organized chaos

As I sit here a mere 4 hours from when I laid my head on the pillow last night to sleep, I realized that the best I could do was to leave you with a few thoughts from the gremlins. They are so thoughtful that way.

First from Jackelope:

Don’t forget that when you visit the Great Lakes, there is a new addition. Lake Oreo. But don’t ask Jackelope how to get there, directions aren’t his thing. He’s only good with remembering facts.

Second from Socrates:

Only bad guys go on joy rides.

And The Cuteness chimed in this morning as well:

If you want to see your mother first thing in the morning, instead of that big gangly kid called a brother, who usually takes you downstairs and then gets your mother, you only need to detach one tab of your poopy diaper, by wiggling profusely, so that a couple pieces fall out onto the sheet. You will have to smear a little on your feet.

Yes, it’s necessary.

Don’t worry, your mother will be totally grossed out, but any attention is good attention when you’re the fourth born.

And now that you’ve tucked those kernels of wisdom down deep in your smoking jackets, I leave you with a thought of my own.

When the blessed time of the year comes when it is cool enough to start that favorite ritual of many, the opening and closing of the windows all day long, just remember:

There might be very large spiders adorning the insides of the screens. About half a bottle of hot shot insect killer will do. Until the eight legged fiend is white with it. Don’t stop spraying until you see the white.

Have a nice Friday.

Every time I do something wrong, and I go to try it again, I hear that phrase in my head.

“I’m a learning robot.”

I wasn’t sure where I’d heard that before until this afternoon when Jackelope put on “The Incredibles” and Mr. Incredible fights that big fat round robot. The one that the white haired chick had told him it’s hard to beat because it’s a learning robot.

I hear it a lot when I’m doing something on the computer and I remember right away what it was I did the last time I did that certain task and had success. I smile to myself and think,

“I am SUCH a techie, now! I AM a learning robot.”

But then there are things that my brain, for whatever reason, just does not want to learn the lesson. Or maybe my brain tries very hard to do the right thing, but my flesh just won’t budge. Maybe that’s what would happen if robots did have flesh. If we made them too human, that’s where the flaw would be.

But enough science fiction. Here’s my list of the mundane and not so mundane things my hard drive cannot learn once and for all.

• If you eat too much sugar, you will be ill.

I just don’t ever hear “I’m a learning robot” when I’m stuffing my face with too many pastries. It doesn’t happen very often, but about once a month I’ll crave sweets so bad I dream about them. I’ll get up from a nap and wolf down anything refined and white faster than my brain can warn me. Then I feel ever so close to vomiting the rest of the day. And shaky. And generally pooped.

• Biting all your nails off will only tick you off later.

I bit my nails all my life, probably from the time I cut teeth, and finally stopped a few years ago. It was quite an accomplishment. But every once in awhile, when I’m subconsciously stressed, I’m like a rabid beaver gnawing away at my nails. To the point that they hurt for 2 days afterward. What is that?

• When you yell at the gremlins all day like an irate madwoman, you will drown in guilt the minute your head hits the pillow that night.
• If you don’t set the timer when you cook things, you will burn them every time.

Occasionally I revert back to the good old days when I had the ability to think clearly and I just leave that batch of cookies in the oven, sure my internal clock will intuitively let me know when they are browned to perfection. I don’t seem to remember that with the birth of my last child, he grabbed hold of that last shred of intuition and pulled it down and out the birth canal with him.

• I don’t have to do what everyone tells or suggests that I do.

You may think I’m so independent minded, but I am still easily persuaded from time to time. I usually guard against such influence by avoiding certain books and people. But occasionally I’ll watch a tape for, say, The Phonics Game. And the nice ladies on there insist that you play their game at least three times a week, or it just won’t have the benefits otherwise. Well, I find that I actually feel guilt when I look at the box for The Phonics Game and realize I haven’t broke it out for over two weeks! I feel guilt from two women I’ve never even met! Where are you learning robot mind???

This is why I am on the computer so much. No guilt. Plenty of self confidence. But I don’t really think it would give me a ride to the airport if I needed one.

So what’s something you struggle with trying to learn over and over? Hmmm?

For more Wordless Wednesday, click here.

I know this confession might deem me a bad mother in your eyes, but confess I must.

The mere thought of playing board games with my gremlins is about as exciting to me as watching golf on tv. Or sitting in a waiting room with only Bait and Tackle magazines to read. I tried very early on to be the fun mom who broke out the board games every so often, so as to enrich my family with the kind of bonding that those commercials for “make it a family night” always portrayed.

Everyone always looks so happy and well adjusted in those.

