Who's in?

Hey, I was going to wait awhile before I told you all about my 'new-old' way of living, but then Crunchy went and posted a new challenge and I was all like ummm, yeah already doin' that.  So, if you're wanting to cut back, April's the time.  Heh, heh, April's the time.  My name's April.  Heh, heh.  Oh, sorry, back to bidness.

So, we're cutting back around here.  Waaaay back.  I have some lofty goals and I'll fill you in as I go, but first things first.  This is how I'm preparing myself for the long haul:

1. I'm cleaning out every nook and cranny of my house and selling or getting rid of unwanted/ unused stuff.  This hasn't been that hard since we've only lived here 6 months and I'm not one to keep stuff.  I've made three trips to Goodwill and three trips to a consignment shop.  I've sold stuff on Craigsist and made around $65  from the consignment store.  I also took a box of books to a used book store and made $15.  Why is cleaning out stuff important to my financial picture?  Because it shows me what is important to have in this house.  I don't want to own things we don't use or spend money on more things we won't use.  I'll go into this more later.

2.  I've got Dave Ramsey's books on hold at the library.  I need motivation and I think he's the ticket.  I'll let you know more about my review of him later.  You can google Dave and watch some you-tube stuff on him.  I think he's pretty solid.  I spent a couple days reading other people's opinions on him and there aren't too many nay sayers out there.

3. umm, don't really have a three, is two enough?  I'll list goals later too.  So far, I'm having fun with this challenge.  It's a blast from the past for me, so nothing is hard.....yet.

How was the flight?

Did you all have fun flitting around like a birdie today? Yes? Why do I ask? Because I finish all the little tiny detail painting in the kitchen that I didn't tell you I hadn't finished. I made Clay come check just in case I missed a spot and we concurred....it's done!

So, I hope you had fun during that millimoment that the earth stopped rotating.

Also, my hands are very sore from all the sanding and caulking and sanding and caulking and painting and ........

When did I become an old person? If I stoop over too long, I can't get back up. At least not right away. Oh, my back, my back. Sweet Jesus, help me.

Garden Update: Clay built eight raised beds out of scrap lumber we found in the lean to. Some time this week I will drive our pickup over to, my neighbor, Rockin' Popin' Ramone's house and scoop the cow poop out of the pasture. I think I'll take a few Advil before I take on that chore.

That's it. Over and out.

When I finish a project....

the world will stop spinning and we will all float up into the air and fly around like little birdies.

Last night Clay told me I am the Tasmanian Devil at starting projects. He imitated me hammering out walls, slapping up paint, ripping up carpet all accompanied by snarls and gurgles.

I was so not listening to his jabbering. I was calmly trying to explain that I was going to take the sawsall, that has been adorning the dining room buffet for the past week nestled between marble eggs and pastel decorations, to the rotted wood in the wall to get the wall project FINISHED!

Clay went on to explain that in my hand the sawsall would become a weapon of mass destruction. He knows if I get that tool in my hand I won't be able to stop cutting.

So, he might be right.

I am the starter.

He is the finisher.

I told him that his comparing me to the Tasmanian Devil was funny, but pissing me off. Because, I just want that rotten wood out of the wall and that tool is sitting right there and couldn't he just pick the dadgum thing up, plug it in, and start hacking away?

No. He can't. He has to draw detailed diagrams, purchase tools and supplies that aren't needed, but mostly, he needs to contemplate. For days or months and at times it has been years. The man likes to think about his projects. Or should I say, my projects. After all, if I wouldn't have started pulling down wallpaper the moment I walked in the door of this house, well, we wouldn't have the gaping wound in the wall in the first place. Now would we?

Okay, I won't use the dadblam sawsall. But, I might go get a wood chisel out of the barn and see how much of the rotten wood I can dig out with that, so there!

Sylar is in Kansas!

Ellen and I saw Sylar in a local cafe a few months ago.  We took this photo, then ran for our lives!

For those of you that have never seen Heroes, then never mind.

I SAID GO OUTSIDE!!!!

Why is it so hard to get my kids to play outside today?  It's a tad windy, but the temps are in the high 50's.  

Did they forget that we bought this place so they could grow up wallowing in the dirt and becoming one with nature?  Yes, I think they did.  The long winter has damaged their little brains and they forgot that being outside can be something other than an intermittent discomfort of cold icy blasts that we endured from the van to the house.

For the love of MOTHER NATURE GO OUTSIDE!!!

