Manic Monday

6:45am: Alarm goes off. Drag my butt out of bed, knock on the kids' doors, *singsong voice* "Good morning, time to wake up!". Transfer clothes from washer to dryer, fold clothes from dryer. Double-check that Lena and Ardan are awake. (Note: Gunnar did NOT go to school under doctor's orders, as he received a mild concussion from a vicious hit-to-the-head at yesterday's game.)


7:00am: Unload dishwasher, load dirty dishes. Wipe counter tops and table. Start making kids lunches. Lena and Ardan get themselves some cereal and milk, then leave to brush teeth. Yell at kids, "I need your lunch kits! And agendas!" Mild panic and hysteria as kids realize they need warm coats and hats, as the temperature reads below zero. Sounds of chaos and things-going-bump downstairs, I'm envisioning hats and coats being flung every which way as they rummage through the cubby area. Kids rush back upstairs wearing proper outerwear. Backpacks are packed. More panic when Ardan remembers its swimming day at school, he runs back downstairs to find a swimsuit and towel. In the midst of all this, little Ryder wanders into the kitchen, sleep-flushed and cuddly. Set out a bowl of cereal for my little dickens; the kids give him goodbye hugs and kisses, then out the door they go.


7:45am: Turn the tv on, channel 14, Thomas the Train. Ryder grabs his hockey blankey and pillow and makes a nest on the couch. I make myself some tea with splenda and skim milk, then settle in at the laptop for some early morning celeb gossip, facebook updates, email and reading. Email Gunnar's coach with an update on his situation and to let him know Gunnar won't be at tonight's practice.


8:00am: Ty rushes out of the bedroom, "I forgot to tell you last night that we were supposed to wake Gunnar up every two hours! Can you go check on him? You're supposed to ask him questions like does he know his name, where he is." So downstairs I go to wake up a slightly grumpy, typically-tired 13 year old boy, "Hey, hey. Wake up, honey. What's your name?" He looks at me like I'm insane. "Gunnar" like, DUH Mom. "Where are you right now?", "I'm in bed, trying to sleep.", "Oh, okay, sorry hon, go back to sleep." Back upstairs to report in with Ty, then back to the laptop and my now-lukewarm tea.


9:00am: Pangs of housewife guilt send me back downstairs to throw in another load of laundry. Feed and water the cats. Decide to finish cleaning out the hockey closet (two days prior, I'd hauled everything out, searching through bags and boxes, looking for Ardan's name bars from last season); throw all the socks, jerseys, towels, under armor, etc into a hamper, hauled that to the laundry room. Repacked an old hockey bag with nothing but too-small skates, filled a cardboard box with equipment odds and ends. Sprayed the everlovin' sh*t outta both sets of boys' equipment with special hockey deodorant/sanitizing spray. Phone rang, its the school telling me that the zipper on Lena's winter coat is broken; it is stuck way up high by her neck, none of the teachers can get it off her, I give my permission to cut the dang thing off her, and that I will be by around noon with another coat for her. *sigh*


9:30am: Upstairs to make Gunnar some breakfast: two yogurt cups, slices of cantaloupe, juice box, water bottle, two slices of raisin toast with vanilla-sugar sprinkled on top, and a mandarin orange. All arranged artistically on a big tray. Take it downstairs and lay it beside him on his ginormous bed, he is appropriately thankful. I feel that somewhere, someone is giving me extra brownie points for being a good mom, haha. But, alas, its back to the cleaning groove downstairs for me.


10:00am: Took a peek into the cubby area to assess the damage of the morning's frantic search for winterwear. Decided to haul out all the bins and bags of hats, mitts, winter boots and coats. Discovered an old, dried-out pile of cat diarrhea, NIIIICE. Yelled for Ty to bring me down an ice cream bucket with a splash of Mr Clean and a sponge. Filled the bucket with water, liberally soaked down the area. Discovered that one of the kids play tents absolutely reeked of cat urine, threw it in the dump pile by the back door. Rearranged a whole bunch of stuff: moved Ty's hunting stuff into the back corner, put five pairs of rollerblades into a bin, moved all the sleeping bags onto a shelf. Hauled out a bunch of stuff for Value Village. Yelled to Ty to let me know when it was 11:30. Continued cleaning, organizing and sorting.


11:30am: Back upstairs (having been distracted from my original purpose of sorting mitts and hats by the cleanup of the cubby room itself) to get ready to take Ryder to playschool at 12:15. Got dressed, washed my face, brushed teeth and hair, light application of makeup. Fed Ryder lunch. Cleaned him up, got him dressed nicely in his new dark-grey preppy shirt and light-khaki cords, new white velcro sneakers, and brown-and-white hoody. Yell down to Gunnar that we are leaving and should be home soon.


12:15pm: About to leave and Ty decides to come with so we can go to Rona afterwards to pick up some plywood for the deck. Almost forget Lena's replacement coat, have to run back inside to get it. Drop Ryder off at playschool, he wants Daddy to "help" walk him into class. I give Ty the old 'heads-up, your zipper is down' nod, saving him from potential humiliation. More brownie points for being a good wife. 


12:30pm: Drop off Lena's coat at the school, then its off to Rona for plywood. Spend 10 minutes looking up and down the paint aisles for a certain kind of paint that Ty wants, no dice. Drive over to Canadian Tire. Once we get in there, he heads one way to look at paint, I head another to quickly check out winter coats at Mark's Work Warehouse, no luck. Grab a cart and start stocking up on household things that are on sale: giant laundry hampers for the boys, cleaning products, halloween candy, ghost outdoor miniature lighted lawn stakes, paper towel, etc. Start searching for Ty, sometimes I can smell his cologne so I know he's been down that aisle but I'm always just that much late to catch him. Finally I head to the fishing aisle but see him looking at hockey sticks. He tells me they don't have that kind of paint, either, so we take our stuff to the checkout and leave. Now we're going to TimberMart.