But at the time, I had toddler gremlins. The most challenging kind. Breaking out the board games whipped them into a frenzy of excitement, but always crashed into mayhem once someone lost, or knocked the board across the room by rolling the dice too hard, or one of them yelling at the other for not knowing how to read the card by age 4.

And then there was always the issue of my boredom. Candyland? Oh yeah! Let’s frolick up and down the path aimlessly in a world of fake candy we’ll never get to eat. The gremlins usually would swipe the pieces when I wasn’t looking and use them for their psuedo-dramas in their bedrooms.

Now that at least two of them are old enough to control their spastic natures somewhat, I still have a hard time forcing myself to break out a big helping of family bonding time. Let me illustrate with some well timed photography.

Socrates initiated the game of Monopoly Jr. I figured, he asked nicely and I was just sitting on the internet anyway. Well, not actually sitting on the internet. You know what I mean. Everything started out swimmingly. It’s a cute game, I guess. Except luck of the dice awarded me with the good fortune of landing on all the rides and buying them for my property. See all those red houses. Mine. That means Socrates and Zoe had to pay me often. That didn’t go so well.

See this?

Socrates was no doubt thinking of an argument to swindle me out of my money. But right after this Jackelope came up and wanted to play. Poor Jackelope. He may be six, but he couldn’t even pull a chair up to the table without knocking half my money on the floor. Then when I let him roll the dice, he knocked half the ticket booths off the board.

All the while Socrates let his inner gremlin out and started snarking all over Jackelope because he didn’t want him to play. So it turned into a three way yelling match.

Socrates yells at Jackelope. I yell at Socrates to stop treating his brother like dirt. Jackelope yells into the air at his rights being wronged.

So then Jackelope finally gave up and went away. On his own. I did feel bad, but the game was a little more pleasant after that.

Until Zoe started to lose money.

This may look like a good humor kind of tantrum, but I assure you, it’s only for the camera. And as the game wore on, and she lost more money, the fangs of injustice came out. As they always do with her.

Then we had a car accident in the nice amusement park of Monopoly Jr.

Too many chance cards will do that, I think.

Then I looked up across the table and noticed Jackelope had found something else to entertain himself.

He really is a loner.
And stop staring at my dirty mirror. My gremlins may not be toddlers, but occasionally they still lick the mirrors and windows.

In the end, I won. And I didn’t really care, like some people. It’s not like it’s real money. I wish.

Then Zoe wanted to play Cadoo. Which I highly recommend. But you really have to know how to read. Here she demonstrates a combo play by molding the clay really fast.

Any guesses, yet?

Wait for it!

Not to worry. I didn’t guess right either. It’s a snowman. The Fast Mold Challenge isn’t really my forte. In the end, I won this game too. Purely luck! I am not a cheater!

But Zoe really never gets a break at these things and for the rest of the afternoon we were all subjected to listening to her whine, “I never get to win!!!”

The usual.

It will probably be another six months before I’m ready to listen to that again.

and feel free to leave your game recommendations in the comments. I need all the help I can get.

Mandy at Just A Girl tagged me for a middle name meme. Just the mention of my middle name floods my mind with a couple memories that I’d rather forget. But here are the rules shmules.

Post the rules. (Why?) Write a post using each letter of your middle name describing something relevant to your life. Tag the same amount of people as you have letters in your name. Or something like that.

L is for Lou, as in Carrie Lou, the name my second grade teacher asked my mother if that was ok to call me since there was already one Carrie in my class. The whole time I was there, one semester, I got to listen to second grade children slur my name all over the playground,”Hey, Carrie Looooouuuuu!” Like I was some character on Hee Haw come to visit their school for a time.

I moved at the end of the year, but ended up returning to that very same school in the 7th grade. And guess what? They remembered me. And my middle name.

O is for Obviously Odd. Maybe that’s no surprise to you. But I have always felt a little odd. Being 6 ft tall tends to do that. Or maybe that I laugh at really inappropriate times. Or maybe that sometimes I think in a British accent. Or maybe that I think about my hair color way too much. Either way you slice it, I’m odd. But oddly, I’ve finally accepted this about myself and can find peace.

U is for Ubiquitous. At this time in my life, I feel like everyone I live with expects me to be everywhere at once. I guess having five arms isn’t enough for them. They expect omnipresence and nothing less. Well hey! I’m not ubiquitous and the very thought of multitasking makes me yell strange things and want to hide under the covers with a big plate of nachos.

I is for Isolation. I have a very bad isolation tendencies. I could hole up in my house for a very long time and never talk to anyone. So friendly, right? I have to force myself to go out with even my very good friends, and when I do, I’m so glad and I beat myself up for ever doubting that I should go. I’ve over analyzed this hermit trait of mine, and have yet to come up with any deep seated childhood issues to blame it on.

