Crocodile Tears

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A few nights ago my husband and I had a bit of a spat - one that was mostly my fault. He left and I stomped around the house muttering to myself for a while. I threw myself down on the couch and started flipping channels and eventually stumbled onto Titanic - the part right after they've hit the iceberg and it's all starting to hit the fan.

I'm not a huge fan of Titanic - I mostly just like the excitement of the ship sinking and the ensuing fight for survival, but near the end I always get misty (when that mother is reading to her children inside the sinking ship it kills me every time).

By the time my husband wandered back in an hour later Jack was already frozen. We did that thing married people do after a fight where you sort of glance at the other person to see if they are looking at you, and to see if they look sorry, or mad, or neutral.

He looked like he was tired of arguing, so I choked out an "I'm sorry," through my tears. The tears sealed it, and he came over and sat down next to me and gave me a big hug. I hugged him back and sniffled a little.

We sat there for a minute and I watched as old lady Rose tossed her diamond into the sea. (So dumb - give it to a charity or something Rose. Sheesh.) My husband looked at me, then back at the TV suspiciously.

"Wait a minute. Did you apologize because you were sorry or because Jack just died and you needed a hug?"

DANG it. He knows me all too well.

PS: Work allowing, I'll be announcing the entries that will be included in the NieNie book at the end of the week.
PPS: Please check out my friend Annie's latest project: Project Twilight

Paddling

Pin It We're dealing with Things this week.

There have been Workplace Injuries, which required Special Conversations with Very Important Officials and even a consultation with an attorney to make sure that Things Are Being Handled Correctly.

The people who are masquerading as doctors tell us that the injuries are Possibly Severe and Life Altering, but also Possibly Not Severe and Life Altering, and that really, it All Just Kind of Depends - on whether or not you consider things like running, and hiking, and bending over, and picking stuff up, and oh, I don't know, being able to perform the normal functions of police work an essential part of life.

I hate it when my life involves so many capital letters.

I'm hundreds of miles away from where all of these Things are taking place, so I'm mostly trying not to think about it - trying not to fret and stew over What It Means. Luckily, I'm incredibly busy right now, between my kids and the five tons of freelance work that's popped up over the last few weeks.

If you ran into me at Target or something, unless you're my mother or my husband I doubt you would know anything was wrong. I've become compulsive about looking on the bright side, and I'm not sure if it's because a) it really does make me feel better, or b) I feel like it ought to make me feel better, or because c) YAY, denial!

But the truth is, I'm kind of tired of Overcoming Challenges in a Positive Way. I'd rather just - coast along on the Lazy River of Being in a Nice, Calm, Boring Rut. Sign me up for some of that, please.

P.S. It IS possible to gain ten pounds in two weeks. In case you were wondering.

P.P.S. It's cracking me up that in the Amazon ad on my blog (scroll down on the right hand side), the showcased books are all by Stephenie Meyer. Apparently Amazon has determined that the readers of this blog LOVE Twilight. :>

In Which We Discuss Things That REALLY SUCK because that other stuff? NOT. EVEN. CLOSE.

Pin It (Alternate Title: Tell Me To Look On The Bright Side And I Will Hunt You Down and Kill You, So Help Me...)

Um... Hello! Greetings! Contrary to popular belief, I have not actually succumbed to the runs. I'm alive, but have been resisting the urge to post any of my drafts, which have very melodramatic and self pitying titles, such as:

• WOE IS ME


• A DETAILED LITANY OF EXACTLY HOW MUCH OUR LIFE SUCKS RIGHT NOW


• SERIOUSLY, WOE IS ME


• HEY, MAN UPSTAIRS - ARE YOU KIDDING ME WITH THIS?


• WHAT A WORLD, WHAT A WORLD (I'M MELTING, I'M MELTING)

I thought I would spare you until I was able to get some perspective.
What's that? You want to know what's been going on with us? It's so nice that you asked, because I'm feeling in the mood for a rather large vent. (WARNING: EXCESSIVE AMOUNTS OF PERSONAL INFORMATION AHEAD, AVERT EYES IF SQUEAMISH.)

