Smell Something Funny

At the beach, been here roughly 10 days so far, settled in. The kids have their friends, some old and some new. They ran in a large pack for the first few days, but by now, they have begun grouping and connecting. Spending time with one on one, and switching it up very few hours. Primarily, there are girls here. Two boys in the main pack, and they are 6 and 12, so not exactly close in age. This can be a problem for poor little Jacob, because he often is the stinky little brother that no one wants to play with. Well, in this case, stinky was accurate.

Need to make a an up-front apology to you Jacob, this blog is a bit of a laugh at your expense. Right now, you don't really care at all, because you have no idea about this. But someday, if you ever search archives and come across this, you'll find many laughs on your account. Thank you, son, for being a good sport and allowing me to share the laughter. By the way, your sweet little self is fast asleep in mid-afternoon on the couch right in front of me, which is why I am even blogging at the beach. You woke up sick, and have been sick all day so far.

Anyway, I had been hanging out down at the beach, which is maybe 40 yards from the cottage we are staying in. Kids had been in and out of the water, in and out of the cottage, it was a smooth beach day with everyone succesfully entertained most of the time. I hiked the 40 or so yards (such a burden) from the water to the cottage to get something, I don't know, probably a fresh beverage. I walked into a cottage full of girls, guess I hadn't noticed where they had been. I can't tell you who was in there, but I am aware that there was a new friend in the cottage, because I remember watching my reaction to what was about to happen. You know how you feel more comfortable yelling, or what have you, in front of friends who are around alot? But when there are newbies, you don't want to scare them off. So you filter your normal scoldings to make them sound, let's just say, NICE.

Walked in to a group of girls saying "It smells like poop in here!" First thing I do is look for Jacob, and notice he is in fact NOT in the cottage at the moment. Next thing I do is search my memory for whether or not he's 'used the washroom' yet today, as we say when we are in Canada. Mmmmmmm, don't think so. Why would I even keep track you wonder? Well, let's just say he still needs a little assistance in that department, no big deal there. I reply the gracious response about maybe the dog tooted, actually thinking maybe one of these sweet girls tooted and didn't want to admit it. However, this is pretty unnecessary in my home, in fact, these girls seem to take pride in their bodily functions. But there was a new friend here, I remember, and I don't yet know her level of confidence with public tooting.

Then I smell it too. And I have to say that there is a particular oder to a certain person's poo accidents. When I say accidents, I mean that sometimes, the process begins before, shall we say, the pants come down, leaving a little bit of evidence with a very powerful scent. I had to admit that I did smell the familiar smell. But again, Jacob was no where to be seen. So I blow it off and said "I'm sure the dog just tooted" although I wasn't too sure myself.

The my girls blatantly begin asking, well, not really asking, more stating in a accusatory tone of voice, that it smells like Jacob's poo. Since there is an undeniable smell that didn't go away with removing the dog from the cottage, I decide to make a formal investigation. The girls are all hovering around an iPad or an iPhone or a computer, or SOMETHING that you should not have anywhere near your beach vacation because it just seems WRONG. Jordan, who is now 12 (yep, that's right, a tween) was on a chair with the illegal beach device on her lap and everyone else was hovering around watching it. Jordan said the smell was somewhere around the chair. I knew that Jacob had been sitting on that chair earlier, so my thought was that maybe he accidentally began his process too late, leaving a little residue on the chair. So I had her stand, we pulled the various blankets and towels off, gave them the sniff test, and even sniffed the seat of the chair. Nothing. Huh, my best guess was insufficient.

It was funny that the smell seemed to be in the middle of the room only. It was near the chair, but not on the chair. I stood in the middle of the room, wondering. Where could it be coming from? Of course I looked at the floor in front of me, a large Asian rug. I had to lower my head to the floor for a 'tabletop' view since the design on the rug might be hiding something. Still nothing. I even looked up at the ceiling, thinking that maybe there had been an accident on the floor above me. While this may seem ridiculous, keep in mind that cottages are by nature flimsy. The ceiling is plywood, and there are plenty of leaks in the walls and ceilings. So maybe, just maybe, there was a poo accident upstairs and it was seeping. However, upon looking up - nothing. So I decided to let it go. By now, all the girls except Jordan were out of the cottage, and quite frankly, I didn't know where or how else to investigate.