S is for Soap Scum. My Man uses bar soap. With a vengeance. He’s a bar soap fiend. Mostly because he has that OCD thing that forces him to clean himself in excess. Therefore we have soap scum issues in our shower and I’m losing the battle daily.

E is for Eccentric. I deem being eccentric as one of my very best character traits. If you were to meet me in person, you would likely have no clue that I enjoy many of the odd things that I do, and would walk away saying, “Now there’s a nice gal if I ever met one. Tall, but nice.” And it doesn’t stop with me. Every one of my gremlins hold some promise  with the eccentricity factor, except The Cuteness, but he’s a young one. And so does My Man. However would he get along with me otherwise? Nothing makes me more proud as a mother than when Jackelope says something like, “I think eating eyeballs would be delectable.” My, how my heart swells.

Now I have to tag 6 people. I hate this part. Because say someone just wants to write about the proper way to clip fingernails or all the benefits of using SOS pads on non-stick cooking ware, but they love you to pieces and don’t want to hurt your feelings by not doing the tag? If I tag you and you’d rather write about the odd shape of your knee bones, you won’t hurt my feelings at all!

1.TC 2. Actual Unretouched Photo 3. Hallie 4. In a Foreign Land 5. Coffee Mom

6.Will Blog for Shoes

And if you haven’t been here for a few days, don’t miss the next volume of Letters From Your Friendly Cashier. Just scroll on down. Or click here.

Jackelope is the king of obscure and crazy ER visits. Just take a peek around his very own category if you don’t believe me. I’ve chronicled a few of them there. And he’s my only gremlin to ever frequent the ER at all. For which I am thankful, I guess. It could be worse.

He also gets obscure pain from time to time. “My leg hurts.” “My toes feel weird.” “My eye hurts.” And it’s that last one that happened on Thursday that I really didn’t pay much attention to. Because it was bloodshot and it hurt and it’s happened before. I took a look at it, but what can you really do about a hurting eye? As a mother of gremlins, I can only do so much. I threw some aspirin his way and called it good.

Fast forward to the next day. We gathered up our picnic accessories and hightailed it to the park for some homeschool co-op frivolity. Jackelope was having a grand time seeing some kids he talked about all summer and thought he would never see again, since Socrates, his older brother likes to be all gremlin-like and lie to Jackelope on a daily basis. Occasionally he would meander back to the shelter where I was feeling very grown up for once talking to other, you know, grown ups.

Please don’t tell any of them I’m not really grown up at all. They might be crushed.

But I noticed something funny about Jackelope’s dirty little face. And when I took a wipe and wiped it off, I noticed his eye was a funny shape. Yes, round, but heavens above, it shouldn’t be that round.

Especially since the white globe of his eye looked dangerously close to overlapping the colored iris part.

I usually don’t like to skeedaddle up to the ER all quick like over every single thing that happens. But this was freakish. My heart started to race, and I’m afraid I might’ve let the other co-op mom’s in on too much of my freak out side. They were all very calm and cool and one of them even offered to keep two of the other gremlins. Zoe declined that offer and came with me. (more…)

Look, I may be reaching the bottom of the barrel of ideas here, but upon looking at some new photos that I took, I realized that just because something looks gross, does not mean that it is gross.

Here are some illustrations.

And remember, as always, you have the option of point and click to exit this insanity at your earliest convenience.

First I give you The Fried Green Tomato.

When I was a kid down in East Texas, someone made these occasionally. At the time, I felt that my 10 year old self just might barf if someone ever got me within 2 feet of any sort of tomato. Oh, I was a good kid and tried it, red and fried green, but I thought nothing had ever tasted so disgusting. With the exception of hominy. My mother made this occasionally and I gagged that all the way down.

It’s true that your taste buds mature as you do. For instance, I never thought I’d wear jeans that weren’t tight rolled, but surprise! surprise! the bottoms of all my pants are a-flappin’ in the wind these days.

So now, not only do I grow tomatoes, I actually eat them. And one day, I saw another blog yappin’ about Fried Green Tomatoes, and I got a hankerin’ and rushed out to pick some and make the old Southern Favorite.

I just about passed out right there. I ate three tomato’s worth. By myself.

And as you can see, I tried my hand at the ever-so-popular food photography, and I’m not sure it translates the utter euphoria that I experienced when I took that bite on the fork.

But I assure you, it was not gross.

Speaking of tomatoes, here’s another shot.

It’s a little blurry. Ever so sorry. But you can see that gross, oozing split, right? But I’m sure that past all that, it tastes fine. Personally, I’m not eating that one. So that’s where the analogy breaks up. Except that when I saw this poor little guy, I felt we had something in common.