I said, GO OUTSIDE!  Do you want to take a nap?  No, you don't.  No, you don't.  You never want to take a nap.  Okay never mind, you can't take a nap, GO OUTSIDE!  If you sneak back in this house one more time I'm going to lock all the doors until next November and you'll have to eat, drink, poop and pee outside!  NO, you may not poop outside, unless I lock you out of the house!  No, I'm not really going to lock you out, I was just exaggerating.  Exaggerating means to make a story bigger than it is.  Are you going to go outside now?  Yes, you have to stay out there longer than the count to twenty.  Don't count anymore, just stay out until I tell you to come in.  Yes, I'll let you come in to poop.

One day, I painted my kitchen and couldn't stop blogging about it.

Before, the kitchen was full of fruit and I don't mean the edible kind.
Now, it's full of light and if I painted a pink stripe around the room, by golly, it would look like an Easter egg. Ahem, please take note, my kitchen is clean.
I had about two minutes 53 seconds of clean kitchen and then my children entered the room.
Now, what about the dining room? Do you think the can of Bondo and the scrapers and putty knife and drywall compound will get in the way when I'm putting Easter dinner on the buffet?

I'm officially declaring a state of ignorance. In my eyes this is a beautifully painted dining room with no gaping wound in the wall.

Hey, I've got an idea! Come back tomorrow and I'll show you some pictures of my newly painted kitchen.

No more cherries, thank you very much.

Goodbye cherries, you were sweet and juicy, but you just didn't say Old Farmhouse to me. So...away you go.
Are these pictures blurry? I think they are, but it's hard to take good pictures when you have chicken-claw hand from holding a paint brush for eight hours.

Next up, get rid of the strange crisscross tile back splash. Did I hear someone ask about the dining room walls? What dining room? Huh?

Who wants to pick some cherries?

Well, how about I paint over them in a moment of madness starting after dinner and proceeding into the next morning?This photo may or may not have been taken at 3am, I can't really remember, where's my coffee?
My Dad is here and when he saw me start slopping out the paint without taping or putting down drop cloths he bit his tongue and tried not to have a heart attack.
I'm a very good painter.....most of the spills go directly on me and my clothes, these jeans didn't have paint on them before dinner.
I woke up this morning to see this. Good Lord. When will the clean-up crew be here? What? They were never called?! I have to clean it up? No, no, no my contract clearly states.....demolition only.
Fine, I'll clean it up. This is going to require a lot of coffee......where's my coffee cup?

The Wall Journal

We worked on the dining room wall again today, but only after I started ripping wallpaper off in the kitchen. More than one of my children said to me, "Uh, don't you think you should finish the other walls before you start in here?" Kids, they think they're so smart.

Anyhoody-woo, after I finished...let me say that again, a lil' bit louder now, AFTER I FINISHED taking the wallpaper border off in the kitchen, I went to work in the dining room. I spackled, taped, sanded, spackled, sanded, scraped, sanded and sanded. I stood on a stool while I was working and my husband took every opportunity he could to walk by me and honk my tush. His downfall was when he decided he'd poke me in the rear with a toothpick. I had a metal scraper in my hand and my reaction was to scream and whack him and hard as I could with the sharp edge of the scraper. He was very sorry, but laughed through his pain. Dummy.

I would have kept working on the wall, but Ike decided to puke over the side of his bunk onto his brother's bed and all over the floor. After we got his bed and him cleaned up, he repeated the whole scene. Fun times! So, I started the mountain of pukey laundry and went to bed. Then, Levi started to cough and cough and cough and cough....repeat every twenty minutes. So, at 1:27am Clay decided to go to the store to get him some cough medicine. That Clay, he might be a gigantic nuisance to live with, but he's an awfully good daddy and he wants to mentioned as often as possible in my posts, so that his number of posts is at least second on my side bar. And he made me that new header up there.

This morning is the first day of our spring break. It's raining, Seth started puking and the dining room walls are looking at me with desperation. Poor Seth finally invited a friend over to play after we've been here for six months, and he woke up puking. Darn it. Anywady-hay, I sure hope this isn't a picture of what our spring break is going to be.

Dining Room in progress. Did I mention I have company coming tomorrow?

Little Mr. Pukeomatic.

This is the area in the kitchen that had the wallpaper border. This picture is before we moved in. That's why everything looks nice and tidy.



And this is a picture after I took down the border. I cluttered up the counter so you all don't think I'm as perfect as I am, I mean ya' know? This blog is all about making you feel better about yourself via my downfalls. That big lump of stuff in the plastic bag is my leftover Clay, um, I mean clay from pottery. I think it looks real nice as the center piece on the counter. Don't you?