Fast forward 10 minutes. Jordan is still watching some illegal beach device, Jacob is back in the cottage, and I'm buzzing around doing what mom's do chronically: pick up, wipe down some surface, prepare snack, gather laundry, whatever busy work was happening. All of a sudden, I hear "EEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWW!" I'm not sure what happened exactly, but Jordan raised her foot off the floor and held it about 12 inches up, as we both gazed at a brown oval-shaped clump of something stuck to her skin. It suddendly registered that YES, it was Jacob's poo. Still not sure how it got from his rear end on to Jordan's foot, but I can only tell you that the look on my Tween's face spoke 1000 words, none of them nice or loving. You all can picture this, right? Any 12-year-old with her little brother's poo on her foot. . . this was not a pretty sight. I ran to the bathroom to get tissue while Jordan sat frozen on the chair, with Jacob asking "What? What? What?" All I knew was that I was trying to remove the poo before a tirade came flowing out of Jordan's mouth, causing permanent damage to Jacob's self esteem. I was successful only because after the poo removal, she was so motivated to get her foot into the tub to clean off . . . you know. Luckily, although I think Jabob knew he had dropped a little poo on the floor, he seemed to be unphased by all of this commotion. He went back outside.

I went into the bathroom to praise Jordan for holding it together, but the look she gave me spoke another 1000 words. Unfortunately, at this moment, instead of being able to thank her for not abusing Jacob, I BURST into laughter so violently, that I wasn't even sure if I was laughing or crying. I was hysterical! Truly. Jordan, even though I'm sure anger was boiling from her now clean foot to the tip of her head, was not even sure what to do with me. I thought for sure she would at least crack a smile at my strange behavior, but no. Not Jordan, the strong-willed child of steel. I could tell she had a grin in her, but she dared not let it out, considering the heinousness of the situation. I, on the other hand, continued to laugh-the gut wrenching, barely breathing, tears flowing-laugh. I continued to attemt to stop, to comfort Jordan, but as soon as I saw her face of disgust, I busted out laughing again. I tried to hug her to show my support, but she ended up holding me up since I was laughing so hard. Anway, I ended up apologizing for my lack of support with my chronic laughter. I am LOL-ing even as I write this. I think this memory will bring me joy for years.

I am definitly not the mother of the year, and I'm OK with that!

It's Snappy!

I wrote this post last year, just around the time this blog spot changed something . . . enough for people like me to not know how to get on to their own blog. But it was fun to relive this one!

Ok, I know it's been a while since I wrote, you would think one month on the beach would provide some good writing time. Let's just say I was in another world. Current status: back to housekeeping/mothering wonderful life.

So I'm talking to my son Jacob yesterday, I don't know about what. You know how it goes talking to a five-yr-old . . . many of those conversations, I just nod my head and mumble an occasional 'uh huh.' So he was rambling about something very interesting to him when he paused, and said "Tiger has a dead squirrel." He had my attention.

I looked up from the dishes and saw that unfortunately he was not gazing out the window at our cat, Tiger. And therefore Tiger was not outside with the 'dead squirrel'. Oh wait, maybe Tiger just has a stuffed animal in his mouth, I hopefully thought. Since Jacob was peering down the hallway, of course not moving, just commenting on this new awareness that Tiger has a dead squirrel, I slowly walked around the corner to peek at Tiger, who made a mad dash for the basement with, yes, a bushy tail hanging from his mouth. I knew enough to know that it was not one of the beannie babies.

I began yelling "squirrel! squirrel!" down the basement where Chris and Jordan were cleaning. I learned the hard way in the past that simply screaming does not get the necessary attention. A couple years ago when I opened the garage door to a possum about to step into my home, I had hopes that my blood-curdling scream would draw some attention. I was wrong. I next tried screaming "POSSUM!" which was effective. So this time around, I wasted no efforts. It worked.

Chris headed up from the basement, the same time I headed down, so Tiger was trapped in the middle with his trophy. He hid his new little toy underneath my scrapbooking bag and took off. Chris got a broom (not sure how that was ganna help with a chipmunk (Jake was wrong about the squirrel) who can jump. Anyway, Chris picked up the bag, and the rodent started jumping. Therefore, I began screaming because I had visions of National Lampoon's Family Vacation with the squirrel . . . . I'm yelling for Tiger to get back here to catch the dang thing. Jordan is yelling "IT'S ZIPPY! IT'S ZIPPY!" because they name all the wildlife around here, and apparently Zippy is the chipmunk who lives underneath our driveway. Unfortunately, I'm not careing about Zippy's welfare right now, which seems upsetting to Jordan. She's yelling that Tiger will kill it. Yes, where did Tiger go, anyway?

