Just Checking

Helloooo....

Shoopie Dear

As if the girlies in this household didn't have enough opinions... Now we're asking Shoopie (Shelby) the bald-headed Cabbage-brat what she thinks. Everything is "Shoopie says no." And "Shoopie doesn't want to." And "Shoopie wants this" and "Shoopie wants that". "Shoopie needs a snack." Shoopie was quickly approaching my last nerve!

A meaner (but smarter) Mama would have let her ditch her in the grocery cart after she was told with all the exasperation a toddler can muster that, "She can stay here." Even two-and-a-half year old (and don't forget the half) Mamas have their limits when grocery shopping with their kidlets. And I thought it was just me. I quickly made my peace with Shoopie as I fished her out and made sure she was tucked safely next to the car seat in the backseat. It's still a little disappointing though that as demanding as she's been lately, she's never going to be much use when it comes to chores.

Back to Something

Is this the busiest week of the year? 

Please say yes. Lie to me if you have to.

School. Work. And Sales!

We are no exception.

Peaches, Millions of Peaches

I write blog posts in my head throughout the day. But when I have a few minutes to sit down and type, I fall asleep. It's probably for the best because even though I thought my grip on sanity was improving, it turns out I'm still a hormonal wackadoodle. I cried during Minute to Win It the other night.

Yup, standing at the counter for hours peeling, paring, and stuffing peaches in a jar crying to that stupid show.
(And when I say stupid I mean, stupidly addicting and I can't get enough, so much so that I'm planning a Minute to Win-It Party.)

Whose bloody bright idea was another ninety pounds of peaches?

Over the course of the last week I've had a lot to think about in regards to peaches- beyond not wanting to look at another single one now that they are everywhere. Those little flecks of peach puree are gnarly to scrub off a tile counter top. I've thought a lot about how much I'd like to change that counter top and a bajillion ways to improve the kitchen on a dime. Unfortunately, all my grand ideas seem to include painting the cupboards. Husband is not going to like that. Maybe I can trick him into thinking painting is fun. My plan is to trick Scrunch into thinking a bucket of hot soapy water and stiff bristle brush are super fun big girl toys. If I succeed and she sticks around long enough to get most of my nightmare moped, I figure the cupboards are in the bag!

Did you know that peaches are metaphors for several phases in life? Serious.

When CJane described herself as giant peach while awaiting labor, I had trouble following. But, um okay... If CJane says it must be true...Then a few weeks later my own midwife used the same 'peach on a tree' metaphor. Knowing the parable of the peach is requisite for practicing midwifery.Peaches and preggos. Who knew?

But it extends further than that, it turns out, affecting my master plan.

I bought the peaches on Friday intent that we'd be canning on Saturday. Cleared the whole day and every counter in preparation for it. I had a master plan. Only one little, eensy detail was missing. The peaches weren't ripe yet.

Peachy keen.

And so it goes.

Peaches, the great metaphor for life.

And they make yummy smoothies.

Truly, madly, deeply

I hid in the office tonight after I finished pumping so I could be alone for a few minutes. Instead of putting the finishing touches (spell check) on a few posts I've written a few sentences at a time over the last week, I read my archives. Turns out- sarcasm is what I do best.

So I know you'll understand when I exclaim from the very depths of my soul that, "I Mrs. Mayor of Crazy town just love, love, love spending forty five minutes on the phone with my favorite insurance customer non-service rep. And after spending forty-five minutes with me (on hold) she just loves me too!"

A # 1 best feature of the fast n' fancy phone...

Scoring 9 pairs of sunglasses for $9.99.

Overheard

I must talk (out loud) to myself more than I realize.

And someone (besides the other voices) is listening.

Her favorite phrase lately is, "Are you kidding me?!?!?!"

*** Accessories courtesy of Mr. Potato Head.

While We Were Out

This is going to be bulleted. My husband says my randomness is difficult to follow if it's not bulleted. Well, if the bullets help...