2:00pm: Ty goes in to make the order for plywood, I stay in the truck. He comes out and directs me to the supply yard, where I'm to back up to a certain spot so the worker can load our wood. Then I have to drive over to the 'blue doors' and back up once again so the worker can unload two sheets of the wood to cut them. Ty tells me that the worker advised us NOT to paint the plywood, at this time of year the paint wouldn't set right and it would just be a waste of money. Wow, what an honest guy, I'm impressed. Finally, we are done! A quick stop at Subway to pick up a tuna footlong for Gunnar, and then back to Ryd's playschool for hometime, with a few minutes to spare. Ryder informs me it was picture day today. I am shocked because I thought picture day was Wednesday but he is adamant. Thank God I dressed him nicely today, is all I can think.


3:15pm: Back home. Gunnar comes upstairs to eat, I make Ryder and Ty something to eat. Another load of laundry. Unload dishwasher. Wash frying pans and a sinkful of glasses (my damn dishwasher can never clean them properly!). Try to convince Ryder that a nap would be great, no dice. Clean up after Gunnar and Ty. 


4:00pm: Ardan and Lena get home from school. They are hungry so a bowl of cereal it is. (Hey, I'm tired. Sue me.) Lena empties her knapsack all over the table, papers and toys and lunch kit and books everywhere. She wants to read to me a home-reading book, I mark it down in her folder when she's done. Tell Ardan that he can rest for a bit and chill out but he MUST, absolutely HAS TO do certain chores tonight: Gunnar's papers, take out the garbage and recycling, and get his hockey gear together for pictures tonight at 7pm. Lena comes out of her room dressed in her gymnastics gear and then I remember that that's tonight. Phone rings, its mom with a migraine, can't take Lena. No worries, though, Ty's going to make supper and watch Ryder. My neighbor Nikki phones to ask if I can take Helena, of course we can! This, however, changes Ryder's mind and now he will NOT be dissuaded from coming with us. Throws a huge crying, yelling tantrum and I give in (which I will later regret). Load all the kidlets up in Suzi, swing by Nikki's to get Helena, and away we go.


5-6:30pm: The worst hour-and-a-half ever. Lena and Helena are darlings, having so much fun; Ryder is NOT a darling and he is NOT having fun. He insists on sitting on my lap, then wiggles around, clinging to my neck, jostling me, steps on my purse. Begs for money, for food, for a drink  (he brought a water bottle but it wasn't "good enough"), for snacks, for something to do, for us to go home. The kid has a serious case of the farts and continues to let one go about every 5 minutes the entire time we are there. Our section of the bench smells like a barn. He farts on my lap about six times, grossing me out and making me gag each time. I discover I'm sitting by a girl I went to school with who is now the teacher assistant in Ardan's class. We chitchat for a bit. Ryder continues to be whiny and annoying and farty. He asks me, "Why did you make me come here?!", "Uh, excuse me, young man? YOU made ME bring you. You should've stayed home to play with Ardan." Now he's mad at me and lays on the floor, kicking my legs. I'm smiling with gritted teeth, praying for patience and for this GD class to be over soon. Nikki shows up in the last ten minutes with Helena's twin brother, Lachlan. Finally Ryder has a buddy to play with! Nikki and I chat it up, I hang my head in mortification when Ryder farts on me, AGAIN, and the overpowering smell coats the air around us. "So sorry Nikki, just breathe through your mouth." She assures me its fine, she has a little boy, too. We share a look of motherly disgust. Class is over, the girls have done wonderfully, Lena impressed the hell out of me and everyone else with her fearless skill on the uneven bars. Time to head home.


6:30pm: Come inside the house to the heavenly aroma of barbecued chicken. Brownie points to Ty. House is a disaster. Brownie points taken away. Ardan has already eaten so I tell him to get his hockey gear on for pictures, we will be leaving at 7pm. He wants to bring a change of clothes, I say no way in hell am I waiting around after for him to change, we are gettin' outta there pronto. As we're heading out the door, Ty reminds me were are out of milk. Doh!


7:00pm: Circle the arena to find parking, one space left in the multi-plex side parking lot. Walk to the arena, chat with a few parents, head to change room 5 to meet up with the team. Upstairs for pictures, chat some more with Lenni and Dawn (their sons Dawson and Ethan are Ardan's best friends). Pictures are over, time to do some grocery shopping with Ardan.


8:00pm: Pop into Cobbs to get milk and pop. Hel-LO, look at all the amazing sales! Cases of Kraft Dinner for $8 (pick up three), 12-packs of Campbells tomato soup for $8, toilet paper 2-for-$10.... Needless to say, we go down every aisle to see all the sales. $100 later, we are done shopping and head home.


9:00pm: Ahhh, lovely lovely home! The other kids have now eaten and are watching a show. House is still a disaster. I quickly eat a piece of chicken and drink a pop. Unload and load the dishwasher; do another load of laundry; sweep the kitchen floor; wipe down the counter tops. Get Ryder and Lena dressed for bed, brush teeth, tuck the little tykes in. Gunnar is already in bed, tell Ardan to shower, brush teeth and hit the sack. 


10:00pm: On the couch with Ty. House is quiet except for the show we're watching. I fall asleep and wake up at midnight, gently nudge Ty awake and we head to bed.

You know what's the worst?

* Your tired head has barely hit the pillow when you hear your littlest one crying. Drag your sorry ass out of bed to investigate, poor little guy has a "tummick-ache". You rub his back and croon sympathetically, hoping to lull him back to sleep. It seems to work, so back to bed you go. (You don't really take him seriously because for the past week, he's invented every excuse under the sun to delay bedtime).

* Not two minutes later, another cry. Louder, sharper; followed by the ominous "ralph" sound. You leap out of bed but its too late. Poor baby is covered head-to-toe in puke (why oh why did you make lasagna that night?), as are the pillows, bedding, sheets, and bed frame.

* Clean up the little guy as best you can, stripping him and the bed down, then sit the poor duffer in front of the toilet (you know, to be safe) while you track down a hamper for all the soiled laundry. Shudders and dry heaves when some chunks land on your toes and you notice the leg of your pajama pants is completely wet. Wiping down the bed frame, you hear the ralph sound again; abandon that chore to comfort your baby and wipe his little face.