If you've been reading for a while, you might know that we had a business. A business we were pretty sure was going to do well. Oh. Hold on. Excuse me for a moment.

(bitter laughter) ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha (/bitter laughter)

Sorry, where was I? Oh - right, the business. It didn't work out (UNDERSTATEMENT) and we've been scrambling a bit (MASSIVE UNDERSTATEMENT) to get things back on track, with very little success (SPECTACULAR UNDERSTATEMENT) in spite of our best efforts.

The weekend before last, we went to Las Vegas to look for a house to rent. We're moving back there - leaving the little town we love and going back to the horrifying hell hole (UNDERSTATEMENT) we grew up in. My husband has a good job waiting for him there, I can keep my job and work from home in Vegas, and it just made sense in a whole bunch of very boring ways. We made the decision together and agree it's the best thing to do, but it still feels like a failure - leaving a place we love, a neighborhood we love, and returning to a place we both despise. Ugh.

Anyway, we spent the weekend looking at rental houses and eventually found one that did not make us want to impale ourselves on sharp sticks. The kids all got sick, making the trip home very suspenseful and interesting: Who would barf next? Would they barf into a bag, or share with their siblings? And how many times do you think you can you barf in a car before EVERYBODY gets sick? (Answer: Approximately four) Those were super fun car games. The trip home just flew by.

But the best part of the whole trip? Happened right after we got home.

We pulled into our driveway. My husband parked the car in the garage and went out front. I started helping the children out.

He came back and looked at me grimly. "The car's gone."

I looked at him blankly. "Gone? Somebody stole it?"

He gave me a wry smile. "No."

I didn't understand. "Then where is it?"

"I'm guessing probably at a repo yard somewhere."

They repossessed it.

On Sunday.

Which also happened to be my birthday.

BEST.

BIRTHDAY.

EVER.

So, uh, we've been adjusting to life with one car while we negotiate with the bank to get it back. (Magic 8 Ball Says: Outlook Hazy, Ask Again Later)

We filled out some credit counseling stuff the other day in preparation for (HOLD ON, IT GETS BETTER....... WAIT FOR IT...........) our bankruptcy, and part of it involved entering your debts and expenses and income into an online calculator. After you enter all of the information, a little automated person tells you how much money you have left over after paying your bills each month.

My husband and I sat there and cracked up for, oh, gosh, probably an hour, making the little robot voice repeat over and over again, "MRS. SMITH, AFTER PAYING YOUR BILLS YOU WILL HAVE NEGATIVE $9,050.00 THIS MONTH." He was just so chipper and happy to let us know about our negative cash flow. There was nothing to do but sit on the floor and laugh.

We're doing pretty well, in spite of it all. Husband and I are in this together, deeply, and we've managed to (mostly) avoid sniping at each other and fighting. And we have our sense of humor. And we have our kids. And nobody has cancer. Yet. (PLEASE DO NOT TAKE THAT AS AN INVITATION, LORD.) Things will be better in a few months when we're back on our feet.

The hardest part of all of this is dealing with the blow to my pride. I'm not worried about what my family thinks. I barely know most of my extended family (with a few notable bloggy exceptions) and don't really care about their opinions of me. And in my immediate family - well, bankruptcy and foreclosure - pretty small flashes in the pan quite frankly. To get a bad rep in my family you practically have to rob a bank or marry a cousin or something. Anything else is just another day at the office.

It's letting other people know that makes my stomach churn a little. Neighbors and friends. I'm going to be incredibly embarrassed about the Bank Owned sign swinging in front of our house after we leave. I don't want them thinking we're those people - people who I (JUDGMENTAL) picture relaxing on the couch and eating twinkies while watching the home shopping network and buying Marie Osmond dolls at 2:00 in the morning, until they max out their credit cards and declare their third bankruptcy.

