was bigger and this time my toe went to the end of the shoe which I guess is how they are supposed to fit. Whatever. I did briefly notice that there were two elastic straps hanging out, but I'll explain more on that later. 

After the shoes she said, "Now you just need to go find something comfortable to wear" and went back behind the counter.  Yeah, she totally abandoned me. Bitch. I looked out into a sea of various colored strappy spandex items and honestly felt like I was going to cry as I thumbed through racks and racks of leotards that claimed to be adult sized, but looked like they had a better chance of fitting my five year old.  Let's just say that the majority of these leotards are not cut for women with breasts, especially women like myself who breastfed four babies if you know what I'm saying. Mmmhhhhmmm. 

I finally found the plain, more modest looking black cotton leotards that didn't look totally Mormon, but at least allowed me to wear a bra and then grabbed some stretchy pants. I was going to buy some pink tights and a wrap around skirt but after trying on the first leotard with some short shorts, I'm glad I didn't. Did you know that they make about a million variations of tights? It's really kind of ridiculous. My husband and sons had already abandoned me at the dance store at this point so I ended up buying the first outfit that didn't give me a wedgie and left. Who am I kidding? They ALL gave me a wedgie.  

When I got home I still had a couple of hours left until class. I tried on my shoes and couldn't for the life of me figure out how to tie the elastic straps. First I tried to criss cross the straps and tie them behind my ankle. Not only did my foot look like a pig in a blanket, but I'm pretty sure I was mere seconds away from amputation, as my foot started to turn fifty shades of purple. I wondered if dancers just didn't have ankles? Or maybe I  had cankles?  

In a panic I started YouTubing things like, "How do you tie ballet shoes?" Several video tutorials popped up. Thank goodness for YouTube for realizing that people are stupid. It took a while but sure enough I found a video with the exact same brand of shoes that I had purchased and it said, "How to sew the elastic straps on your child's ballet slippers" SEW? Say what? Of course the black swan at the dance store failed to mention anything about sewing as I would've laughed in her face. Or perhaps she did, but I was too busy focusing on the fact that my toes were morphing into curly fries to notice. Either way I broke into a cold sweat. 

This is some bullshit. 

I gathered up my sewing supplies and began to sew. It took me over an hour to sew down the straps on shoe number one but I did it. As I shoved my sweaty, swollen foot back into my elf shoe, my heart sank. I sewed the straps on backwards.  No, really. I did. 

I threw the shoe across the room and started to think maybe I should take up a different hobby. A book club was sounding pretty darn good at that moment.  I cut the threads and started over. I finished the shoes just in time as my husband was calling me on his way home from work to ask if our daughter was ready for soccer practice. Daughter? Wait, I have kids? CRAP! Yeah, that was my reaction as I was so focused on sewing my shoes, I pretty much forgot that I had a child who was now late for practice. 

The next hour was complete chaos but somehow the husband and kids made it to soccer practice, while I made it to the dance studio, found my friends and got ready for class. Since it was listed as a "beginner's class" I was expecting that we would introduce ourselves, learn the positions (which I had long since forgotten) and take things slow and easy. Nope. Not at all how things went.  As soon as we set down our purses, it was pretty much "Okay ladies, line up at the barre and repeat these sequences after me" as she rattled off about fifty moves at a hundred miles an hour, followed by, "And then we'll turn and do it on the other side. Got it?" 

Beginner's class my ass. 

I briefly contemplated spraining my own ankle in a feeble attempt to escape any further humiliation or injury. Three of the ladies in the group were experienced dancers, who had multiple years of experience. The three of us friends who signed up together? Not so much. I'm sure we looked like an SNL skit but we hung in there until the very end, even when she was yelling out foreign words to us like, "fondu" which to me means "Oh cool we're going to the Melting Pot to dip some bread and shit into a steaming hot bowl of melted cheese" but FYI that's not what it means at all in ballet terms. 

After class I couldn't even walk down the stairs. My legs felt like Jello Pudding Pops. The next day was even worse, but today, I'm feeling okay.  I'm actually looking forward to my next class. I'm not giving up and I will become a ballerina dammit, even if it kills me. 

Maybe for Sia's next music video she will need a future version of herself in which she's a bit older, saggier mom to multiple kids, sitting in the carpool lane in her pajamas eating two day old soggy crackers out of her daughter's lunch box. If that's the case then watch out Maddie Ziegler cause I totally got this. 

My before class photo and after class photo

and yes, I should've gone to the bar after class and 

maybe I would've had I been able to feel my legs...

I survived the great snowpocalypse in Portland. Sort of. Stop laughing.