The tale nearly lost to the blogging world, until I found it.

I found this post unpublished and unfinished and thought it was time to share it with the world.  Because why would I want to keep anything in my life private?  Why?  That would be silly.

Once upon a time there was an illustrious, somewhat young woman with decorating talents that shone so brightly people donned their Sean John sunglasses to catch a glimpse of her handiwork.  Or so she thought.

One day, not so long ago, possibly it was last December, she drove to a ladies tea to decorate a single table in which she had delightfully volunteered her talents.  Oh, she was so eager to show her expertise, she knew there would be mouths agape at the beauty of her table.  In fact she knew her table would be so beautiful that the other measly women with no decorating talents who had volunteered would feel terrible and flee to the nearest restroom stall to cry on the industrial size roll of toilette paper.  

The woman was not a heartless ignoramus so she packed some of her extra, delicate, decorations to help the piddly women that were obviously not within reach of her savvy fair.  

As she drove to the event,  she collected her thoughts for an interview that was sure to follow after her talents were revealed at the ladies tea.  She spoke aloud to the feigned interviewer, ignoring fellow motorists squinting their eyes and raising an eyebrow at her, they were obviously blinded by the glow emitting from her Dodge Caravan.

"Thank you for having me Martha, I've loved your little shows for years.  Sorry about your stint in the slammer, but I must say, you're looking fabulous darling.  I'm so excited to share my talents with you and the world.  I mean it's so easy to be me, really, the talent is just naturally oozing out of my tiny pores on my small delicate frame.  I know.  I'm wonderful.  Thank you.  Oh, yes, you noticed that I'm also stunningly beautiful and my outfit is flawless, I know, again thank you, but really, no need to keep congratulating me on my success as a designer-director-writer-publisher-editor-actress-model-chef, it's really what I was born to do and I wouldn't want the world to miss out on......ME!"

to be continued......

I love you but...

you've got to stop doing this.

That's what my husband said to me yesterday when he came to rescue my sorry butt for the fourth time in six months.

Since we've moved to Utopia, I've managed to become the local Lady in Distress.  First, it was a dead battery in the Wal-Mart parking lot, a van loaded to the gills with groceries and four hot children.  I called Clay, he had to drive all the way home to get the jumper cables and then come back to town to jump the van.  The kids and I were very grateful and he was, "Okay, love you guys, I gotta run, I'm late for a meeting".  Sorry Hon.

The second time was during an Arctic wind-blast snow storm.  Same problem dead battery, but this time in the school parking lot.  I know, you would think someone would have jumper cables, uh like me, but not so much and I didn't ask around farther than the secretary, because I didn't want the people to know that I am the Lady in Distress.  Ya know?  And, why the heck don't I have jumper cables?  Why?  So, again, I call my Knight in Shining Pickup to come rescue me.  Again, he has to drive all the way home and then to school and this time before coming he said, "You're gonna have to wait til I'm done with my meeting."  Dang it, but okay. So we waited inside the school until he got there.  We were late for our homeschool group, but what's a Lady in Distress to do?  I'm at the mercy of my hero.  I'm the Lady in Distress and it's my job to be stranded in need of assistance.  I play the roll quite well.  Sorry Hon, I know it was really cold that day and you didn't have gloves on and even though I offered you mine, you toughed it out and wouldn't let me stand out in the cold just to punish myself to suffer with you.  Sorry.

The third incident was a minor infraction on my part.  I was going 55 mph in a 35 mph zone.  I swear, I didn't know.  I will admit I speed all the time, but when I saw the policeman's light behind me I thought, "Oooh, sorry, I didn't see you back there", and I pulled over to get out of his way....yeah.  But, then I noticed him stopping behind me and I'm all like, "Whaaa?"  I had no idea why he was pulling me over.  Oh, the life of the blissfully unaware and ignorant.  The officer obviously knew I was the local Lady in Distress and lowered my speed from 55 mph to 45 mph because my fine would have been astronomical, thank you Mr. Officer, sir.  But, Clay was the one who had to go to the court house the day my ticket was due and pay the $90.  He never complained, just said, "Oh, I gotta go pay your ticket tomorrow."  Sorry Hon, thanks for not making me schlep all the kids to the court house to pay my ticket.