I say he should be used to it by now.

• The dogs did not eat the cat. Dang them.

• They also did not eat the couch, so we're good.

• I turned 26. It feels exactly like 25. I don't plan on that changing. Ever. As in, for the rest of my life. Eternally 25. Yep. I like it. This means I hope Holly enjoyed her nine days of only being nine years older than me, because it's only downhill from here.

• We all got more than a few naps in while at my parents'. God bless 'em for that!

• I pumped almost fifty times since the last time I blogged. All I have to say about that is, "Mmmmmoooooooooo!"

• We spent an entire weekend in the sun in southern California and I got a sunburn on one of the cloudiest days all summer once we got home.

• Porkchop can roll to his side, but then he gets stuck. This seriously ticks him off.

• Speaking of Porkchop...We went South for his blessing. If he wasn't before, he is now- my bless-ed boy!

The camera stayed safely in its spot in the closet- at home! When it comes to the pictures, we'll take what we can get.

Our most recent family picture exemplifies our current parenting approach. Divide and conquer!

Something tells me Grami is over her fear of "Boy!?!? What are we going to do with a boy??"

In case you didn't notice, Porkchop is Scrunch's bless-ed boy too!

G.O.O.D = Getting Out of Dodge

Beep.

You've reached the Mayor of Crazytown. We're not home right now so leave us your name, number, and a detailed message and we'll be sure to let the two year old delete it when we get back.

I blame my kids.

I told Holly I felt like a traitor. Of who? I'm not sure. Maybe myself? More than just eating my words (in bunches.) I feel myself changing. Been changing. I even look like I've changed. This blog used to be all She-rah! Infertility Angry Chick Going to Change the World and Drop Kick all my Non-Compliant Patients And Anyone Who Gets In My Way! Hooorah! I had hard abs then to boot. Somewhere along the line, I went soft. Literally. The very existence of what even resembles abdominal muscles today is a complete and utter joke.

I like a good joke. I like to read funny blogs. Love to LMAO. I, myself, am funnier (I've been told) when I'm fired up. But it's been a long time since I felt really fired up.

Infertility has a way of firing you up. And rightfully so. You feel so many emotions due to its very existence and as a side effect from treatments- the whole bit. There's a lot of fuel there for the fire. And without it, I'm another mommy blogger who was going to sit down a few minutes ago and post about canning peaches. Peaches. For the love! Millions of them. (wink, wink) Who wants to read about peaches? So very boring. So very soft. It's my kids. And a few other things, but mostly my kids.

August 2009. The day before I found out I was pregnant I was called as a counselor in the Relief Society. Aw, crap. I was hoping for a once a month calling and now I was a position where I've got to 'be a good example'. Crappity crap. The fact that I had a blog went on the down low. Not that I wanted to censor myself, but as we've already seen, anything you say can and will be used against you. Plus, I made a little side deal with God that I'd do whatever I was called to if he'd keep my belly bean safe. I started watching my mouth and to do that I had to filter some of my thoughts. And if I wasn't going to filter them I was going to be a whole lot more careful about publicly spewing them.

It had already started. Scrunch happened. No more Mommy Club hating. Then Porkchop happened. And I complained about the physical ailments of it all. No more hating preggos and those who use the word. I had to bite my tongue from over telling my labor story. Ugh. Porkchop's entire being has been a lesson in perspective so I try to be a little less judgmental. That one is hard what with all the idiots in the world. Scrunch learned to talk (and listen) and suddenly there are lot fewer "Hell yeahs!" On the phone I heard myself say, "Oh my heck!" Oh MY HECK!?! To Holly of all people. This has got to be a joke.This is no joke people! The Mayor of Crazytown does NOT say "Oh my heck!"

She does now. She's a softie. A good ole' mommy-blogger softie whose most exciting post of the week was going to be about canning peaches.

What a weird place to be. But good weird.

I blame these kids.