We live in Portland, which means there's usually a pretty good chance we'll make it through winter without any snow.   Since it's February, I assumed we had survived another winter without the annoying white stuff.  If it does happen to snow here in the beautiful, quirky, Pacific Northwest, then you hear it described as a "Snowpocalypse" or "Arctic Storm" or "Blizzard", etc.  It's a tad overdramatic, I get it, but we Portlanders are very theatrical people.

On Thursday I drove the kids to school like any normal day.  There was no snow that morning, although rumors were starting to swirl that a "storm" was a brewing.   Within a few hours of dropping them off, it began to snow.  My younger boys were eagerly standing by the window, thrilled to see the first signs of snow flakes falling, and were already hounding me about going outside to build a snowman.  Our puppy, Olive, was deeply disturbed by this strange white substance falling out of the sky and wouldn't stop barking.

Olive with a snow mustache: 

By noon the snow was coming down pretty good and was actually starting to stick. I knew what this meant. Life as we knew it was over.  OVER!  The city would soon be shuttin down and boy did it ever.  When Starbucks closes early, you know that the shit is about to hit the fan!  By 1 PM I was getting frantic emails and phone calls from the school district saying all schools were closing early and I needed to come pick up the kids. 

The scene in our city was total chaos.  People sliding all over the road, cars parked on the side of the road, some cars were stuck, etc.   It's true that the Pacific NW gets clowned pretty much all over the country for not knowing what to do when it snows--and they're right. We don't. 

OK, we get it people from Wisconsin and Minnesota and other places where it's so cold your breast milk freezes as soon as you step outside. We are hipster dumbasses who drive small, energy efficient cars and don't know how to handle snow, but we can drive in a torrential downpour like nobody's business.  OK, so maybe we suck at that too. Never mind. 

Anywho, these are photos I found on the Fox 12 Oregon's Facebook page: 

As you can see, venturing out of the house has been pretty difficult these past few days, so i've been stuck at home since Thursday afternoon with five kids and a dog.  Five kids and a dog in case you missed it the first time. 

This describes how I felt by Saturday, errrr, Friday afternoon: 

School was cancelled on Friday and again today. I think last weekend was the first weekend I can think of in a very long time, where I didn't leave the house at all.  Not once.  Not even to walk across the street to get the mail.  

Anytime a car was brave enough to drive down our street I wanted to yell out the window, "Please, take me with you" but they never stopped.  Those bastards didn't even stop to hand me some booze or chocolate!  What the hell is the matter with people these days?! 

So pretty much everyone and everything has been getting on my nerves.  My kids are currently trying to kill each other with their bare hands as we speak so there is really no need to watch the Olympics. I have the real life Hunger Games taking place at my house, folks.  My dog keeps tracking in muddy paw prints all over the floor and i'm about ready to slip some Glad bags over her hooves.  My house looks like, well, like five kids and a dog live in it.  I watched more Netflix than I care to admit.  I drank way too much coffee, which means chronic insomnia so getting up tomorrow morning is going to be a beast. I'm still braless and in my pajamas and haven't washed my hair since, geez, when the hell did I last wash my hair?!  

The good news is the rain is back and the snow has turned to ice and it's slowly melting so school should be back in session tomorrow.  Then I can get back to the important things like cleaning my house, paying bills and the other super responsible things I do during the day when my hubby is at work and the kids are at school. Yeah, right! Who am I kidding?  I'll be curled up in the fetal position, rocking back and forth while sucking my thumb and reminiscing about how I survived the great Snowpocalypse of 2014.  

How to drive me crazy on Facebook

Facebook.  Ah, glorious Facebook. I know there have been thousands, perhaps millions of excellent blog posts from many talented bloggers about the bazillion reasons why certain Facebooker's get on our nerves. I can't compete with those bloggers so i'm not even going to try, because i'm ridiculous. I typically agree with the majority of these posts and laugh hysterically because i'm usually guilty of breaking a few of the rules (okay a lot of them).  For example I know I post way too many pictures of my dog.  And I probably talk about her a little more than I should....

My dog pooped on my floor. 

My dog is the cutest dog ever. 

My dog is smarter than your dog.
My dog....
yeah, go ahead and cyber slap me. I can take it (no, I can't)...

But since you asked, here is a pic of my darling baby....

oh you didn't ask? My bad. 

Anywho, you get the point.  People can be really annoying on Facebook. I'm annoying, you're annoying, we're all annoying! It's part of what makes Facebook so darn fun.

So here are some things that bug me, not that you should care or change who you are or anything because really who gives a poop if you annoy people?   

