-inside

-outside

-church

-baby sleeping

-don’t let the other kids know I’m letting you stay up later

then there’s always the tone of voice, which better be nice or else:

-can I have cookies

-can I stay up late

-why am I unloading the dishwasher again?

-what’s for dinner?

-and the ever popular why do I have to go to bed now voice…

Which brings me my daughters favorite  topic, my voice.  They love it when I’m in full on combat mode, usually over why/who/when/how the dishwasher will be unloaded this particular day.  They always whine and ask these same questions and usually push me to the point of saying things like why do you think I had four kids?  Inevitably, when in this type of verbal ping pong I will launch into if you don’t empty that dishwasher right now I’m gonna chop off your little hands and then what?  How will that look with a prom dress, the girl with the two hooks?  maybe you’ll have to be a pirate for Halloween for the rest of your life.  Then you can tell everyone it’s because you refused to unload the dishwasher.  What’s that?  You’re calling child protective services?  Let me pack you a little bag and help you wait out front for them to pick you up.  I’m sure they’ll see the abuse that is unloading the dishwasher.  Oh, yeah.  Well, I may have threatened to cut your little hands off if you didn’t unload the dishwasher but…

*ring, ring*

Helloooo!

Oh, hi!

Yes, good, and you?

Oh my gosh, I’ve been meaning to call you all day.  Yes, the kids are good, and yours?  Uh, huh. Yeah.  Of course!  I know. Right.  Yes.  Didn’t I tell you that?  Kids.  What are ya gonna do?  How cute.  Okay, I’ll letcha go.  Good hearing from you!  Ok.  You too.  Buh bye.

*glances to find lazy girl children blissed out in front of Hannah Montana*

Damn it, if you don’t get in here right now!  I can NOT believe you just can’t do this one little chore (etc. etc. in extreme salty pirate voice)

So, needless to say, I have many voices.  It really has more to do with eliciting some sort of response in you.  Which has not been one of my strong suits in my 13 year career as head wrangler at The Dust Bunny Ranch.

me: I blogged again.  It’s sort of like alerting your friends to the fact that you’ve pooped.  They really don’t want to know, but are too polite to say so ; )

Yvette: omg, I can’t stop laughing.

me: no really, I’m a lot lighter now.  After blogging and all.

*Yvette send me a bumper sticker that says “I pooped today” and we discuss her two dogs playing tug of war with her underwear*

I show up at my son’s classroom to help out on Friday at 2.  Preschool kid sister and teacher offering consisting of grande Starbucks and oatmeal raisin cookie.  As I peek in the class, the teacher is already doing my job.  She smiles and tells me that my son has instructed her that I’m super forgetful and won’t be coming.  The duty was assigned to be completed at any time as long as it’s done on Friday.  In my book I had almost two hours to toil away precious time I could have been organizing my husbands sock drawer or printing new labels for my spice jars.  Something vital and urgent.

It is widely known that kids share the goods with their teachers.  Why else would anyone take on the challenge of teaching 25 kids?  It’s like watching day time TV while getting to get out of the house and get paid.  Stories of how mommy threw hot bbq tongs at daddy’s head on the patio last night, daddy drinking beer and sitting on the couch because he lost his J-O-B, or how the nanny has a “special friend” who comes over and plays dress up while the kids watch two hours of cable TV.  The teachers know your dirt.

So as much as I wanted to explain away my reasons for justifying my late entrance into the classroom today, it’s pointless.  She already knows my drink of choice is either a venti drip or a double gin and tonic with a twist, and that I use the f word with reckless abandon.  She knows my husband and I argue in front of our kids and that we both love to cook.  She knows mommy likes to sleep in and wear her jammies all day on the weekends and that my kids bathe every other day.  She also knows that when my son doesn’t want to wear underwear I don’t force the issue.  I have no secrets and it doesn’t make any sense to try and BS with her.  I don’t need to ingratiate myself, I came with coffee and a smile.

I feel sorry for the other moms who haven’t had this parental awakening yet.

I never have had much sucess with brewing my own coffee at home.  I can state this without embaressment because Rachel Ray admits to the same.  True, her empire is nothing compared to what I’m running here, but she opened the door to the coffee confessional.  I’ve bought a french press, a coffee machine sold at Starbucks, I’ve tried using bottled water instead of tap, keeping the coffee in a vaccuum sealed container as well as in the freezer.  So my husband usually makes a run to our local corner Starbucks in the morning.  He no longer prioritizes a long shower he knows that the number of children he will come home to later in the day will likely be reduced if I don’t start my day with a jolt.  There have been days when they have all been sitting on the front steps waiting for him. Those days, if you were keeping a log, would be the days I didn’t get my coffee.  That is a documented case of major coffee depression.  It’s unavoidable.  Unlike other forms of depression it’s a pretty quick fix.  It won’t take a coupla weeks for the meds to kick in.  Just one Venti something or another and you’ll be back on track.

Which brings me to discuss the coffee mania.  It’s not pretty, there can be profuse sweating along with chipped dishes and glassware.  I’m not one of those people who waits for the dishwasher to cycle and unload it at night.  So I slug my coffee and unload the dishwasher in the morning.  Sometimes my whole upper body vibrating with caffiene.  Eyes dialated.  I hate unloading the dishwasher.  But god bless those dishes when I’m bringing on a self imposed mania.  I could kiss and caress each plastic Ikea plate before putting them on the shelf.

I mention all of that to tell you this – I couldn’t sleep without my blog last night.  Kept me up longer than a savage weaning kitty nursing on my earlobe.  I fretted about leaving my blog alone last night, downstairs in the living room.  Dark, alone.  It’s just a baby. 

Nine years and one day ago I gave birth to my daughter Hannah.  When Mr. Fabulous thrust the phone in my hand and told me to talk to his mother I summonsed all my energy and she remarked at how I sounded like I could have delivered another baby again right that moment.  There is an exhilaration you feel right afterwards I suppose.  It was a bit of a stretch for me at that moment because I’d hemmoraged quite badly.  But, the relief of no longer being pregnant outweighed any discomfort and hormonal bliss kept me floating through the rest of the day.  I do remember a large number of family members coming to visit and me awkwardly hobbling across the room to stand in some pics next to them seated in chairs holding Hannah.  I digress…my point is that once the rush of shopping or birthing is over it’s back to life as we know it.  The rush of being a brand new blog mom is that life as I know it is pretty crazy.  I can’t wait to tell you all about it.

I sat here trying to figure out where I wanted to sign up, who I’d chose for hosting and what my name for the blog would be.  All the while being nursed on by a 9 ounce kitten with seperation anxiety issues.  Finally, I picked up the beast and put him on my husbands chest so I could concentrate without having to crane my neck over feline hind quarters to see what I was typing.  The clawing and nursing stopped.  Just as I was telling Mr. Fabulous what I was up to he turned, tiny kitten in arms and said “I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over all this purring”  Not funny.  I need neosporin.

I had another name chosen for my blog but it was already taken.  I think this works though.  When I reach all time top mommy blogger status it will be easy for people to remember the name of the blog because Oprah will say that she’s hosting a mommy blogger on her next one hour special and “she is fabulous”…