Do you ever have days when you feel split with all your ooze seeping out along with some seeds? I sure do.

And perhaps one of the grossest things in my possession.

I’ve mentioned it before. Me and my hair have not had a good go of it. From about third grade to 7th, this was the standard for my school pictures.

Thank you Big Yellow School Bus With All The Blessed Windows Down.

It pains me to show you this. But in the interest of illustrating a universal truth, I realized I had to break out the big guns.

True, to look at this image may make you a little yellow and green and unable to finish your lunch, but the girl inside was not gross. True, I had some gross habits, that for the most part I have grown out of. But deep down I was charming and innocent, zany and thoughtful, and occasionally had a good hair day.

I just don’t have the pictures to prove it.

So let this be a lesson to all you First Impressions Count Judges. Don’t judge a tomato by it’s cover.

edited to add: 

oops, I forgot to link to Wordless Wednesday HQ! 

I haven’t really seen a whole heck of a lot of magazine headlines that piqued my interest of late. But my friend from work, you know who you are, jogged a memory that had apparently fallen through one of the swiss cheese holes that is my brain, and I thanked her profusely for completing me through a cherished memory.

Before I tell you what that memory was, let me say that I then noticed one headline that boasted 347 Fall Fashions, and I wondered, “Are there really? Three hundred and forty seven of them?”

Amazing.

But let’s do this the Carrie way, shall we? I immediately thought of some of my “must haves” for when I would start school again in the fall. And we didn’t have the cold hard cash that all the cool kids had. So some of these were just wishes. And some of them I got, finally, but only when they were sadly out of fashion.

Carrie’s Must Have Fall Fashions From Roughly 1986-1990

Hypercolor. You know, the shirts that turn color with your body heat. That way everyone could grab you in inappropriate places and the whole school would know. Charming.

Blue eye shadow. My mother was a big fan. So was Cyndi Lauper. Which by the way, I played in this little skit we did in the 3rd grade, where everyone was one of the singers in “We Are The World” and we lip synced to it. Except my teacher, bless her heart, wasn’t rad enough to spell it right. And I was all about the correct spelling of my favorite singer. Oh, I argued with her. It was a serious offense to spell my Girl’s name ‘Cindy Loper’. Mortifying. But I rocked it out anyway.

Parachute Pants. Man, did I want a pair of these something fierce. I dreamed about these things. If I had just had a pair of these, maybe that really cute boy named Brent would’ve talked to me. Because every boy dreams about a girl with bright yellow pants that swished as you walked down the hall, right?

No, Lea Thompson was not a must have fashion accessory. But I was all about my favorite hair tool. The Crimper. Unfortunately, I didn’t come remotely close to the coolness that is Lea Thompson in the 80’s, but I did try to crimp my Barbie’s hair once, and burned it off. It smelled really gross.

And to hold that crimp in my stringy thin hair, I always made sure to use plenty of Rave. Looking at this can of sticky goodness, I can almost smell it. It’s the smell that takes me back to good hairstyles gone bad after a windy bus ride on picture day. It takes me back to the day I wore pig tails with thick rope ribbons and a black and white skirt, purple leather jacket, and blue pantyhose. Oh and jelly shoes. Because without the jelly shoes, you cannot do the 80’s dance.

Guess Jeans. I truly believe deep down in my heart that had I a pair of Guess Jeans in my possession that I could’ve been voted Favorite Girl in my 7th grade class. And maybe, just maybe someone would’ve picked me for square dancing at P.E.

And speaking of jeans

I give you the Tight Roll. The reason for my existence every morning for several years. The reason for my sweat and anxiety every morning before school when it just wouldn’t roll right. The reason for my triumph when it rolled perfect and looked hot. The reason for my vomit to get stuck in my throat when I think about how absolutely idiotic it looks now in all my pictures.

I didn’t know this was how stirrup pants worked. They look nice on this chick. Maybe it was because I was pushing 5′11″ by the 9th grade and they would always try to slip off my hips, looking much like a pair of chopsticks with weird triangular shaped fabric stretched too far up the length. So I remedied the situation by cutting off the straps at the bottom. Then I had those little tabs sticking out on either side of my ankle, and I was good to go.

Now this girl has some skinny legs. But I assure you, mine were skinnier. So much so, that the leg warmers were always too big for me. Like someone had stretched them out before-hand as a sick joke. But I still wore them. Usually with some kind of skirt with fringe and a sweatshirt my mom made with strips of felt attached to the shoulders that resembled pom poms.