* Bedtime is now on hiatus. Look at the clock, its is just past one a.m. With a sigh (because you know how this is all going to play out, having been here many times before) you collect fresh bedding and pillows for your little one and make a nice little nest on the couch for him. Grab a pillow and blanket for yourself because you'll be joining him. Turn on a cartoon, grab a puke bucket, towel, and a glass of water, and settle in for the next two hours of hell.

* Frantic dash back to the laundry hamper, sorting out the worst of it; dunk those items in the toilet to loosen the chunks. Take the laundry downstairs and run that load, not noticing that one pillow has a slight rip. (An hour later, about to transfer to the dryer, you see that the entire washing machine is filled with puffy heaps of fluff. Oh for fricks sake!!)

* After four more good hard pukes, the little guy's "tummick" is completely empty but the heaves are still there, meaning all the sips of water you've forced on him in between are now on evac. After an hour of vomit, he is now expelling foam, mixed with yellowish bile. Not even enough energy to sit up, he turns his head to the side and heaves onto the towel you had the foresight to lay over his pillow. Finally, around 2:30am he falls into a deeply exhausted hard sleep. You curl up on the other couch, making sure your cellphone alarm is nearby. (After all, life doesn't halt just because you want it to.)

* Hubby's morning routine rudely awakens you around 5:45am. Thankfully baby is still out, but so is your hope for being able to fall back asleep. The weather channels says its -33 outside, -39 with wind chill. Surely the buses will be cancelled for today, right? Right?

* By 7am, with still no reported bus cancellations for your school district (though every other one has been granted that boon), you make the executive decision to keep the kids home. But it looks like the appointment made yesterday to get your tire's slow leak fixed will be rescheduled -- this is going to be a long day.

* Around 9am the little one wakes up. He immediately chugs a glass of water, despite your warnings to "drink slow!". There's that ten-minute period where you follow him around with the puke bucket but it looks to be okay. Phew! He says he has to go pee and goes into the bathroom.

* A few minutes later, your daughter comes to you, "Uh, mom, you need to deal with this." With dread you open the bathroom door, expecting anything. Oh holy mother of god. We have now entered Phase Two of The Sickness: The Diarrhea. On the toilet seat. On the floor. On the side of the tub. And your poor baby is standing there, no pants, looking sad and wretched and guilty. "Its okay, baby" you croon as you run a bath. Get him settled in, then attack the bathroom with disinfectant wipes. So what that you used the entire container.

* With that done and over, your little one assures you he feels up to a bit of yogurt and juice, yay! While you're setting that up, your daughter needs to use the toilet. "Uh, mom...." And here she has contracted The Diarrhea as well.

And so concludes Part One...

A Ballad of Laundry Woe

There once was a lady named Beau,
In whose dryer, hot air would not blow.
She tried everything twice,
Said words not very nice,
But aha! The new thermostat got it to go!

My secret addiction

Hello everyone, my name is Beau Kasha and I am an addict. Yes, it is with much shame and embarrassment that I am admitting to you of my deep dark secret addiction to... facebook status updates.

I know, horrifying, isn't it? I keep my secret longings buried deep inside, lest I show to the world how depraved I am and how low I've sunk. And also because I've vowed to never become one of those type of people, who update their status every fifteen minutes and inflict upon the facebook world countless recountings of their boring daily life. (Plus, I don't want to find any of my updates on Lamebook or Failbook. Click the links, you'll see what I mean!)

I find myself at odd times during the day wanting to run to the computer and jot down some random thought, or something one of the kids said, or even an opinion of a talk show. And it hurts, oh it hurts so bad, this self-imposed limitation I've put in place.

And so I've saved it all up, all these pointless random status updates that dance around my head. And I've decided to put them all in a blog post. So in true facebook fashion, here they are...

BeauSaxon Kasha...

has done more laundry in the past two days than in an entire two weeks! How is it that just when you've caught up, suddenly there's a mountain of clothes and towels and bedding and pillows and coats, sitting in front of the washer and you just want to CRY!?

is now a tea-drinker. Haven't drank a drop of coffee in almost two weeks now! Weird, I know. Next thing you know I'll be eating crumpets and talking with a British accent.

thinks its funny how Blue's Clues never goes out of style, for a kid anyway. Its been around now for what, ten years? And its still Ryder's go-to movie. Getting mighty tired of hearing those same old songs... "Blue skidoos, we can too!"

Why do I have three spatulas, four flippers, four wooden spoons, several whisks and tongs, two big spoons, and yet only ONE slotted spoon? And why is it always dirty, in the dishwasher, or just plain LOST when I need to use it?

just found one of my 'toys' on the floor downstairs. Just laying there, by the couch! What the...? It was NOT there ten minutes ago. Good thing I found it before the boys got home from school. (Imagine trying to explain that?) RYDER BRONS KASHA!!!

thinks that if antidepressants work/feel like percocet, then I'm on board. Seriously, the mouth pain is gone, I finally have energy and umption to do stuff, and it just makes me happy! I can see why people get addicted.

just heard three different Motley Crue songs on the radio, all on different stations, playing at the same time, weird! Home Sweet Home, Dr Feelgood, and Girls Girls Girls. Didn't know which one to listen to. Ended up choosing HSH, brings back good memories of a grade 4/5 sleepover at Mandy Lentz's house, listening to it and all us girls singing along.

is really trying to like this Nicorette Inhaler but its hard, for a few reasons: 1) it looks like a tampon, 2) makes the back of my mouth sting, and 3) blowing out smoke is half the fun of smoking! BUT, I will admit that its better than a real cigarette for when I'm driving (kids aren't getting all smoked-out) or in a public situation. Mind you, then I feel like explaining that no, I'm not trying to smoke a tampon.

is wondering how Maury Povich has a better talk-show 'rep' than Jerry Springer -- their shows are almost the same (minus the fights). Same issues (cheating, lie detector tests, are you my child's father?), same smack-talk by the guests, same drama. Must be because he looks so distinguished and respectable.