And yesterday, oh yesterday, was my latest screw up.  I was at the grocery store and locked the keys in the van.  Gah!  Clay was in a meeting and had left his phone on his desk.  I hesitated to call him and thought of calling a locksmith, but every time one of those guys has unlocked my door they screw up the lock and it costs me 40 bucks to pay him to mess up the door and another 50 or more to fix the darn thing, believe me, I know these things.  I also thought of calling a taxi, but with three kids, myself and all our groceries, uh,no, not gonna do that.  So, I called Clay.  And I called Clay.  And I called Clay.  No answer.  Finally, his intern got concerned that Clay's phone kept ringing so she took it to Clay and said in her Russian accent, "Um, Cleey?  Is every-ting okay at ome?  Abril as called about tweeny times."  And that my friends, is why Clay's intern will forever think of me as the Woman Who Calls Her Husband Twenty Times A Day.  Lord have mercy.

After waiting for about thirty minutes with the shopping cart full of groceries outside the store, the kids and I found a bench to sit on and I rummaged through the grocery sacks to retrieve the bag of candy I bought, Thank You Jesus for that moment of weakness.  We ate candy, played twenty questions and waited.  Finally, Clay called and again, he had to go all the way home to get the spare key, because we never want to be prepared for an emergency...ever and then he had to drive back to town and unlock the van.  We were so happy to see him.  We had been at the grocery store nearly two hours, fun stuff.  That's when he looked at me and said, "Listen, I love you but.....you've got to stop doing this."  I know, sorry Hon.  As he drove off he called me.  I thought, "Ahhh, he's calling to tell me how much he loves rescuing me and that no matter how irritating I am, I'm so worth the trouble." But instead he said, "Is the van starting?"  He wanted to make sure I wasn't going to call for him to come back.  Smart man that Clay.  sniff sniff

I was feeling pretty bad this morning about how stupid I've been and how I must certainly be the most helpless wife on the planet and if my husband didn't know better he'd think I was getting myself into these situations just to spend more time with him or get attention.  Then my mom called.

Mom- Hi it's your momma.

Me- Hi Mom.

Mom- Do you have a house full of people?

Me- ??? uh, no the boys are playing outside.

Mom- Oh, well, I didn't want to bother you if you were busy.  Will it be okay if I come on Saturday, I think we need to get some things done.

Me- What?  You're coming on Saturday?  I thought you weren't coming until next week?

Mom- Well, we need to rehearse the show and make some props and ....

Me-  Mom?  Mom?  THIS IS APRIL!

Mom-  WHAT?  Oh, for crying out loud, I've called the wrong kid!  I am such a hair brain.  I have been in such a tizzy all day.

Me- Mom you just made me feel better about myself, thank you.

Sigh, see?  I come by it honestly.  It's not my fault.  It's genetic.  Right?  Right?  What?  No?  Huh?

Bok

Hello little chick-chick.

Could you sit right there and be my Easter decoration?  Little fuzzy chick.  This is a little fuzzy....chick.  I try hard to make my photos meaningful and poetic.  Right.

Ike with a bucket of chicken in ye old basement.  This makes the old saying, "Let's pick up a bucket of chicken while we're in town" not so appetizing.

Are you a rooster?  I'm thinking you might be a  Barred Rockin' rooster.

Chicks in their hot headquarters.  Hot chicks.  We have lots of hot chicks in our house. 

Hello little fuzzy chick.  Why don't you stay this cute?  Why do I have to wait six months for you to lay an egg?  You're really only good for producing fertilizer for six whole months.

Check out this chick.  Looky what's not on the photo...look closely, no date!  Yeah, uh-huh, that's right, can I get a 'You Rock April'? (so what if Clay grabbed my camera and fixed it, I was still in the room)  And how about that scarf?  Huh?  Yeah, my daughter said, "Why are you wearing that?  Are you going to where that out of the house?"  followed by a  lot of sighing and eye rolling.  She has issues with having such a cool mom.

Extreme Makeover Wall Edition

How much wood..

could a termite eat...

if a termite could eat wood?

Uh, termites do eat wood. And the answer is: A WHOLE FREAKIN' LOT!

That look on Clay's face says it all. What? How? When? What are we going to do? How are we going to fix it? When will this project end?

I've been waiting for a contractor to 'stop by this week' for about five months now. So we took the repair in our own hands, which is what we usually do. But, now we are at the point where Clay is telling me all the expensive new tools he's going to have to purchase to do the job and I'm saying, "But, but, but....".

From past experience I know that this phase of the renovation will last at least four months. So we have some time to look at that gaping hole in the wall and decide how the heckle-jo-jeckle we're going to replace the ridge beam that was used for the termites last dinner party.