People who write a post asking for suggestions or advice.  No, there's nothing annoying or wrong with that.  Geesh, what kind of a monster do you think I am? Don't answer that....However, if you end your question with, "Now GO" I kinda want to slap you upside the head with an octopus.  I mean is this really necessary?  I know it's urgent for you to find the perfect dance studio for your precious Sophie right NOW even though you don't plan on signing her up for dance classes until next year, or which restaurant you should eat at with your husband next month, or which brand of toilet paper leaves the least amount of fuzzies on your butt, but really do I have to do it right NOW?  My response will always be the same, "Sure, let me get right on that, as soon as i'm done waxing my b-hole."

People who post pictures of their feet.  It's okay if you do this. We can still be friends, but please stop it right now.  I don't like feet.  Flip flop season makes me cringe.  And no, I don't wear Teva's with socks, but it's darn tempting.

If you grab your poor unsuspecting toddler who's wearing nothing but a dirty diaper sagging to his knees with a lovely mixture of spaghetti-o's and chocolate (it is chocolate, right?) smeared on his face,  and yet you are somehow conveniently dolled up like you're ready to hit the club, then you might just be an accidental selfie taker. You aren't fooling anyone with your bad self!  If you want to post more selfies of yourself then be all means, just do it!  But please leave Tommy and his poopy pants out of it. GA-ROSS!!!!

People who post graphic gaping wound pics. I'm so sorry that half of your leg is gone from a flesh eating virus, I seriously am, but you just ruined my date with an Old Dirty Bastard from VooDoo Donut (don't worry it's vegan) so now I kinda hate you and secretly want to stab you in the eye with a dirty Tampon. Now there's a visual I could live with. 

Or how bout this one? You're having a good day until you log into Facebook and see this pile of horse shit...."Re-post this if you value our friendship. I have a pretty good idea of which of my friends will re-post this".   You do? If you already know which friends value your friendship, then why ask them to re-post how much you mean to them?  I mean I sorta liked you before you spammed my wall with a stupid chain letter, but now i'm definitely not gonna buy you that Starbucks e-gift certificate that Facebook is always pressuring me to buy. Sorry.   

Then there are those people who complain about everything.  I mean EV-ER-Y little, teeny tiny, damn thing.   These people make you tired and sympathetic towards their spouses (if you happen to see my husband go ahead and apologize to him because i'm exhausting).

"The stupid store didn't have the sheets in the size I need. I'll kill them all."

"My food is cold. Screw everyone."

"People are horrible. I hope they all get syphilis." 

"FML"  

I mean I don't mind the occasional vent or rant and i've done it before myself. I'm more of a glass half empty kinda girl myself so I get it.  Sometimes we need a sympathetic ear and there is no one else around except for a 3 year old watching Blues Clues who could care less about your problems.  Please by all means vent away if you had a lousy day, BUT what really bugs me are the negative nellies who also love to rant about how sick and tired they are of everyone else's negative crap on Facebook.  I think somebody needs a doggy bag to pick up their own poo. What do you think? 

The house cleaner.  And I don't mean someone who scrubs toilets.  Nope. I'm talking about those who constantly threaten others with biological Facebook war with things like, "I'm cleaning up my friends list on Thursday so some of you may get deleted. But don't take it personal. I just have a lot of stuff going on in my life and need to de-stress"   Well then, why wait until Thursday?  I'll make things easier on ya.  Unfriend.

Another thing that gets me are people who use Facebook as their own personal divorce court.  Divorce is hard, I get it. I've been through one myself, but do you have to let everyone on your friend's list know every single marital problem you've ever had?  Write a rap about your baby mama drama like Eminem does, but please for the love of Poptarts, keep the passive aggressive crap off of my timeline!   We get it. You chose the wrong partner.  No need to shout it from the rooftop that you married a douchenugget.

And the next time I see several of these inspirational type quotes posted in a row, i'm sending you a picture of my stretch marks. They're extra sexy. You're welcome.

Phew, I feel better already! So now that I got all of that out of my system, who wants to be my Facebook friend? 

*Disclaimer: This post is not meant to be taken seriously.  Please do not get offended and unfriend me because I will cry. 

That one time when I tried to breastfeed the dog

I know I keep repeating myself like a toddler these days..."Hey mom, you know what?  Hey mom, you know what?" Yeah, like that.  But seriously, my life feels like a cheesy horror flick and i'm the main character that just wont die off (but without the bonus of having oversized, perky breasts).  So once again, I find myself apologizing for not being around much to blog.