I have a new love, and its name is...

You've seen the Gain commercials. They're totally true! I bought a box last week because it was on sale; all it took was one load and I was converted. I washed everything I possibly could in the house, even re-washed bedding that had just been done. I am so obsessed with the way my clothes smell now. I had to go out and buy the liquid fabric softener in the same scent (Original Fresh) so my clothes would smell even more great.

Isn't it funny how something so small can have such a huge impact? That wonderful smell permeates the entire house when the laundry's going, and we all walk around breathing deeply and sighing in bliss. I actually look forward to working out because the more I sweat, the more the Gain smell comes out of the clothes! Sad, I know. But life just seems more happy and positive when you're surrounded by the best smell in the world.

Click here for a $1 off coupon. (I totally joined the Gain Fan Club.)

Who's awesome? I'm awesome!

Did I tell you guys how I fixed my washing machine a couple months ago? Can't remember if I blogged that. What happened is that the spin cycle or whatever that cycle is called where the water is wrung out, wasn't working and the clothes would be sitting in like six inches of water when the cycle finished. So I googled it, found the info I needed, and fixed the machine all by myself! Turned out there was a clog in the drain hose, just like the website had suggested. I was so proud of myself for figuring it out on my own. But while I was doing that, I noticed that the drain hose had a major kink in it, which is what caused the clog. I rotated the hose so the kink was straightened and re-tightened the clamp. Everything was fixed and working, end of story.

Until this morning.

I noticed the same thing happened again in the washer -- clothes sitting in inches of water. Checked the drain hose and here the darn thing was re-kinked. Then I remembered that Tyler had come across another hose in our furnace room a while ago; found it and went through the process of replacing the old one. The old hose was thick rubber, whereas the new one is a light, flexible corrugated plastic hose and its long, so I was able to move the washing machine to a better position farther away.

But here's the best part!

My washing machine has been un-level (is that a word?) for years. It didn't start that way but at some point one of the back legs became shorter than the others. I've tried repeatedly to move the leg to a lower position by unscrewing it a bit but it was rusted in place. So because of the unevenness, my machine tends to dance around the laundry room, often ending up many feet away from its original position. I have to move it back at the start of every new cycle.

But this morning, after I'd fixed the hose problem and was riding that handywoman-high, I just got so darn fed up with that stupid leg that I grabbed my screwdriver, jammed it in at the top of the leg and levered it really hard. And wouldn't you know it but the damn leg shot down that half an inch!!

So all these freakin' years I've been cursing that machine and its tendency to tango, and here all it needed was a good levering!

I immediately put the machine on spin cycle to see how it performed while level, and it was amazing, it didn't even move!

So yeah, who's awesome? I'm awesome!!

All praise the Hockey Mom

I know I've talked about it before but being a Hockey Mom can be kind of a pain in the ass at times. Not just the travelling and never having a free weekend or even the stinky gear. No, what gets me is the mandatory volunteering we're required to do. If you're lucky you can snag one of the easy positions at the first parent meeting, like time/scorebox coordinator (basically, just pairing up parents to work the box at home games) or parent liaison (anyone having a beef with the coach goes to that person first; if you have a good coach its basically a nothing job). The next job that is almost as easy but requires a bit more actual work is to be the jersey coordinator, which is basically just someone who is responsible for washing the jerseys and bringing them to games. Because there are two separate batches of jerseys, white home jerseys and black away ones, two people usually share that job.

I was lucky enough during that first parent meeting to snag the job of Home Jersey Coordinator (like how I capitalize that? Makes me feel important, lol). In my mind I was thinking that home jerseys would be so much easier than away, because home jerseys can be kept in the storage closets at the arena. So if you can't make it to a home game, but you've washed the jerseys and put them back in storage, the coach can get the jerseys without you having to bring them in person. Whereas with the away jerseys, you have to actually bring them with you to that game, wherever it may be. So it seems like home jerseys is the way to go, right?

Wrong.

I realized this after I brought them home last week for their first washing. When I'd gathered them up after the game and stuffed them in the bag, I didn't really take a close look. When I divided them into two piles to be washed in two loads, and even when I threw them in the wash, I didn't see anything. It wasn't until I took them out to hang dry, that I noticed almost every jersey had black marks and smudges all over them, almost like scuff marks. What the heck? Were those marks there before I washed them? They must have been, because how could a washing machine make marks like that? I called Ardan into the laundry room to ask his opinion, if that was normal for jerseys to have scuff marks on them, and he said yes, they were from the hockey sticks. Okay, that makes sense. Phew, it wasn't my machine's fault.

So out came the Shout stain remover. Sprayed all the stains liberally and let them sit for half an hour. Threw them back in the wash and waited with bated breath to see the outcome. Awwww, crap!! Same as before. Did the stain-remover-routine again, this time used an old toothbrush to scrub the stains. Washed jerseys again. Same result. Okay, by this time, I'm pulling out my hair and seriously stressed. I thought I'd heard someone say these jerseys were brand new this season, so that meant the stains were new. So if I couldn't get them out there might be a possibility that when we returned the jerseys at the end of the season, we wouldn't get our deposit back (almost $400, which is a fair amount).

Then, THEN, I noticed that on one jersey in particular the material across the butt was all scrunched up and ripply, like it had been stuck to super-strong Velcro and ripped off really fast. So then I was frantic. When the hell had that happened? I definitely hadn't noticed that before. I couldn't even let myself deal with it until I'd gotten the stain situation resolved. I blocked it from my mind.

By this time, I'd used up all the Shout. Made a run to Walmart for OxyClean, raced back to do yet another load, but this time I was sure that the OxyClean would be the difference. I pre-treated the stains with it and added some to the load. And it actually did work on a good majority of the jerseys, but there were still a few with very resistant stains.