Luckily, Zippy escaped, brushed past Chris's leg, and took off through the basement where Jacob somehow got him to go right out the door. Tiger spent the rest of the afternoon looking longingly out the window. And sweet Julia, who thinks her cat is an angel, missed it all.

You know you are hormonal when . . .

First of all, readers, the reason I have not posted in almost a year is because technology changed, forcing me temporarily our of my own blog, and I am NOT savvy enough to figure it out. Meanwhile, I was going through a very stressful year, and I was reserving every brain cell that I had for the mere purposes of survival. But I am back, at least I thought I was. Back to the reason I am writing today.

I know I am hormonal when I am cracking myself up with my own crazy thoughts. Today, before 9am even rolled around, here were a few clues I am having a hormonal shift. I don't even know if this counts for PMS, because it is only day 19. You may be thinking "how does she even know it is day 19!" Well, let me tell you. You might need to know this because there will be future "You know you are Hormonal when . . ." blogs, as I tend to live 50% of my life having these days. Somehow, I missed the bus when the "normal PMS" assignments were being given out. So anyway, for a long time, I have tracked my days and studied hormones in women. In laywoman's terms, lets just say that hormonone levels change constantly, keeping us a a chronic state of change, making it difficult for me/us to stay consistent and grounded. Ladies, let me offer you this awareness, which I believe accounts for much of our own crazy as well as brilliant thinking. Not everyone may relate to this, because hormones are different in everyone, with some people (like me) having more erratic changes than others.

AS a side note, my mom suggested I read THE FEMALE BRAIN. She even gave me the book. But since I was preserving all my brain cells for survival, I did little more than hold the book and hope to magically download the information by holding it. However, then my bestie, Heather, who I grew up with since the Brownie days, told me that she read it and it was AWESOME. She said every woman should read it, especially moms, because it will help our daughters learn about this crazy phenomenon.

Anyway, on to my morning . . . You know you are hormonal when:


. . . you wake up sweating and dreaming that you have fleas in your head and you are at a conference with people you respect, and those fleas are jumping all over your forehead.

. . . you cringe at the sound of your little child asking for chocolate milk, and you are tempted to yell, "get your own d*#! milk (but you sweetly say "just a minute honey"

. . . you make coffee and get back in bed for the 60 seconds that it takes to brew.

. . . you praise Jesus that it is bagel day at school and that is one less thing you have to do this morning.

. . . when your child starts fussing (because he always does and you should be used to it) you run to your stash of homeopathic vitamins that are supposed to calm your anxiety. You can barely answer the child because you have popped several of these GABA-calms under your tongue, hoping whether or not it is a placebo effect, that it will just come through for you this time!

. . . you will not, under any circumstances, drive the kids to school without coffee in your hand, although you will leave without any make-up, hair, or even shoes.

. . . you notice that it is a beautiful Michigan day (which have been scarce up until recently) so you force yourself for your kids sake to mention what a nice day it is.

. . . you are fully aware that you should take advantage of every beautiful Michigan day, and exercise, or walk the dog, or something! But instead you know full wee that you will go home and make a pot of coffee and enjoy staring out the window being totally non-productive.

. . . you can't wait for the 5 minute drive to be over so you can get a moment to yourself, feeling guilty for being so happy to dump your kids at school.

. . . THEN - 30 seconds later, you are tearful because your kids are leaving you for the day. You remind them to study hard and grow their brain cells, and as you say it, you realize they are growing. They are not just leaving you for the day, they are leaving you!

Everyone, I wish for you today (and myself) a STABLE day!

Heels Up!

I shouldn't have been laughing, but I just could not help it!

Jake and I were driving along, just minding our own business. I was driving home from the gym, feeling accomplished about working out. Even though many people work out many days of the week, each time I actually make it, I am surprised and proud. It's just so easy to blow it off. Anyway, we were tooling along . . .

Stow and Go seating - what a great thing. I used to have to bring a neighbor over to move seats around in my car. Or . . I had to schedule to have Chris put seats back in, or take them out. I used to promise to car pool and drive, only to have kids show up last minute for departure, and realize that my seats were all sitting in my garage. They were so heavy and bulky, I would be cursing under my breath the whole time I was arranging . . . Anyway, I love Stow and Go. It is worth the six year loan . . . ..

So the other day, I had the driver side seats all folded down. . . and little Jake was in the very back in a single seat. He loves sitting way back there in his own world. He was watching a movie on the back movie player . . . all was as it should be. Usually, we go to the gym and then run errands, typically to Costco, where we acquire many groceries and supplies. But this day, no errands. Just the gym. In fact, the van was pretty empty.