More Dining Room Wall

Before I could shut off the camera on this episode of Extreme Makeover Wall Edition, Ike starts reprimanding me for disobeying Clay. Classic.

Chick Chick Chick

We got baby chicks this weekend.

To prepare for them Clay and I pulled an old lambing crib out of the lean-to, drug it in the barn and proceeded to 'Heitschmidtize' it.

Heitschmidtize- (verb) to pull together crap that is lying around your property to function in whatever capacity your immediate need dictates.

Then we headed out to the local farm supply store and picked out our chicks like they were donuts. "Um, yeah, I'll take four of those black ones and two, no wait, um, give me, yeah, yeah, two of the Buff Orpingtons, and what's that one? Hmmm, yeah, okay, I'll take four of those....". It was quite fun. We came home with 16 little peeping machines.

We looked at how much space they took up in the tiny carton and decided to scrap the 'Heitschmidtized' crib and stick them in a big plastic tub.

I have 16 chickens in my basement.

Next on the agenda, turkeys.

Winter, it's really time for you to go away.

Remember that thing called summer?  Anyone?  Anyone?  I've got a serious beef with Mother Nature today.  Apparently she's decided to take a long holiday to the tropics and leave us Heartlanders shuddering in the wake of winter's grip.

Let's take a walk down memory lane.  Waaaaay back last summer, I had a garden.  It was my place of serenity.  It was beautiful.
Clay built raised bed out of the abundance of felled trees on the property.  Then I filled the beds with cow poop, top soil and peat moss.  The plants loved it.
I did the 'taters in a trash can' idea that I read about on Crunchalota's blog.

They were wonderful.  I haven't decided if I'll do them again this year since we have so much space to put vegetables in the ground.

Ah, then there was the Gypsy Caravan where I picked up these lovelies and we sweltered in the heat.  
This wasn't taken last summer, but it's green and my baby actually looks like a baby.  And I'm hoping he didn't eat that wormy apple, but he probably did.  We have a mini orchard here in Kansas.  I haven't been able to identify all the trees.  It will be a lovely surprise when the fruit starts to form.  I believe we have several apple, a couple cherry, several peach and a couple pear.  But, we'll see for certain......if summer ever gets here.
Oh, this was the day I was reverting back to my 'Granola' days.  Shouldn't every woman wear a long sundress and flip flops to work in the garden?  Yes, I think sometimes it's a must.
How about the day Levi found my bright pink nail polish?  At first glance I thought he was bleeding.  Then I noticed he wasn't crying.  He spilled nail polish all over the carpet in my bedroom.
He got to sit in this chair and watch me clean it up.  He wasn't too happy.  I wasn't too happy.  What makes me happy about his picture?  He doesn't wear a diaper anymore!  See, there's a happy story behind every tragedy.
This is one of my favorite photos from last summer.  My dad came for a visit on his way through to Virginia to ride his bicycle in Bike Across Virginia.  We went to Shakespeare in the Park.  It was a lovely summer evening.  There is something so sweet about an old guy holding a little guy's hand.
Now, come on spring, rear your head!  I'm done with winter!   I'm sick of coats and boots!  Mother Nature get your butt back here!

Relations

My husband loves to annoy me.  He relishes watching my frustrations mount.  He laughs when I throw myself at him swinging my fists to inflict pain on his body.  

I live with a gigantic pain in the arse.

Here's a conversation that made my head explode.  If I could have picked him up and thrown him through the big picture window I would have, but instead I spent the rest of the day pinching him in the chest as hard as I could when his defenses were down.  Occasionally, he would say, "Ouch that really hurts!"  through his laughter but mostly he says, "Oh, April you are so fun to irritate."  Which makes me even angrier and my pinches much harder.

A- I wish I would have had a brother.

C- Yeah, me too.  Then I'd have a brother-in-law.

A- You do have a brother-in-law.  Mike.

C- No, not really.  Mike is your brother-in-law.  Not mine.

A- What?  How can he be my brother-in-law and not yours?

C- Because, he's married to your sister, not my sister.

A- That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard you say, well at least today.  Mike is your brother-in-law!

C- No, not really.  

A- So your brother's wife isn't my sister-in-law?

C- No, she's my sister-in-law.

A- So my sister's children, are they your nephews?  Or just my nephews?

C- They're my nephews because Rechelle is my sister-in-law and they are her children.

A- Are they the illegitimate children of your sister-in-law, because her husband is not officially your brother-in-law?