I'm exhausted.  I mean ex....haus....ted.   I've been going to bed earlier than I ever have in my life thanks to Olive waking me up at the butt crack of dawn, but i'm still dog ass tired in the morning.  And I even look and probably smell like a dog too because I can't even remember the last time I washed my hair, shaved my legs (or other parts), or put on make up, or wore clothes that didn't have remnants of last night's dinner.  Yep, i'm a sexy bitch all right.

I'm so exhausted that the other day I was sitting on the couch like a zombie, when Olive jumped up on the couch next to me. I instinctively lifted up my shirt to offer her boobs (habit from breastfeeding Peanut for so dang long).  She looked at me all confused and for a split second I was thinking, "Sweet, maybe she's finally ready to wean" and that's when it hit me that I was trying to breastfeed my dog.  That's gotta be cuttin it dangerously close to rock bottom, you think?

Is this chick serious?

*Pic borrowed from Google

On Wednesday (known as my hell day because Weds are half days in our district and they are crazy), I made it to the evening where the only thing I had left to do was take Bo's to soccer practice. Okay, I could handle that, so I thought.  I got her ready to go which is always a nightmare because she's super slow to do anything and therefore she's perpetually late to everything (like my husband).  We made it to the school and found her team (which happened to be playing in the far field so by the time I made it there I sounded like an 80 year old with emphysema because i'm fat and out of shape).

I noticed right away that all of the girls were dressed in their game jerseys, black shorts, hair pulled back, etc. My daughter was wearing a pink tank top with an ice cream cone on it.  I walked up to another parent and asked, "Do they have team pictures or something?"  He looked at me like I was a moron and said, "Um, no, they have a game."  And it started in 15 min! Awesome!  So, I ran back across the field towards my minivan and I called my husband to tell him they had a game (while I was attempting to run). I was panting heavily because I don't run, not even if you hold out a giant tray of donuts to tempt me (well, okay, maybe I would run for donuts).  He automatically assumed I had gotten mugged.  Out of breath wife, apparently means muggage.  I drove home, dug through the dirty laundry for the game jersey, got back into my van and raced back to the game.  Luckily I got there in time but I was sweating like a pig and completely out of breath.  I threw my mother f#@king fold out chair on the ground (while it was still in the bag) to catch my breath and it landed on my foot, nearly slicing off a toe.  I had to act tough while inside I was screaming, "Son of a f#@king monkey loving b$#ch!!!!!"

I'm not sure how this weekend could possibly top the week I had, but i'm already on a roll. I got woken up at 5 am by Olive trying to chew my hair right off my scalp and my period showed up as well. Did I mention we have an extra soccer practice tonight and an 8:30 am game on Saturday?

Slutty Goats

Clipart provided by Clker.com

My husband and I both suffer from insomnia. This typically leads to him pestering me about sex, and me lying on the couch like a vegetable whining about being tired.

We have some very interesting conversations late at night.  A few nights ago we started talking about Bengay, which somehow lead to the topic of men putting Bengay on their balls.  I just had to Google it to believe it. I Google everything and I do mean everything.

I especially love Yahoo questions and answers though. This is what I found when I Googled, "Do men really put Bengay on their balls" (They do by the way)

Question: 
"When I put bengay on my balls, it hurts. Is that normal?"

Best Answer (by arkleseizure):
"Normal that you're putting it on (no) or normal that it hurts (I don't think normal has been established, as people don't generally do this)"

Other Awesome Answers: 
"Burning, yes....putting it on, no"

"Try putting some of your rectum. It might help you forget you have it on your balls"

"Why would you put Bengay on your balls to begin with? Usually it's used for sore muscles and clearly your balls are not a muscle".

As if the conversation couldn't possibly get more intense, we started watching Animal Planet.  Slutty goats is what happens when the husband and I try to watch an evening of educational programming together.  I'm not even sure they were actual goats but they had horns and were ramming each other and the husband said, "Wow, talk about some slutty goats.  Look at that one.  She doesn't use the old 'I have a headache excuse'.  She's ready to get some."

I have some issues with this.  For one, I highly doubt that female goat has five children to take care, a mounting pile of medical bills, and an autoimmune disorder that affects her sex drive.  However, I could be totally wrong and if I am, i'm deeply sorry. I'm sure goats have their own set of problems.  And yes, I just Googled, "Common goat problems" in case you're wondering.  It turns out goats don't have it all that great either.  They often have twins.  Egads! No wonder they suffer from chronic urinary problems.

I feel your pain goat, I do.  If you weren't a goat, and didn't smell so horrifically funky, and I could get it in writing that you wouldn't take a dump on my couch, I would so have you over for some coffee, scones and girl talk.

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).