We aren't people who get cars repossessed, or behind on their mortgage or late on their bills. We're resourceful and hard working and smart. We're responsible. We're successfullish. We're from hard working pioneer stock, gosh dang it.

But I guess most people who go through this kind of stuff aren't those people either. They're just - human. And so are we. Human and having a very crappy time of it. (This has been another episode of Very Obvious Life Lessons brought to you by Sue Smith, thank you so much for joining us.)

We'll be okay. We really will be fine, so don't feel sorry for us.

(Unless your particular form of feeling sorry for me involves bringing me baked goods or sending me chocolate. Or money. Yes, feel quite free to send me lots and lots and lots of money.)

(I'll just wait over here by the mailbox.)

I know it will all be o.k. I just never wanted to be a flippin' cautionary tale.
Losing our house to foreclosure, saving our house from foreclosure

Things That Suck, Part II

Pin It Having the runs.

Having the runs at work.

Having the runs on the way to work.

Having the runs on the way to work and having to stop at three gas stations before you get to work.

Having the runs on the way to work and having to stop at three gas stations before you get to work, and then not being able to find another bathroom when you really, really need one.

Having the runs on the way to work and and having to stop at three gas stations before you get to work, and then not being able to find another bathroom when you really, really need one, and then finding one, and almost but not quite making it to the bathroom.

You know how I said yesterday sucked?

I was wrong. As it turns out, any day that you do not lightly poop yourself on the way to work? Really not that bad of a day.

This is gonna be a long morning, I'm thinking.

Things That Suck

Pin It Having a co-worker who feels the need to one-up. About EVERYTHING. (You had 16 inches of snow yesterday? She had 16 and a half. You once had a kidney stone? She had twelve.)

Sitting in a cubicle. Seriously. Kill me. KILL ME. Give me a window or kill me.

Listening to people you barely know talk at length about intestinal blockage.

Waiting in line to use a microwave.

Sitting through what was supposed to be a two hour meeting (the whole reason you came into the office in the first place) as it is continually sidetracked, sidetracked, sidetracked.

Trying not to roll your eyes when people stir up drama over totally inconsequential things. I don't care who got a new chair. My chair is fine. Your chair is fine. SHUT UP so that we can end this freaking meeting.

Trying not to scream as the planning meeting degenerates into a fairly intense discussion about strategies for developing good support teams in order to improve your World of Warcraft score.

Having a 20 minute drive take 45 minutes because you apparently are passing through four separate weather zones on the way home - foggy, sunny, blizzarding, sunny.

Back at home, walking in and finding out your little son is not feeling well, and is sleeping on the couch and warm to the touch.

Having your daughter cry because she missed you. Having that same daughter make a card for her little brother because he isn't feeling well. When he finally wakes up from his nap, he tells her he doesn't want it (because he's irritable and sick). Her feelings are hurt and she cries big heartbroken tears.

Letting your other daughter go out to play in the snow in the backyard, hearing screaming a few minutes later, finding that her boot is stuck in a deep drift. She has been crying for five minutes, and you didn't hear her because you were trying to wake up your son. She's sobbing and hysterical and asking why you didn't come to help her sooner.

Some days, all you can do is hold them, while you all sit and cry together.

Here's hoping tomorrow sucks just a little less.

How You Know You Have a Little Problem Called PMS

Pin It (Warning, squeamish men might want to leave the room, because at some point I'm gonna say the word PERIOD. Oops, see, I just did it.)

Christmas Eve:
4:00: At brother and sister-in-law's house, go back and forth between laughing and being incredibly negative, at rapid speed. It's good to keep people off guard.

6:15: Relentlessly correct everything your husband says. When he privately expresses irritation, get all teary eyed, because how could he be so MEAN? Demand that he forgive you, or Christmas is RUINED.

8:00: Realize you brought a dumb white elephant gift. Burst into tears and leave the room. When people ask why you are crying, tell them you don't know, that you just feel pathetic.

8:15: Realize you only brought a couples gift and not separate white elephant gifts for you and your husband. Burst into tears. Again.