So when I stopped at a red light, and then accelerated when it turned green, I was very surprised to hear the 'Thud!' in the back. I thought to myself, "Humm, I didn't buy anything . . . I don't have anything loose to be rolling around . . . what could that be?"

All of a sudden, I heard a slow starting whine . . . "wwwwaaaaaaaaa, haaaaaaa, haaaaaa . ...."

I looked in the rear view mirror . . .. only to see Jake's Spider Man Boots sticking up toward the ceiling, like almost flat against the ceiling! What in the Hee Haw! His Stow and Go seat had come unlocked and had flipped him back, slamming his head against the back door. He had NO room to get out of this postition. I had to pull over, unbuckle him, so he was able to roll to the side and drop out of his trap. He was balling. I, realizing that he was really fine, was trying trying very hard not to laugh. Because it was not funny at all!

Of course, everyone I told, busted out laughing. IT'S NOT FUNNY!

Highway to Where????

So we were driving home from dropping off Girl Scout Cookie money after school. It had been a pajama day for Jacob and myself. Well, I was really in workout clothes because I did a whopping 18 minutes on the machine in the basement . . . I couldn't spell u-l-y-p-t-i-c-a-l correctly if I tried. And Jacob, he was in PJ pants, no shirt, no shoes, but at least a jacket on, because it's gotta be at least 30F outside . . . Anyway, I did not want to be going anywhere today b/c I was looking like I just rolled out of bed. So I was planning on sending Julia to the door, since it was her Girl Scout stuff anyway.

So we drop the money off and are working our way back home when Jake asks to play a game on my iphone. Sure, I said, because I was really tired of hearing "Lots and lots of trains . . . .going under tunnels and through the tracks . . . " soundtrack repeatedly. So I popped that video out and rock music started blasting through the speakers. Julia commented that she usually heard this song in Daddy's car. Of course, Chris programmed MY stations in MY van to HIS music. So I quickly switched it to my favorite Christian station. I asked the kids, knowing full well the answer, if Daddy ever played Christian music in his car. Julia said, hesitantly, "Yeah . . . " I interrupted "No he doesn't!" She grinned. I said, "Next time you're in his car, tell him you want to listen to Christian music." I'm of course thinking that this will increase his guilty conscience if the kids start asking for inspirational music.

Then Jacob blurted out "No! I like hearing . . .(then he began singing) High - way - to - Hell!" by AC/DC. Reminder, to all my readers, Jake is 4. Nice. Very spiritual. Of course, the good mother I am, I bust out laughing. We all did. In our parental defense, I think this song is on Iron Man or Guitar Hero, or something. It's not like we walk around singing that one!

About five minutes later, Julia confessed that she had said that Dad plays Christian music because she didn't want Daddy to get in trouble. "In trouble by who?" I asked. "By you," she said. Gosh, those little buggers are smart!!!! Never, never have I (out loud) chastised Chris for his lack of inspirational music. That Julia, she is certainly in tune. So Chris, just so you know, she was sticking up for you, Just In Case.

Then, sweet Julia said, "You know Mom, I kinda like that song too."

"I know Julia, me too." Then, with full awareness that these young impressionable minds are soaking in everything, I found the song on my sync system (Chris had already programmed it in for me!) We cranked it up, drove around the hood. But being the good mom that I am, I did insert 'heaven' instead of 'hell'

Toxic Release

I was having a "Deafeated Mom" day. You know the kind, those days where kids are arguing, and you don't even care. The dog is continually aiming to walk underneath your feet. One of the cats dragged pooh from the kitty litter onto the floor, which I thought was some burrs or leaves from the back yard stuck to the carpet, so I continued to walk over it until finally, I had enough time to pick it up and realized it was pooh . . . You know this day. Everyone seemed to have a high pitched whiney voice, the voice that actually is like finger nails on the chalk board, I just cringe as soon as they start talking. Anyway, Julia and Jacob were escalating in some kind of argument. If I had to hear "Mom!" "Mom!" MMMMOOOOOOMMMMMMM! one more time, I was going to change my name. So they were arguing, and I heard Julia saying "Stop it, Jacob! Stop it!" "Stop it, Jacob! Stop it!" Ok, times this by 10 . . . 10 more times . . . and 10 times the volume. I just stayed in the laundry room, folding clothes, because I had more use in here at the moment. I tried to justify this by thinking that I was a good mom, letting them work this out on their own. Isn't this how kids establish leadership and surrender in life? The relationships with their siblings? So I just tried to hold my breath and close my ears until it was over. I considered putting my headphones in . . . something I am ashamed to admit that I do during PMS weeks. But then, all of a sudden, Julia let out a TOXIC scream! I think she screamed, "STOP IT!!!!!!!!!" but I don't really know, because the shrill rattled my eardrums. However, following the scream, I immediately felt a release . . . a relief . . . I remembered one of my besites, Kim, telling me (after I had just screamed at my kids) that screaming helps you release toxins. I love that spin on it . . . I actually was a good mom in that moment for letting Julia wail it out! And of course, Jacob was unphased . . . in fact, when I did go in to peek at the scene, he had a grin on his face. Wouldn't you know. Good for you Julia, Toxic Release.