So I hope you’ve gotten a few fashion tips for this fall. I hope you remember your early school days without gagging or inhaling your coffee up your nose as you type. Because fashion can be funny. As long as you burn the incriminating evidence, or at the very least hide them in a safe, so you can pretend it looked good on you via your warped memory.

And if you’re looking for Letters From Your Friendly Cashier, scroll down.

Cleaning their rooms is one thing my gremlins are required to do on their own. Although it takes every blessed ounce of self control on my part to not go up there and rant and rave and fling barbie’s around and chuck happy animals in the trash, I have learned (somewhat) to force them to learn the art of cleaning their own living space. I have the jacket for that club, but fortunately am no longer a member. I am, in fact, a recovering perfectionist.

Their rooms are upstairs. My room is downstairs. Therefore I can, thank the Lord, avoid seeing their caves most of the time. Especially since my oldest has acquired the mad skill of taking The Cuteness to bed for his many naps and I let him. Because I am lazy.

And the laziness doesn’t end there folks. I am going to air my filthy knickers for all of blogland and maybe some members of my own family to witness. When it comes to cleaning their own rooms, of course, understandably, the gremlins are proud of their work. And in the past, I would haul my tired body up those stairs, cringing all the while at the messy state of the stairs themselves, to see their beloved cleaning skills.

My mother always said she made us kids do our own work growing up. For the value of learning it. Did she ever have to turn a blind eye to the likes of this:

Some of you may be tempted to berate me for picking at the job accomplished here. And unfortunately I don’t have a before shot, because to see that would cause all your molecules to combust much like beans in a microwave.

When I see this, I see the various pieces of whatever sticking out from under the bed and the overall lack of crispness, as My Man would say.

But Jackelope was indeed proud of his work. And Gosh Darn It, I should be too.

And by the way, he took this photo himself.

Yes, that’s the lazy part. Ever since I got the little digital that’s ever so easy to use, I’ve sent the gremlins upstairs to document their work, so lazy old mom didn’t have to come ALL THE WAY UPSTAIRS to gush over it.

Then they come back down and show me through the LCD monitor. And I proclaim them to be cleaning geniuses. So really, it works out for everyone.

Here’s Zoe’s work. I cringe a little looking at it, but she’s making progress.

You won’t find this room in a spiffy gremlin’s decorator magazine, but at least the girl will have some cleaning experience.

And it doesn’t stop at cleaning exercises. Socrates is always building stuff when the thought of it doesn’t make him want to puke.

So, to save his poor mother the honest to goodness aerobics of climbing stairs, he whisks my digital upstairs and shows me this:

And everyone’s happy.

Except my blubbery body that never gets the workout it obviously needs.

I don’t know if you’ve noticed any of my links over on the sidebar. It matters not. Because I’m about to tell you about one of my passions.

Dove.

Or more specifically, what Dove is doing. Well, maybe I’ll leave that to the nice chaps over at the Dove website. I’m just excited because my other shampoo finally ran out, and I could justify running out and purchasing some campaign-for-beauty goodness. And then I thought I’d snap a photo and show you that I mean business.

Now, we have nary a penny for expensive toiletry products and such, but I pushed down the little bit of whatever was coming up my throat when I compared the price of Dove to the Suave that I usually buy. We’re talking the difference of $2 for Suave per bottle to $4 per bottle for Dove. But you get more Dove for your money in the end, it turns out. So ok. It’s a GOOD CAUSE! I feel like such a philanthropist.

So, you’re probably wondering all about my flavor choices. That perty blue bottle is all about calming the night, and it’s a body wash. Not that I need any calming at night; quite the opposite. I could use a little more of the night.  No, it hooked me with it’s promise of “a hint of sandalwood” since I’m enough of a hippie/beatnik to really cherish any hint of essential oils and incense smells.

Don’t envy the beatnik. Be one.

And that shampoo/conditioner combo, well that was a tough choice. All the selections seemed to smell similar to one another and I am all about the aroma my hair leaves in my wake as I walk by you. So I chose that green one with the cucumber because it said ‘cool moisture.’

And I wanted to embody the coolness of moisture whilst doing the dishes. I wanted to embody the cool moisture while whipping up some homemade pizza tonight. Gosh darn it, I wanted to be Cool Moisture while ringing up the 28 pound box of cat litter at work tonight!

And I don’t know that it will work any better than the cheap ol’ Suave I’m used to using. But I’m trying to help out any way I can.

So Dear Mr. Dove Chaps,

Be a love. Lower your prices a tad for poor shmoe’s like me. I’m a working girl. (get your mind out of that gutter Mr. Dove Chaps!) and I’m doing my level best to support your campaign for real women. Although my husband says you that if you’re really trying to be “real” you could use some really robust women on your ads. But I told him to hush it up because he knows nothing about advertising like you do.