9:30: Someone says something nice. Start crying because people are JUST SO NICE.

10:35: Sister does something amazingly nice for you. Sob.

And again.

And again.

Christmas Morning and Afternoon:
Apparently, you are given a respite for Christmas morning that allows you to behave in a fairly normal way. Hallelujah, it's a Christmas miracle. Ponder previous day's teariness, wonder why you were falling apart... You are not usually such a huge cry-baby. What is WRONG with you? Ponder, ponder, ponder - see chips and dip, lose train of thought.

Christmas Night:
7:00: Fly home because you have to be at work in the morning, and husband and kids don't need to be back till Friday. Say goodbye to husband and kids. Cry.

10:00: Land. Find car in long-term parking, covered in ice and snow. You forgot to put windshield ice scraper in the car. In between using an old gardening glove to try to get the ice off the windshield, cry and shake fist at the sky.

11:00: Realize on the way home that the gas light is on and you are below empty. Realize you have entered some type of twilight zone land with no convenience stores anywhere near the highway. Panic. Weep. Locate 7-11. Calm down again. Put gas in car.

11:15: Get on freeway. Try to relax. Take wrong turn, end up in West Valley. Get back on freeway. Swear a lot. Call husband. Ask him to help. Get upset when he reminds you he is 400 miles away. Fail to make the connection. What does that have to do with anything? Why can't he do something to help? WHY? WHY?!!!

11:30: Get off the freeway and onto icy surface streets. Slide around a lot in little car while screaming and cursing. Drive approximately 15 mph toward a stop sign, start skidding anyway. Narrowly avoid accident.

11:40: Very slowly, very cautiously drive into neighborhood. Very slowly start to turn into snowy driveway. Before your front tires even get over the curb, get stuck. Try to go backward. Nope. try to go forward. Nope. Call husband. Tell him you love him, you worship him, and that you will never be separated from him again, ever, ever, EVER. Because you need his snow moving capacity.

11:45: Change into snow boots and parka. Shovel snow. Shovel some more. Shovel again. Try to drive car. Still stuck. Try to push car. Still stuck. Cry. Bang head against car. Fall down in snow. Cry some more, and for added drama, pound the snow with your fist. Curse the heavens.

12:05: Decide to just leave the car there in the street and deal with it in the morning before work. Car is sticking out into the street and will probably get hit, but you do not care. If the car gets hit it was obviously the will of God. Go into the house and change.

12:10: Phone rings. It is your neighbors, your lovely, lovely neighbors, who have noticed that your car is stuck in the road. They are coming to help dig you out. Meet them outside. Shower gratitude on them. In three minutes, the car is in the garage. Weep. Hug them. Weep some more. (Seriously though, how AWESOME are my neighbors? Love them. FLOVE them. SO MUCH FLOVE.)

Morning of the 26th:
8:05: Open the garage to shovel driveway before you go to work. Notice neighbors kids have shoveled driveway and sidewalk. Cry.

Hear Carrie Underwood song. Cry all the way to work.

At work: Get period. Realize the period may be related to weepiness. Cry, because for several years, when you were having kids and nursing, the period was a non-entity - no crazy hormones, no intense pain, nada. Realize that, apparently, both the whacked out PMS hormones (and you thought you just had gotten emotionally MATURE - ha!) and the intense, fever inducing pain are back. Cry.

So... yeah.

I think I may be dehydrated. Excuse me. (Sniffle.)

Hey - This is a Really Funny Post!

Pin It No, I’m lying. This isn’t a funny post.

Apologies in advance to people that come here for a laugh – and I know there are two or three, because I see my name on their blogrolls with the words "Navel Gazing - for a chuckle" or something like that next to it, (eeeek the PRESSURE) and now they're gonna have to update their links to "Navel Gazing - Daily Dose of Depression" or "Navel Gazing - making you want to stab yourself in the eye with a fork since 2007." Sorry about that.