One Thing Leads to Another

I finally found what I was looking for! In the bookshelf department, that is. I've been looking for a couple years. Actually, more than a couple. And it's a good thing I waited. For at least 8 years, I've watched Costco repeatedly sell a tall dark wood bookcase, which if I remember correctly, began selling for $150. Not a bad price at all for the quality. However, back in those days, I never had an extra $150 to burn. So each time I saw it, I would covet it, but figure I'd wait until the next year. They continued to improve it slightly, added a light to it . . . I continued to show self restraint. A time came when I knew I probably could afford it, but still kept waiting. Eventually, I began passing it by because I decided I liked a more rustic look. Well, you would think it would be easy to find a bookshelf. WRONG!

After months of 'Not' finding what I wanted, I tried reducing my book collection. I did reduce it, but not enough to not need a book shelf. I actually weeded through several times, giving away and donating books. But if you know me well, you know that I like to buy books and learn their content by osmosis . . . I hold it long enough to digest the information without reading it. OK, so I have a book addiction! Could be worse.

Anyway, I love to stop in a Hobby Lobby whenever I am near one, bc there isn't one within 30-40 minutes from me. So the other day, I went for birthday celebration for one of my besties, Kim Speck, (also one of my followers and fellow bloggers!) and we happened upon Hobby Lobby. I knew going in that this was NOT a good time to spend money. The day before, we had bought a car which required a down payment, which we had saved up for . . . most of you know the deal. But isn't that how it always happend? When you have money to spend, you can't find squat! When you don't, you find exactly what you are looking for! At least that seems to be a pattern in my spending life. If I could just figure out how to switch that up.

Like most good girlfriends on shopping missions, we split up the moment we entered the store. Why waste time chatting. Of course I was finding lots of great little decor items which were reasonably priced that weren't going to hurt my budget. So I was filling my cart . . .

As I rounded the last corner of the store, 45 minutes in, there I saw them. Not one, not two, but three small bookshelves. Rustic. Weathered paint. Most important - aqua-ish color! Plus a shelf with large shelves for my scrapbooks which I have forever been trying to store. Well, you all know what happened. Luckily, my instincts had compelled me to empty out my van and stow the seats in case someone had made a large purchase.

And so, one thing leads to another. I came home, looked around, considering arrangement. Decided to move my oversized cheap, flimsy, particle board, and wrong-colored-wood desk (which I'll add that my hubby NEVER wanted me to buy in the first place.) First problem, it had to be taken apart and there was no way on GGE (God's Green Earth) that I could move it. Next problem, I had to wait for my husband and his Father to do the task. (I'll hold my comments about this process! Loved the helpt though!) Then, trying to figure out where to put all the junk that my desk held . . . how to re-arrange . . . Finally I figured out where to put things and realized that now, half the other stuff doesn't look good. So out with more stuff, in with more, including a trip to Elements for a cabinet that had my name on it (more money!). I also realized, in this process, how much I really do need a desk. So I began discussion with Elements, one of my favorite stores! about having a desk custom built. Wouldn't want to spend 5 more years looking for something to match.

I guess this is life: You begin one project with enthusiasm and energy . . . and then the multiple little projects in between twist and turn, drain your energy and bank account . . . Hey. I'm not that impulsive thought. I'm sitting here typing on my grandma's antique secretary desk (which my laptop barely fits on). My furniture includes a chair and phone table from my god-mother's house, and an old church pew that my parents salvaged from somewhere. If I were that impulsive, I'd have a nice matching set, new from . .. wherever.

Next project, tackle the closet so I can have room for what used to be in my desk -




OH BOY, here I go!