As I stomped through the puddles of the school parking lot in my flip flops, I realized that both the flaps of my nursing bra were still undone from the hourly nurse-ins the night before. Ay, ya yay. I discreetly did my best to snap them in place and smooth down my bed head while we waited at the cross walk. Normally, I might have put a little more effort into looking more put together for my mission, but I didn't realize I was going to be headed out on a mission until the keys were already in my hand. I was headed to have a little conversation with the yard duty/tardy Nazi about who can yell at my kids. The list is very short. Me. I was polite and nice and mostly did it by kissing her butt, but I think I got my point across.

It was pretty much the last thing I wanted to deal with this morning. And not just because it was a blow to my vanity. (OF COURSE I would see two other pre-school Moms and someone from our ward the morning I couldn't tell you where my toothbrush was. And I probably smelled like Vicks Vapor Rub because between the nurse-ins I was up doing chest percussion on a croupy toddler.) The hormonally fragile nine year old having a melt down over the pants she's wearing today was just icing on my teetering crazy-cake. Because although I might be crazy with my rules about respect and modesty, I'm consistently crazy. It's a new concept for some of the members of this household. (The consistency part I mean.)

So yeah...I did not want to explain to the yard duty how her disregard for tone and word choice (i.e. yelling at little kids) was especially distressing and anxiety producing in children who are extremely sensitive to criticism- especially from authority figures in the school setting as school has always been their "safe place". I wasn't asking for any sort of special treatment or accommodation, only that if there was concern expressed over how and when they arrived at school that it be directed at me. See? I can play nice.

So why do I tell you this story? I dunno. Maybe I tell it for me. If I've been a little cryptic about the specifics (both legally and emotionally) of everyone involved, there are reasons. Some of them are obvious and another is that we're doing our best to figure it out, too. When we sat down early this year and set our plans and goals for the year, doubling our family (even temporarily) wasn't on the list. It doesn't mean it wasn't the right thing do to, it just wasn't planned. It's complicated and lots of it a giant pain in the butt. BUT I still mean it when we sing the part of The Wanted's "I'm Glad You Came" extra loud. Really, really, really loud and it makes us all laugh. I always think of the kids when I hear that part and I've told them so. What they don't know is that while The Wanted make me laugh, Jason Mraz makes me (happy) cry. Maybe I just needed to be in the car this morning so I could hear the last few measures of my new theme song.

Plea

I need a source for your most very favorite plain white plates (ala Martha Stewart Magazine). Because if I hear one more argument over who gets the pink plate I'm going to fling it like a Frisbee off an overpass.

Melamine? Cheap porcelain? Acrylic? Restaurant supply? IKEA? Amazon? Target? What plates does Chuck E. Cheese use? Those have got to hold up to a decent amount of abuse. Where are those old Rubbermaid catalogs when you need 'em?

I came across this little gem while stalking the aisles of a thrift store earlier this week while I killed some time. It made me laugh. Not "ha ha truly funny belly laugh", but the "oh for the love! are you freaken' kidding me?!" type of laugh.

The irony almost made me want to puke up.

Because instead of just doing it, we have to have a committee meeting to plan who will provide the refreshments, order the supplies, paint it, modge podge, and then cut the vinyl with our Cricut. 

Shouldn't it look more like this...

Back of an envelope with a crayon from the bottom of my purse. Bingo! That'll get the message across.

I'm really trying hard to implement more of this principle into my life. Trying. I did not start with Halloween costumes. 

I don't feel like blogging because I feel like I'd need to "catch up". Let's pretend I did.

We went. We saw. We conquered.

Moving on.

Right now...

Beezus and Scrunch are in the backyard grinding acorns for a school project. Something about Native Americans and acorn flour.

Miss8 is in reading the fourteen page Wikipedia article on raccoons.

Scrunch came in from grinding acorns and is yelling about ManCub coming into the bathroom.

Porkchop is doing the dishes. He loooves to do the dishes and rinses and rinses and rinses and rinses them.

ManCub is being thrown into the air by Papa as a distraction to staying out of the bathroom.

Juju is army crawling all over the floor in search of lost popcorn kernels.

I have a cold and am sitting in the recliner with my laptop.

Papa is in charge.

I am reading and learning really great inspiring and empowering things. One of which was that the average person on the average day has 50,000 thoughts. I've been hatching a few decorating plans and we're in the middle of our entry for the Scarecrow competition. No wonder I can't blog. Where would I even start?