Man, I miss my DH. I've discovered something. All this time, I thought I just grew out of being depressed, magically, when I got married. The truth is, my DH is my anti-depressant. I haven't been depressed in eleven years. Now that he is gone what feels like all the time, I feel myself falling into the blue. His support, his strength, his love, his understanding - they've literally kept me sane for 11 years. Well. Sane - ish. It's a big job. (I miss you hon. Come back soon. Preferably early.)

I know I must be sort of depressed because I've lost my will to email people. SERIOUSLY. That's big. Usually (and my family will attest to this) the second I get an email I respond. My awesome sister-in-law will sit down and write these great, newsy emails to me and I will receive them and immediately write back. I know she probably winces when she gets an email back five minutes later because the ball's back in her court again ALREADY, bwa-ha-ha... But now I have email that's like, DAYS old. That's serious. I haven't started the Christmas letter, and haven't filled out Abby's birthday party invitations. I need to snap out of this.

Dude. I just pounded back, like, five Wild Cherry capri suns in a row and I think I might be a little drunk. I'd better go sleep it off.

Sometimes I'm a Really Crappy Mom

Pin It Today was one of those days. I was not in a good mood. I'm in an even worse mood now, thinking about how it went. I'm all melancholy. I would play sad songs on my IPOD if I could find it.

The blog world is full of posts that are such wonderful, loving, inspirational examples of parenting. I love those posts. They make me cry and they fill me with resolve to be a better mother, to be THAT kind of mother. And blog world or no, there are a lot of days when I am so full of love for my children that I think I'm going to explode.

But then there are those other days, when I'm filled to the brim with irritation, and every other word out of my mouth is snappish. Days when I'm living in my head, planning something or thinking about something or rehashing something, and my children's interactions with me feel like an intrusion, like an interruption. There are days when I just want them to leave me alone.

Today my son had to repeat himself four times because even though I was looking at him and saying "What?!" - I still wasn't really listening. I was just nodding, vacantly, thinking about other things. He was frustrated with me, rightfully so. It happens far too often. And I wonder if it makes him feel insignificant, if it makes him feel ignored. Because that's what I'm doing. I'm ignoring the hum of noise and activity around me - zoning it out and retreating into myself, into my thoughts.

Abby said, "Mom, could you read me a story?" She was hopeful. "Maybe later," I said, and I knew I probably wouldn't, at least not today. She wandered off and later on, I pretended not to notice that she was sorting through a pile of books, trying to sound out words on her own. (Mother of the freaking year, I am.)

Sarah said in the sweetest, politest tone possible (because that's how she is), "Mommy, may you please do Mad Libs with me?" and for no reason at all I snapped, "Not right now." Without even thinking about it. Without even really considering it. I just didn't want to be bothered. Later, at bedtime she said wistfully, "I wish we would have had time to do Mad Libs," and she wasn't accusatory, but sad. And I felt like crap.

I got really mad at my son at bedtime and I yelled at him, REALLY yelled at him, over nothing. I sent him to his room and heard him crying pitifully and so I went after him. I crawled up on his bed with him and laid down next to him, and told him I was sorry, and that I loved him, and luckily he has a very forgiving heart, because he wrapped his arms around my neck and hugged me. He cried a little more and told me through his tears, "You hurt my feewings vewy much mom." I stayed there with him until he fell asleep, still hugging me, and berated myself for being such a giant turd.

I could probably make plenty of somewhat reasonable sounding excuses - it's not a big deal, everyone does that now and then, but I wonder if that's a cop-out. How many days of loving attention counteract how many days of benign neglect and irritation? How many days of parental emotional self indulgence = children who remember you as, primarily, an inattentive shrew? I don't have a lot of confidence in that kind of math.

I read a post tonight, a poem that wonderful Emily wrote for her mother. It starts like this:
You are my giving tree;
And I am the greedy—needy—little boy.
You give your shade, your fruit,
Bark, wood, stump,
So willingly.
And I take.

(Go read the whole thing here - wipe off your mascara first.)