I’m on your side, Mr. Dove Chaps. And I’ll keep buying as much of your goodies as I can. Just remember it’s women like me who’ll be buying your stuff. Keep sending me those coupons!

Cooly Yours,

Your Newest Fan

Let’s talk television turkey for a moment. Shall we?

I feel like I’ve run the gamut as far as being tortured with having to watch singing puppets, bloated purple blobs dressed as ?, and grown men in tights playing guitars. There have been a few, that I myself, have become addicted to and when the gremlin’s would outgrow that particular show, I went through a grieving period.

Now my three older children think they are so big for their britches and constantly make fun of all the shows they were just so wild about. And now that the baby has arrived, I sincerely hope they don’t give him a stigma about what he’ll like to watch as he progresses through the stages. Because I’m really not that big on therapy. You know, for stigma’s.

Which leads me to my new best friend.

My sister had given me 5 or 10 of these videos when The Cuteness was about to pop from my tummy, and I whipped one out, merely from curiosity when the wee babe was a mere 4 1/2 months. I wanted to see what it was, OK?

It was heaven. Not because of the classical music pumping genius into The Cuteness, nor because of the colorful visuals stimulating him to nobel prize winning greatness. None of that.

Mostly because he actually sat in that bouncy seat and watched it. At 4 1/2 months. I have videos to prove it. But you’d have to come over to see them since it’s not digital. And I could make us some nachos and we could drink root beer or lemonade and watch The Cuteness watching Baby Einstein and then look down on the floor and watch him watching himself watching Baby Einstein.

It would be just like falling into a worm hole. Not that I know anything about that.

SO. Now he is 6 months and he still loves those darn things. And as you know, he is the bestest baby ever, and I can lay him on his blanket and let him play, and he is happy as a clam until it’s time to sleep. So all you TV Judgers out there, wondering what kind of mother I am for putting my 6 month old in front of a *GASP* tv set, just hush it up.

It’s merely for his very own pleasure. And sometimes I do the dishes while he watches.

Because unlike the very with-it mother at the end, who demonstrates how to get down on the floor while the video is playing, and talks to her baby, interrupting that poor baby’s viewing pleasure, I don’t have Merry Maids coming over for a cleaning visit.

But I am so excited at his excitement, I saw that Walmart had one of the puppets for sale and I just couldn’t bring myself to spend the 6 bucks on it.

Then they marked it down to $3. I snatched that little bit of green goodness off it’s peg and went home to entertain my little guy. But it was 1:30 in the morning and don’t you know, he was asleep.

But we did get this shot of them together

Aren’t they a happy couple? Don’t be fooled by the deer-in-the-headlights look on The Cuteness. He hasn’t figured out what that silver thing attached to mom’s head is yet.

And Cooper the microcephalic dog gave us a smile with Bard the Dragon Puppet

If you must know, that’s the face he makes when he’s scared. Action figures, puppets, inanimate objects galore intimidate Cooper. He’s a real winner.

So I highly recommend Baby Einstein.

(and don’t forget to scroll down if you haven’t seen my nifty slideshow)

It happens. If you’ve been reading this blog for any amount of time, maybe you’ve wondered if I ever get reflective. And yes, there are a few posts sprinkled here and there that are not about something I’m cracking up at.

And you may have noticed, had you explored some of the categories that I write music and have never found a way to put it on here. I only sing at our church, and I’m content doing that.

Recently I’ve become obsessed with making slideshows with my new Photoshop Elements program, and so I’d like to present two things I love to do and share: my music and my art/photography.

I hope you don’t find that a little too narcissistic. But art is for sharing and you always have the option of clicking yourself out of here as fast as you possibly can.

Oh! and before I forget, the recording was a very basic one, with just me on the piano and nothing else added.

If it doesn’t work, please email me or leave a comment. It works ok on mine as long as it’s fully loaded first. Enjoy.

Ok, so maybe that’s not the most clever title I’ve ever come up with, but my brain is frying in this heat like so much egg on a hot sidewalk.

We’ve just returned from our second trip to the dentist for Zoe, who had 4 cavities on her molars. The self-same ones her older brother Socrates has in his mouth.

We’re none too thrilled. To say the least.

So they broke up her visits to two different days, which meant two different days of the torment of sitting in a teeny tiny dental office waiting area with the three boys while Zoe got herself all fixed up.

An hour before we left, both times, I ever so lovingly reminded Jackelope and Socrates to bring something to read or draw, for heaven’s sake, because we would be there an hour. And most of the time an hour is nothing to me, but in a teeny tiny dental waiting room with a baby and two potentially ADD boys? It’s an H——–o———u——-r….