I hit a wall (metaphorically, not literally). I was done. I'd put those damn jerseys through the wash like six times, used up about $10 worth of stain-remover, probably grew a few gray hairs, and I had a nightmare that night about washing machines that actually make the laundry dirtier, a definite first for me. I mean, who dreams about laundry?? So the next morning I bit the bullet and sent an email to Deb, the team manager. You're probably thinking, Why didn't she just do that in the first place? Because I didn't want to admit defeat! Plus, I wanted to be able to honestly say I'd done everything humanly possible to fix the problem.

So there I was, waiting anxiously for her reply email, to hear the verdict on the situation. Was it somehow my fault and now we probably wouldn't get our deposit back? Did she know about some magic solution to the stains and/or the bunchy-fabric situation? Was she laughing hilariously at me because I allowed myself to get so stressed out over the situation, when most people would've just been like 'Meh' after the first wash?

Finally, there was her reply in the inbox. As I read it, I could practically feel the weight and worry and stress just lifting off my shoulders. Phew! The jerseys are three years old, not new, so most likely some of those stains were there before. Scuff marks are indeed from hockey sticks and are extremely common. Expect them every time. She already knew about the velcro-like situation, the jersey was like that before, in fact there was another like it in the away jerseys. So all in all, I was told to stop worrying but that I was a sweetheart for caring so much.

At Ardan's Novice tournament in Rocky yesterday, I brought the jersey bag into the change room and as I was hanging it up one of the dad's commented to me, "Its the jersey girl, what would we do without you?". My eyes slid to Deb's and we both snorted.

Cats...

I love our cats, Pablo and Punkin, you know I do. But sometimes I wish I could just give 'em the good ole Highland Fling right out the front door. What with the girl cat's incessant yowling when she can't find her brother, the overflowing litter box that wafts its stench throughout the entire house, finding tufts of cat hair on your friggin' pillow (meaning the cat's ass was where you lay your head at night!), and of course, the boy cat's obsession with escaping from the house every chance he gets. Its very different being a cat owner as opposed to a dogs', as we are finding out.

So the other day I went into Ryder's room to lay him down for a nap, and when I opened his door out raced Punkin at full speed, like the hounds of hell were after her. I remember thinking Poor thing must have been locked in here and really needs to use the litter box! Thought nothing else of it and laid Ryder in his crib for his nap. A couple hours later Ryder woke up so I carried him out to the kitchen and was holding him in my arms, talking to Tyler. Ty said to me, "What's that all over the side of his face?" At the exact moment he said that to me, a peculiar stench hit my nose. Didn't smell like a dirty diaper, I know that smell. No, this smell was... was... "OHMYFUCKINGGOD, THERE'S DRIED CAT SHIT ON HIS FACE! WHAT... THE.... FUUUCKKKK!!!!" All over his cheek, jaw and the side of his neck, and all down that side of his shirt. Dried, smeared cat shit. I raced to draw a bath and threw the poor kid in, then went into his room to check out the situation. The cat crap was only on one particular blanket, in one section kinda underneath, so I think what happened was Ryder must've rolled over on that blanket while sleeping and that's why it was only on one side of him. The cat obviously crapped under the blanket to hide what it did, that's why I didn't see (or smell) it when I laid Ryder for his nap. I was pretty traumatized. And I didn't see Punkin for the rest of the day, she was hiding, so obvs she knew her ass was grass. Stupid cat!

Flash forward to a couple of days later. I went downstairs to do some laundry and I noticed that it smelled really bad downstairs. Asked the boys if there was something raunchy in the bathroom garbage (no), or maybe some moldering towels (no), or even dishes with rotten food on them somewhere (no). Well, what was the smell and where was it coming from? The boys room smelled kinda stinky, but just the usual little-boy-sweaty-socks-dirty-clothes-unwashed-hair smell. (How sad that I consider that smell "the usual", eh? lol) Eventually I gave up on locating the smell because the downstairs was basically tidy and there was nothing obvious that the smell could be coming from. So I went into the laundry room to throw a load in. That's when it hit me that the smell was coming from in there! It was overpowering! Now, that's where the litter box is so you'd think that would be the source of the smell but the litter box wasn't that bad. I mean, it was semi-full but not to the point of 'horrifying'. I figured maybe there was a particularly nasty towel or dishcloth. Reached into the dirty clothes hamper to grab a handful of clothes to throw in the washer, and closed my hand around...A GINORMOUS FUCKING CAT TURD.

Yes. A gigantic piece of cat shit. A huge log. In my hand. And it wasn't old and dried. No, we're talking fresh and steamy and solid. (At least I found the source of the smell, though!) Why would the cat poop in the laundry hamper when the litter box was three feet away? Some form of revenge for whatever transgression us humans did? Who knows what goes on in the mind of a stupid idiot cat. All I know is that I was just ITCHING to Highland Fling the cat right out into the field across from us, and I know I was screaming and yelling at the top of my lungs because the boys came running. Then there were three of us gagging and retching. Suffice it to say that both cats stayed well and clear from me for the next few days. STUPID CATS!!!!

UPDATE Mission: Butt Out Pt. 2, Day 6

Its now Day 6 and I feel like I'm slowly starting to lose my mind. I can't say that I'm having any physical withdrawal symptoms, other than the occasional headache, but its my mental state I'm worried about, lol.

You don't realize how much of a crutch smoking becomes for you until its no longer there. Before, it was like if I was stressed out, anxious, nervous, bored, hungry, or whatever, I could have a smoke (or two) and it chilled me out and gave me something to do. Now I don't have that and I think I might be going slightly insane. My mind goes in circles, over and over, always thinking thoughts and there's no nicotine-break to stop the cycle. My hands want to do something, they want to repeat that hand-to-mouth motion, so my mind says "Eeeaaatttt sssoommethingggg..." so my hands can do the motion. But I flat out REFUSE to replace smoking with eating, oh no, I am so not going down that road. Instead, I give my hands the motion of bringing a glass of water to my mouth, less satisfying but less fattening, lol.