Later she talks about finding comfort and solace in her relationship with her mother. And THAT's the kind of mom I want to be. Not a stomping around, selfish, self involved harpy mother. A soft landing place. But you don't just get that spot because of biology. You earn it. I do have a lot of good days as a mom, days when I read to them and take them to the park and sing with them and play with them and talk to them. But I have what feels like a lot of bad days too. If I'm a good mom 60% of the time, and a calm but inattentive zombie 30% of the time and a really bad mom 10% of the time - what am I earning? Do I want to take the risk that they remember only the good stuff?

Every day I'm shaping their memory of me. I'm shaping our future relationship. Every single day. With every single action.

We are so screwed.

Ouch

Pin It Carter, on the tramp with me, shreaking with delight, "You bounce me SO high - you SO big Mom!"

Carter, after wandering into the bathroom when I'm getting out of the tub (yes, we're all relaxed like that), and seeing the water level go down when I get out, "Wow, that - that lotto water Mom! You so big! Wow!"

Abby, giving me a big hug and a kiss: "You're such a nice old fat mama. I love you my big fat mama."

Abby, watching me get on my bike: "What if you pop the tires?"

Sarah, looking at us side by side in the mirror: "I'm thin." Looks me up and down. "You're more.... Thick."

My husband, making me want to whap him upside the head, "Gosh, I've lost so much weight. None of my pants will stay up anymore. What am I gonna do?" (Yeah. This is me, not caring about your "problem.")
Anyway.

This is me, the jolly version:

This was probably not a good fashion choice. (No, I am not pregnant, why do you ask?)

Yeah. So...

That whole healthy eating and exercise thing?

SO. BACK. ON.

Frayed

Pin It My sister emailed me to tell me to update my blog or suffer the consequences, so here I am. I just couldn't blog this week. Nothing seemed the slightest bit amusing. We have been hanging on by a (rapidly fraying) thread.

We took Carter back to the doctor again yesterday. His breathing was a lot better, but I was starting to wonder if he'd developed pneumonia. He started throwing up mucus yesterday, poor kid. (He has a mean gag reflex. He will throw up on a DIME. The good part of that though, is that he has learned to run for the toilet if he thinks he's going to barf. Only three year old I know who consistently barfs right into the toilet. As a former bulimic, I'm SO proud. He's definitely his mother's son.)

The doc says his lungs are clear, and that all of the loose snot is actually a good thing, and that he should be feeling better any day now. He actually DOES feel great during the day. He wants to play outside, and since there are always other children outside who he might infect, we can't let him do that a whole lot. He is not happy with us. We have resorted to far too much TV, far too much computer. The nighttime still isn't much fun for him. He coughs all night long. They gave him some ultra strong cough medicine and last night we didn't hear a peep. We had to go in and check on him several times to make sure he was still breathing. Abby and Sarah are back in school and feeling fine.

Really - thank you so much to everyone who commented, called, and emailed me. It meant a lot to me. I am honestly so touched to know people care. I am so completely socially delayed in real life that I end up isolating myself a bit. It is odd that comments should become so meaningful, but they are. So thank you.

I have been away from blogging not only because we've been busy worrying about survival, but also because I've had a lot of work. I write for a living and usually love it, but unfortunately, the soul sucking, boring, dry, make-me-want-to-stab-a-fork-in-my-eye nature of the jobs I've completed lately (including a technical response to a request for a proposal from the DMV, a brochure and website for an SAP programmer, a Chiropractic Practice ezine, and a series of articles on economic strategies for credit unions) have left me feeling dead inside. DEAD. The thought of writing for fun is starting to sound completely foreign.

I've been working late hours too - I got 2 hours of sleep on Wednesday, and 2.5 on Thursday. My husband brought me a bag of minature candy bars on Thursday morning, because he knew I needed some sugar energy, and I ATE THE WHOLE THING. The whole thing people. In two hours. Help.