So they both brought their spiderman action guys.

And Jackelope whined, almost the whole time, that he wanted the one Socrates had. While The Cuteness finally fell asleep on my chest, a miracle I assure you, since he’s mostly a MY OWN BED IS THE BEST, THANK YOU VERY MUCH, kind of guy. I happened to glance over at Jackelope just in time to see Spidey hanging from the arm of the nice leather chair.

From a long blue string of Jackelope’s gum. Ingenious? Creative? Resourceful?

Yes, I’m sure using chewing gum for Spidey’s web might be an indication of Jackelope’s eccentricities, but suffice it to say the web was never to be seen again by all mankind.

And that was just the first appointment. Today we went back, like the good kids we are. This time the boys brought a piece of paper. Each. And made paper airplanes. Which were exciting for about 3 minutes and 23 seconds.

Then they discovered that the cut glass on the windows made prisms on their faces. Of course I had my camera! Need you ever doubt?

Forget all other forms of expensive childhood novelty entertainment! Cancel your cable! Throw out the ps2’s! Melt your Wii down and ship it to China! Prisms! It’s the new rollercoaster.

I wish. It only lasted for 3 minutes and 43 seconds.

Then another family came in; about 5 of them and squeezed into the already cramped waiting room. But they weren’t little kids.

They were teenagers. And they freaked Jackelope out a little. Because while I know quite a few really nice, intelligent teens, these were not so nice. They were downright surly; as in brooding and the like. But The Cuteness gurgled and dropped about a liter of drool all over my shirt and they were almost charmed.

For the next hour, Socrates and Jackelope finally found some periodicals to pass the time, Sports Illustrated and Family Fun, respectively, and I talked to The Cuteness with a low voice. Because you know those other people were trying to listen to every word I said.

That’s what I hate about small waiting rooms. You just can’t say anything without wondering if the other people are judging you. Or if your Socrates wants to show you something in the mag, and your Jackelope rockets out of his seat because he HAS to see TOO! And your Socrates HATES for his little brother to see anything he wants to show his mother.

And this goes on for the next thirty minutes while the waiting room onlookers judge my gremlin’s behavior. Or maybe they didn’t care and I’m just paranoid.

Either way, Socrates is next in line for dental fun. But it won’t be for at least 6 months when we have the money. So next time I’ll be dealing with a crawling Cuteness.

That might not be so cute.

Oh–and don’t forget the latest Letters From Your Friendly Cashier! Scroll on down…

Bacon:

check.

Lechuga: (yes, I could’ve just wrote lettuce, but lechuga is much more fun, si?)

check.

Bread:

check.

Wait for it.

No, seriously. Can this tomato take any longer to turn red? For the love of Mike, I’m hungry for summertime novelty foods!

And these:

just won’t work.

And stay tuned for the next volume of Letters From Your Friendly Cashier, coming soon.

Batman comes to my house sometimes. I’m pretty tight with several superheros.

The thing I like about Batman, is that he’s always so cool and mysterious.

But I didn’t know that he was into capri pants. It’s cool Batman, I won’t tell anyone.

And if you really dig superheros, you might like these clips.

this one’s funny too.

And if you like the Green Goblin, check this one out.

So funny. It’s just like when they come to my house. If you liked those, there are tons at youtube. But not everyone goes for the superhero thing.

Since I have a baby in the house again, I find it hard to tend to my gardening as I have in the past. It’s really too hot to do much right now anyway, but yesterday morning I said poop on the book work for school and took the gremlins out to my little ornamental pond for some algae harvesting.

Yep, I’m growin’ me some algae.

You should try it sometime. All you need in a small body of water

this size’ll do. Then make sure you have a couple of flood type rains.

(sorry for the blur. it was a downpour, after all)

And your small body of water takes in all the run off from the ground above it.

Then follow that with mind numbing heat from the depths of Hades: the kind that keeps the ground from ever really drying out and brings forth from it’s yawning mouth mosquitoes the size of Tallahassee.

By now, you should have some beautiful green floating algae. And boy, did I grow quite a crop this year. The best ever.

So if you have gremlins, put them to work. Otherwise, they’ll be awake until midnight, and we all know what happens then! If you don’t have gremlins, just get your bad self out there and get to work!

Stop looking at my pale, colorless legs and focus on that gorgeous blob of greatness. I’ll be using it to make tea later. So once you take out the pump, that black thing there, and take out the pretty, yet highly impractical water lilies

It’s not so pretty once you see beneath the surface, is it? And aren’t we all a little like that? Trying to be so pretty on the outside, but underneath lurks a tangled mess of ugly. I’m glad God can untangle anything, because I know my insides look like that from time to time.