When it gets to the point where I just can't stand it, then I have to put my body in action. I have to physically do something that will give me a feeling of satisfaction. (And seeing how I chose to do this during Aunt Flo's visit, my favorite activity is off limits, boo!) So as a result, I have now accomplished the following in my house: installed two hanging candle holders in the livingroom, put up the picture shelf in the hallway, sorted and put away a box of filing stuff in my room, cleaned all the upstairs bedrooms, cleaned the microwave, and did ALL the laundry (even blankets and pillows). The next projects I have lined up for the coming days are: scrubbing the ever-lovin' shit out of the dining table and chairs, sorting the other box of filing in my room, vacuuming the cobwebs in the high corners of the walls, cleaning and organizing all the kitchen cupboards and cabinets. There are many more such projects but I have to ration them to get me through the coming month.

And I'm proud to say that I haven't touched a drop of DP in these past 6 days, as well. Or any other type of pop. Its been just water and the occasional glass of juice or milk. It totally sucks but I am doing it. And I've lost six pounds so its worth it. Woohoo!

Top 10 Dirtiest Jobs of the Housewife

So Mr Mike Rowe, you think hosting 'Dirty Jobs' is tough? Baby, you ain't seen the half of it until you've had to deal with the many dirty, nasty, disgusting, horrifying things that the housewife deals with on a daily basis! So this is my Top 10 list of all those jobs that horrify me on a personal level; though there's hundreds more, as you could ask any fellow housewife (or househubby, don't wanna discriminate! lol) and they'd agree. Such as cleaning out your child's school backpack and discovering moldy oranges, bags of rotted unidentifiable food, and sweaty stinky gym clothes that haven't seen the light of day for months. Am I right on that one, ladies? Ugh!

TOP 10 DIRTIEST JOBS OF THE HOUSEWIFE (in no particular order)

Emptying/Cleaning the Litter Box

Cleaning up Puke

Washing Filthy Walls

Cleaning the Oven

Diarrhea Diapers (and the Children Who Like to Remove Said Diapers and Smear the Contents Over Every Available Surface)

Cleaning Out the Fridge

The Children's Dirty Fingernails

Cobwebs

Clogged Toilets...

...and the resulting Over-flowed Clogged Toilet

Wet Moldy Laundry

AND THE HONORABLE MENTIONS GO TO...

Killing Spiders

Cleaning the Filth-Encrusted Microwave

Mowing the Lawn

Pee on the Toilet Seat/Base/Floor/Wall Behind Toilet

Am I jealous? What's going on here?

Do you guys wanna hear something absolutely crazy and insane? Today is the first time in 10 DAYS that I have done laundry. I know! Hubs has been like a machine, doing laundry every waking moment. And the weird thing is.... I think he's even been putting the clothes away! Because I'm seeing the hampers of clean clothes coming upstairs but I certainly haven't been putting them away! Weird.

So I ventured downstairs to the laundry room today, like I said, for the first time in 10 days. A few days ago, I mentioned that I could take over that chore for him, you know, subtle-y implying that I want to 'reclaim' my laundry room (even though I am SO grateful for his new-found love of doing laundry). And do you know what he said? "Oh, that's okay, I'm all caught up." Uhhhh..... what?! "Yeah, there's a few towels down there, I'm waiting for some more so I can put in a load of whites, but other than that, I'm all caught up. It's all done. Oh, I do need to buy more bleach and the jug of laundry soap is half-empty." Uhhh.... WHAT?!!! Its been like two years since I've been "caught up" on laundry. There's ALWAYS a load or two waiting. I was just stunned. And what is up with his sudden knowledge of laundry 'lingo'? He needs to "buy more bleach", he's "waiting for more towels", he actually separates whites (unlike most guys who just throw it all in)?

Is Hubs having an affair with frickin' MARTHA STEWART or something?!?!!

Then I started thinking, 'Holy crap, this is making me look realllll bad! The man got caught up on laundry in like four days!' So when I went downstairs today, I was a little relieved to see there were two full hampers of dirty clothes. A-ha! Not so caught up now, are ya? And it feels really weird to admit this but -- I actually missed folding! Its so repetitive, doing the same movements over and over, its almost like a housewife's version of Tai Chi or something. My mind is free to drift and wander as my body automatically folds the clothes. So I was actually happy to pull a huge load of towels and dish cloths out of the dryer. Ahhh, sweet mindless bliss!

Project Laundry-Room: Update

So my wonderful mom has taken her disorganized daughter under her maternal wing and kick-started some house projects. Ones that I myself have been meaning to get to in the last FOUR YEARS of living here (told you I was Miss Procrastinator), but either didn't have the inclination or energy or even a clue of where to begin.

You all know that mom helped me with Lena's room - that project is taking a brief hiatus until February. For now, we have been working in my laundry room. And when I say "we" I mean her, my mom. Haha. She's the brain and brawn behind all this, although I will say I have contributed a few ideas. So don't think all I do is sit around and look pretty, lol.

I am so frickin' excited with how my laundry room is turning out. It already looks completely different. When its finally done, it will be unrecognizable (especially to Hubs, who only sees that room when he grabs bait from the freezer).

With the help of mom's guy friend we got the fridge and upright freezer moved to a better location; the storage closet was cleaned out of all the spare coats (now we have all the holiday stuff in there); we cleared out ALL the storage items and stuff for Value Village (Mom's storing it in her garage if anyone is still interested); and we moved my big desk in beside the washer and dryer -- it fits perfectly! I was then able to relocate the litter box and cat food/water dishes to under the desk in there, rather than in the toy area. I realized yesterday how bad of a spot that area was for the litter box when I caught Ryder happily playing in it (thankfully clean and empty-of-poop!), not just once but three times! Even though it was clean and had fresh litter, that's just... UGH!

Thanks to my on-the-spot thinking, we had the idea to move the wire shelves from the 'hockey' closet into the laundry room, against the wall by the door. It fit so perfectly, it was like it should have been there all along. I have been wanting and needing some shelves in there for so long, somewhere to put extra blankets or bedding (in bins, of course), somewhere to hang-dry clothes, stuff like that. It was literally a dream come true to get that shelving installed.