P.S. I am not pregnant. Someone asked if pregnancy would be a good thing or a bad thing. BAD THING, what with the whole impending uterine rupture thing my doctor keeps harping on. We really need to TAKE STEPS, I know.

P.P.S. Carter just asked us to "pause" the board game Candyland so that he could go to the bathroom. Yup. Too much TV.

Bummer

Pin It This was our Saturday:

He is doing much better now. He is able to breathe most of the time, but he still sounds a lot like a seal. He thought the hospital was an AMAZING place, what with the free stuffed animal, and the cookies, and the soda, and the coloring books, and the non-stop TV. The hospital (which I love) is a bit sleepy, and the nurses and staff fussed over him quite a bit.

Abby is the only healthy family member right now - Sarah is starting to get sick, and my husband and I both have fevers and sore throats. I always thought adults couldn't get croup, so I have no idea what that's about. Maybe it's sympathetic croup or something. Is there such a thing?

The awesome folks in our neighborhood somehow found out about our trip to the ER and we have been bombarded with rice krispy treats and offers of casserole. I was lying around in bed last night after the kids went to sleep, moaning and feeling sorry for myself because my head was exploding. I heard my husband talking and wondered if he'd gone delirious and started talking to himself, so I ventured out of my room to check on him. He was at the front door, talking to some neighbors who were dropping off treats. I tried to hide, but they saw me, and I was forced to come to the door with my hair sticking straight up in the air, wearing my five year old gap t-shirt (my comfort t-shirt that I can't get rid of) with the hole in the front, and my pink sweat pants. Nice. Not embarrassing at all. Nope.

I am trying to retain my sense of humor about it, but nothing seems all that funny today. It's not as though anything horrendously serious has happened. I'm sure every kid in the world gets croup two or three times. I am just extremely melodramatic (in case you haven't noticed). Thanks for all of your kind wishes...

Misadventures

Pin It My husband dropped a half gallon of milk on the floor today. Sarah and Abby helpfully threw a few towels into the middle of the milk mess while DH ran for the carpet cleaner, to suck up the milk, forgetting that he last used it to suck up the chocolate milk that Carter upchucked all over the car. When he was done, the kitchen smelled like milk puke.

My husband's (visiting from Las Vegas) mother and I managed to mop up the rest of the milk and wipe it off of the table, island and chairs. The dog and Carter ran amuck, prancing around in the milk until  hubs caught them and put one in a crate and the other in his room.

I went into the laundry room to grab the wood cleaner and a mop, and in the process, knocked a can of black paint over. Paint splattered and spilled EVERYWHERE - all over the hickory floors, the dryer, the walls and, oh yes, the dog, who was in his crate, in the laundry room. Paint as far as the eye could see. On me. On my feet. On my pants. Cue Abby throwing another batch of towels onto the paint mess. Helping me, you know.

I managed to get it cleaned up, with no permanent harm done, other than to my pants, which I tossed into the trash. DH thought this was all hilarious, until I accidentally (I swear, it really was purely an accident) brushed up against him on my way to the shower, ruining his shirt. I scrubbed and scrubbed at the paint on my feet, but my feet are horribly dry right now and the paint would not come off, so I now look like I have some kind of exotic foot fungus and my french pedicure is looking very gothic.

Carter and I put together the caesar salad for dinner, from one of those salad mixes, and he squirted the caesar dressing out of the packet - and all over the front of my shirt. My somewhat new shirt, which (because of the grease in the dressing) now looks like I had some kind of really unpleasant nursing accident.

We (probably foolishly considering our string of accidents) made S'mores after dinner, roasting marshmallows around the backyard firepit, and it went off quite uneventfully. Of course later that night I found a candybar wrapper stuck to my bum. I found it after I'd been parading around the backyard talking to various friends and neighbors for a few hours, like, "hey look everyone, in case you were wondering why I'm not having more success in my weight loss efforts, I've just decided to helpfully glue the freaking candybar wrapper right to my butt."

"Exciting afternoon," my father-in-law said.

Yeah. Something like that, anyway.