So. Now you need some buckets, because it’s time to put those gremlins to their labors. Here are two of mine, hard at work while I stood aside and tried not to get my camera wet.

The pumps can only get out so much water, and if you’re harvesting algae, one must be in the pond gather it.

It’s important to get water everywhere.

oops. We have a victim. This time it wasn’t my fault. I just bought this guy the other day and we found at least 5 of them dead. It’s a risk you take when growing algae. The upside is that your gremlins will ask important scientific questions like, “Why do dead bodies float?”

Just get your nice blue net,

and throw him in the alley for the neighbor cats. They look too skinny anyways.

And speaking of cats, you might be wondering where my girl Zoe was during all this.

In the house with our not so skinny cat who got let back in from fear of him getting worms from our skinny neighbor cats. He’s a manipulator, that one.

And it’s too bad Zoe didn’t help with the harvest. Just like the story of The Little Red Hen, since she didn’t help with the work, she won’t be getting any of this for dinner.

Yeah, I like change. You’ve probably noticed. I need change. I crave it. I rearrange my furniture several times a year.  I try different hair colors and eye shadows.  I grow my nails out occasionally.  Sue me.

I thought my old blog template was a bit dark. And I liked that about it, cause I’m a bit dark at times.  But I thought the type was too small and hard to read since it was, you know, gray on black.  And there needed to be some more white space.

Sometimes I just feel the need to lighten up, if you must know.   So I’ll try this blue one for awhile.  But don’t get too attached.

If there’s anything consistent about me, it’s change?

As a new homeschooler when my gremlins were really young and didn’t have many playmates, I worried. I fretted. It consumed my thoughts and filled me with guilt that I should be filling my gremlins week with quality playtime interacting with other gremlins, under heavy supervision. After all they are gremlins.

And then, like now, I was short of the cash it took to participate in Mommy’s Day Out or other such nonsensical programs. I’m not bitter. Part of me really wanted to be part of the cool mom’s club that these groups promote. As for neighbor gremlins, we rarely had little gremlin neighbors in the big city. So that option was out.

Then there were the church gremlins. For some reason, there weren’t a whole lot of options there either. At least not for everyday, last minute get-togethers. Because I am a very spur of the moment kind of gal.

And apparently most of the people I know with gremlins are let’s-plan-your-life-five-years-in-advance kind of people.

Now we live in a ‘hood with plenty-o-neighbor-gremlins. Not all exactly the same ages as mine. In fact, most of them are closer to the age of Socrates the almost 10 yr old. So now, that we’ve had some peer exposure, I’m not sure I like it.

Not only have they come home with some sour attitudes, but now they can’t seem to find anything else to do.

If another gremlin isn’t available to play, or their sour attitudes have granted them sweet blessed time alone for the week, then all other options that used to occupy their time have apparently vanished.

Poof! Legos are boring.

Poof! Drawing is for sissies.

Poof! Playing with my sibling gremlins is poison to my veins.

Poof! Using my imagination outside is too hard to even consider.

What is this madness? I’ll tell you what it is.

Torment for the mother.

The whining levels since my gremlins have had exposure to “socialization” have skyrocketed to the point of insanity. And I’m not good at balance. My only reprieve will come when public school starts. And then the socialization will only take place between 3:30 and 6.

And now a word from our host, Rod Serling.

Good Evening. Tonight’s episode is so full of harrowing shock that one has to ask the question: What does one do when confronted with such abnormal circumstances?

Imagine a place. Not just any place. But a place filled with happiness and bliss. Peace and harmony. Three squares a day. A family, just living out the dream.

Then imagine what happens when someone in that family performs an everyday task and something goes awry.

Something as simple as flipping this switch

and hearing a distant meow.

You might wonder if you were hearing things and shake your head and go along your way. But then you remember, you own this

An innocent child’s toy. A plaything meant to bring enjoyment and pleasure turned evil.

Yes, it’s missing pieces. The rooster, the duck, gone. Could that be why the magnetic pieces cry out when the light switch is flipped?

Or does this unlikely character have anything to do with it?

He may look cute and innocent, but is he actually holding a grudge for his puzzle counterpart that can’t be found, that he must mew everytime this light switch is flipped?

And then we’ll watch as the family tries to grapple with the paranoia of this guy chiming in

whenever this switch is flipped.

Is it a cacophony of animal sounds? Is it a prank played by the gods? Is it a magnetic disturbance so great that the earth is about to crack open and blow up hatches on long lost islands, throwing the plane wrecked inhabitants into chaos?

Or is it just another trip

into

The Twilight Zone?

for more Twilight Zone episodes click here.