Now all we have left to do is finish the holiday-storage closet (get bins for each holiday, like one for Halloween stuff, one for Valentines, LOTS for Christmas, you know), get mom's little sewing desk in there for all my sewing stuff, have Levi do the sink-stuff he wants to do (he's making an enclosure for the big sink so you can't see the legs AND he's giving me a brand new faucet!! You rock Levi!), bring in a nice big area rug, and maybe put up some curtains and picture frames.

It is going to be absolutely BEAUTIFUL in there. I am so excited. I'll definitely post a picture once its all done. You guys are going to be soooo jealous! Haha.

I'm being held hostage

Okay, so some of you ladies will know EXACTLY what I mean when I explain. I am married to an obsessive fisherman/hunter, and every November my house becomes over-run with hunting gear. I've told Tyler (ranted, raged) that all that stuff needs to be contained downstairs, I WILL NOT have it upstairs. That's my space. But downstairs, what do I care, right?

Well, he listened, though he seemed to ignore the part where I said "contained" -- I was thinking he'd keep everything in bins or at least black garbage bags. No. Instead, he chose to drape all his hunting clothes and gear over every available surface in our downstairs livingroom. The desk -- covered with no-scent stuff and ammo, etc. The couch and the lamps -- covered with camo clothes, pants, shirts, gloves, coats, etc. I couldn't even look at that area whenever I'd go downstairs else I'd have an anxiety attack about the mess. I told myself "Just get through November, you can do it, when December rolls around it'll all get put away."

So its now December and just as I'd thought (hoped, wished, agonized over) Tyler is in the process of putting everything away. But FIRST, he said, he has to wash all his hunting clothes. OH GOD, I thought, not this again!!

You see, my hubby is a FIRM believer in using no-scent stuff on his hunting stuff. He's convinced he will never get a huge monster buck if it can smell him coming. So this means ALL his stuff MUST be washed with no-scent laundry soap. And not just that -- the washing machine and dryer CANNOT be "tainted" with regular laundry soap before he uses them. So before he does his laundry, he runs two EMPTY loads through the washer with his special soap to get rid of the "taint". Then, he BANS me from the laundry room (how DARE he?!) because my "woman scent" will somehow magically infuse the room and everything in it and will get on his hunting stuff. AARRGHH!!

So he started this process yesterday and warned me NOT to go in the laundry room for at least three days (just as well 'cause I'd probably have a shit-fit if I went in there and saw the ginormous chaotic mess he's creating). Now, I'm cool with him doing his own laundry and needing some time to get it all done. "Some time" in my mind constitutes one day, maybe two if I'm being nice -- it DOES NOT mean three days. Three friggin' days!! We are a household of SIX, do you have any idea how much laundry is created in three days!?

So I asked him this morning how many loads of his stuff he'd done and when can I expect my laundry room back? I asked quite nicely, in my opinion. He thought I was giving him a hard time and had a little freak out, "What?! I haven't even started! There was a hamper of your stuff in there so I thought I'd be nice and do that for you before I did my own stuff." To which I then freaked out (because I'm picky-picky and I like my laundry done a certain way, like, oh say, NOT putting dirty underwear and socks in with the towels, things like that, lol), "WHAT?!? You haven't even started?! This is day two of your three-day time allowance, there's NO WAY you'll be done by tomorrow if you haven't even STARTED!" Then he got more pissy, "Hey, at least I did your laundry for you! I had to waste my own no-scent stuff on YOUR laundry so it wouldn't taint the machine! You should be thanking me! And I can't help it if it takes me longer than three days, I work long hours so I can only do my laundry before-and-after work!" I replied, quite logically in my mind, "Well then, let ME do it, it'll be done by the end of the day. That should make you happy, right? I'll even fold it all for you!" (See, aren't I nice?) He spazzed out, "You are NOT allowed in that room, remember! And don't even think of touching my stuff with your woman-scent! I'll have to re-wash everything!"

So at that point, I chose to "exit" the conversation. He took that as a sign he'd "won" (stupid man) and went to work a happy camper (or, hunter, rather). Meanwhile, I'm standing at the sink doing dishes, muttering under my breath, "Stupid man, holding me hostage in my own home. What is the world coming to when a woman can't even go in her own laundry room? Woman-scent, hah! I should rub my boobs all over his stupid clothes! Muahahahaa!!! Ohgod, I can't believe I can't do laundry, I'm going insane! The dirty laundry hampers are piling up and taunting me!"

So that is the situation at my house right now. If you happen to see me and I'm wearing the same clothes you saw me in two days ago and there's stains on the pants and my shirt is wrinkled, have some pity on me, okay? Just say "stupid man" and shake your head, and I'll be happy.

Things I've recently learned...

• If you're making cookies but don't have a cookie sheet, use a muffin pan instead. The cookies turn out perfectly round and they puff up so you get a thicker cookie that's crispy on the bottom and sides and tender on the inside. Who knew?
• How to get rid of fruit flies? Put out a small bowl of cider vinegar with some drops of dishwashing liquid in it.
• Always strap the baby into his highchair (especially if the chair is close to something, oh say like a table), otherwise you'll look over from doing the dishes and see him doing the cha-cha on the tabletop.
• Using gum to hang a poster on the wall might, in fact, work, but trying to convince your mother that its a healthy alternative to swallowing it, does not.
• Instant coffee = instant heartburn, nausea, indigestion... (sing it with me)
• Unexpected gifts given to you "just because" are the best (thanks Mom!).
• Under the bed is not a good hiding spot for sexy-time stuff ("Look at all these cool lotions, Mom! Can I smell them? What is this thing?", "WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY ROOM? Ohmygod! Never mind that stuff, just GET OUT!")
• The strength of a migraine increases proportionately to the number of kids you have.
• The classic, tried-and-true response: Nod and smile, just noooddd and smiiiille...
• Learned this from an email: hydrogen peroxide can be used in place of bleach for just about anything -- cleaning, disinfecting, whitening (both clothes and teeth, but remember to mix with water when gargling); its safer, less smelly, and costs less (from the dollar store).
• Forgetting its Garbage Day is catastrophic.
• The self-checkouts at Walmart are awesome and fun... until the sensor has a problem with that huge box of tampons and the manager has to come sort it out while everyone waits. *blush*
• Just when you think your child(ren) cannot be any sweeter, smarter, amazing or funny... they will do something that reaffirms the incredible joy of being a parent.