C- Now, your just being silly.

A- MIKE IS YOUR BROTHER-IN-LAW!

C- I know you want him to be my brother-in-law, but technically he's only your brother-in-law.

A- Then what do you call him?

C-  Mike.  It's his name.

A- I'm going to kick you.

C- How can you not understand this?  Why are you getting so angry?  It's just the facts.

A- I'm angry because I've wasted my breath and my time having this stupid conversation with you!  Mike.  Is.  Your.  Brother-in-law.  As long as my sister is married to him he is your brother-in-law.  It's too bad that Rechelle won't have a brother-in-law much longer.

C- Why's that?

A- Because tonight when your asleep, I'm going to.....

C- Now, April, are you about to say something you're going to regret?

A- The only thing I regret is the day I said I would mar...

C- No, no, shhhhh, you are about to say something very hateful.

A- Yes, I hate...

C- Oh, come here let's have a hug.

 (this is when he grabs me and smothers my head into his chest so I can't talk or breath).

A- Ah cand breee!

C- What?  I can't hear you.

A- Ah cand bree! 

C- What?  Here stop hugging me so I can hear you.

A- I don't know why you love to torture me.

C- Because you get so mad.  It's so fun.

A- I'm going to make the rest of your days miserable.

C- Okay Honey,  you're so cute.  I love you.

A- No.

C- I love you.

A- No.

C- You love me too, don't you?

A- I'm not talking to you anymore.

C- You can't stay mad at me.  You like me too much.

And that is when my head exploded.

Professional help would be nice in times like these.

0.5 Sometimes you just have to number things.

1. I've been told to explain to you, again, that I have no desire to learn how to use electronic gadgetry.

1.5. But that's obvious, isn't it?

2. That doesn't stop me from pushing buttons.

3. Blog headers are overrated.

4. I don't know how to design my own blog header and I tried, see that awesome picture with the awesome font up there at the tippy-top of my blog?

 

4.5. Get your bifocals.

5. People that know how to design blog headers speak a different language.  I say, "I want this" and they say, "It can't be done"  and that doesn't make sense to me, at all.

6. I've said for years that my art needs to be 3D.  That's why I wanted to be an Industrial Designer and NOT a Graphic Designer.

7. I hate scrapbooking.

7.5. I would have more friends if I enjoyed scrapbooking.

8. I also hate stamping and card making and the inner workings of a camera.

9. One of my good friends has made me go shopping with her to pick out card making supplies.

9.5. I wanted to poke my eyes out and pull her out of the store by the hair, whip her around my head a few times and fling her like a discus across the parking lot.  

9.55. Instead I went and bought silk flowers for a floral arrangement.

10. Flower arrangements qualify as 3D art.

11. I don't know many women that like the same things as I do.

11.5. Like pottery.

11.55. And metal art.

11.555. And pulling weeds in the rain.

11.5555. Or reading books written in the 20's and 50's about women that enjoyed gardening.

11.55555. But that's okay, right?

Rare Sighting

Wanna know sumthin scary that happened? It doesn't happen very often, in fact just about never. It's so rare that if I didn't record it here on my blog for the whole world to see, I wouldn't believe it actually happened.

The dog even got in on the episode. I'm telling you, it was creepy. And yes, the Christmas quilts are still being used on the beds. Because like my 6yo says, "If there's snow on the ground then it's still Christmas!" Oh, if only I had that optimistic view of winter.

These here eyeballs, they witnessed the whole thing. Ready? Brace yourself, it's scary, rare and may never be recorded on this blog again.

This kid..... he's sleeping....on the couch. And not just this kid....

This one too. This never, ever, not, never, no, nope, happens.

And what's better is that minutes earlier I was wedged in that teensy weensy spot between Ike's head and Levi's butt. I know. It was tight. I should win some sort of contortionist award for getting out of there without pulling a muscle or waking them up.

What the heck am I supposed to do in a quiet house?

Muhaw-haw-haw-haw. I could think of a thing or two. And guess what?

I didn't get interrupted with a bazillion questions and I didn't have to listen to this one prattling on for hours and hours narrating his every move for us to hear. "Mom, Mom, MOM! I'm sitting at the table coloring on a piece of paper, paper, paper, la, la, la, color, color, color...." or like now, he's sitting behind me on my chair while I type playing with a cell phone that I have to occasionally hold and say, "Yes, Hello, please stop calling me, I'm busy!" to satisfy him. Good Lord, thank you for that tiny moment of peace and serenity.