Dirty is...Better?

I'm sure you're thinking, "What's with this woman? How does she have the time to write all these posts? Does she sit on her butt in front of the computer all day?" Its not that I have the time really, but I have a very over-active mind, thoughts and ideas constantly running around in there, and I've found that doing this blog is very therapeutic. So I MAKE the time. The baby is down for his mid-morning snooze, my daughter is snacking and watching Donald Duck, so here I am once again. I refuse to feel guilty about the dishes in the sink, and the load of laundry sitting in the dryer, calling for me to come fold. I was so full of P&V yesterday that I did like a weeks' worth (for me) of house chores. I conquered the Everest of laundry (we're talking six or seven loads, even blankets, which for me is on the bottom of the priority totem pole), vacuumed, windexed, even MOPPED, people. Mopping is hellish, because not only do you have to clear all the chairs out of the kitchen, once the actual mopping is done you have to wait and wait for the floor to dry. During which time my baby is screaming at me from his "cage" (the crib) because he knows whats up and wants at that floor!

As I was cleaning my room this morning, it occurred to me that sometimes, dirty is better. At least when it comes to the house. Here's why I came to this conclusion:

• Opposites attract, therefore - a clean floor attracts footprints, sticky juice spills, crumbs, etc; clean mirrors and glass attract fingerprints; you get the idea. So we can conclude that with a tv covered in baby handprints, one more will not be noticed (plus, how cute is that wee little handprint? Its a memento!), one more layer of dust on a shelf is indistinguishable from the bottom layers, and so on. Makes sense, right? (in a twisted way, lol)
• If the entire house is clean, perfect and wonderful, a precedent will be set. Why can't the house always be this clean? Just what do you do all day? Yesterday, the house was spotless, what chaos occurred today to make it like this? Don't you have any control over these kids? Why are you banging your head against the wall?
• A perfectly clean room looks like a museum, and any size mess stands out. When the entire room is messy, it looks lived-in and comfy.
• You want your guests to feel welcome and at-home, right? What's more welcoming and familiar than a messy house? Its like saying, "See, we're just like you! We're not high-and-mighty perfectionists that won't let you sit on the 'for-display-only' sofa." And that unique smell that every house has? You know that smell. You don't notice it when you're in the house, but if you leave and come back, it hits you. That smell is like a fingerprint, unique to every family. I can walk into a house and instantly know several things: if they have pets, what they've eaten for supper, how many kids they have, what they do for fun. Our house smells like four rowdy sweaty kids, two kitties, shoes, gasoline (that lovely odor comes from the many 'toys' in the attached garage, which is right by the front door), and maybe a smidgen of perfume, because I have a small obsession with fragrances (my absolute favorite - Hugo Boss XX). So when people come over, instead of some impersonal no-name air freshener scent, they get "Eau du Kasha" and they feel like they instantly know us. Right? Please say right! lol
• "If cluttered houses are hog heaven, then this house is really heaven on earth." Enough said.
• Showhome-clean houses are downright intimidating. If you go to someone's house, especially a house where there's kids, and its like a showhome, two things go through your mind: where do they find the time, and more importantly, aren't these poor kids allowed to play? Where's the toys? The piles of kids clothes created from the kids stripping down for a good session of wrestling in their underwear? Where's the dollys and costumes and coloring books and legos that show those kids are using their imaginations?
• Last but not least, time spent on endless housework is time not spent with the kids. I can spend an hour washing walls and cabinet doors, or I can cuddle with my daughter as we watch Looney Tunes. Is she going to look back on her childhood and remember how the house was always amazingly clean, or is she going to think, "My mom did crafts and colored pictures with me"? All those old cliches are so true -- childhood goes by so quickly, they're grown before you know it, remember yesterday when you were a baby. I actually feel like a better parent when I ignore the housework and focus on them.

So there's my justifications for why my house is not, and probably never will be, perfectly clean and spotless. Not saying that I wouldn't LOVE a perfectly clean house, but I'm enough of a realist to know it wouldn't stay that way for long. I AM trying to teach the kids to clean up after themselves, and let me tell you, threatening to throw anything on the floor in the garbage works GREAT. But, it backfires real quick when you realize that you just threw that brand new $50 toy in the bag and the kids are daring you with their eyes to follow through. In instances like that, just sneak into your room, stash the toy on the top shelf in your closet, and give it to them for Christmas. They'll be ecstatic to get the toy back after all that time, and you've just saved yourself $50 on Christmas shopping.

By now, you're thinking I'm a lazy messy slob, and cheap to boot. Haha! You know what? All this 'dirty is better' is really my way of tricking my mind into calming the hell down. Do you ever watch Jon & Kate + 8? I'm a lot like Kate. I can be nitpicky, demanding, obsessive about keeping the house clean. I'm not to her extent, where I'm handwashing the kitchen floor up to 3 times a day (I just about puked when I heard her say that!!). But I've had my moments where I've followed the kids through the house, from mess to mess, and hit the boiling point and the kids have ran and hid because a fire-breathing dragon has consumed their mother. Ha! I laugh about it, but they don't. Hahahaha. So yeah, in moments of "cleaning crisis" where I hear myself threatening them with weeks of grounding because I've stepped on a lego, I take a moment ("Serenity now! Serenity now!" Seinfeld never gets old) and force myself to remember -- kids are kids, messes are messes, what's more important in the grand scheme of things?

It also helps that my hubby has learned through experience not to make any comment whatsoever on the state of the house, the absence of clean underwear in his drawer, and the fact that the tv screen is obscured by a thick, filmy layer of baby handprint upon baby handprint. He's the best hubby a neatfreak-slob could have.