The Giraffe Blob

Kate had her first major school project to do for the first grade. She is to give a presentation in front of her class on the animal of her choice. She choose...(drum roll, please)...the GIRAFFE!

You can see the lovely poster board she created complete with her hand-drawn "giraffe blob" in the middle. I helped her find facts online and she had to select five to talk about.

I am not a creative genius when it comes to artistic or crafty things. I know some mothers relish doing craft projects with their children but I end up looking at the 5,000 bead box they get for their birthday and inwardly groaning. I am a great Momzilla for reading books (we are currently reading through the entire "Ramona" series by Beverly Clearly...and I am laughing more hysterically than the girls are) and for teaching life skills. But most my "crafty" days involved 4-H projects that still leave me scarred (don't get me started on my lack of sewing skills).

Back in my 4-H days, the crafts of choice where the wire hangers bent into a heart shape with rags knotted around the perimeter. And the lovely painted wooden heart-shaped wall hanger (three hearts with pegs coming out of the center of each heart) that held candles on a string. God bless the country blue and mauve era of the late 1980s!


Anyhoo, as I reel back from my digressions...I cringe whenever school projects are due but the results are sure fun to watch:

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Fashion Backward Hot Mess

I've been salivating over my latest issue of the Eddie Bauer catalog, wondering if I could rock a skinny aviator pant. In fact, I keep looking at this photo wondering if I would look this hip and cool or more like a fashion backward bush pilot wannabe hot mess.

Never mind that the complete ensemble costs a mere $990.50 + tax and shipping. And I start getting heart clutches when I buy something over $30. I usually am one of the late bloomers to a fashion trend, often not finally coming around until the trend is passe.

I justify my lack of fashion sense by saying that I work from home and therefore no one really cares what I wear. The truth is I discovered yoga pants about 5 years back and the lovely soft, stretchy waistband has allowed me to expand in size without the abdomen slicing interference of a non-elastic waistband. I am the nightmare that Stacy and Clinton jump all over on "What Not to Wear" and tsk, tsk about one's desire to be comfortable.

Oh, I did the high heeled boot, pen-stripe trouser, suit coat thing for years when I worked for Big Local Insurance Company Headquarters. I uncomfortably clomped around with my feet pointed at a 45 degree angle and a robust pair of Spanx underneath it all so you wouldn't see a VPL (I'll let the fashion elite figure out those initials). And yes, I refuse to wear those miserable excuse for underwear called thongs. Friends, I don't care how much you claim that you don't notice the butt flossing after a while. I don't believe you. God did not intend for you to wear something that could split you in half with one good sneeze.

But I digress...

Anyway, I will probably continue to drool all over my Eddie Bauer catalogs and not order a thing. Until I reach the age where it becomes socially acceptable to wear velour pantsuits. Which I am pretty sure is about the same time I dye my hair purple/blue and wear orthopedic shoes and trifocals.

The Norwitching Hour

I just spent $158 at a Norwex party, hosted by my friend Cass W. Husband may kill me when he finds out. I normally avoid parties led by people with stuffy titles like "consultant" (except for Pampered Chef, because the food is good and having all the cool kitchen gadgetry makes me feel like a "Top Chef"....when really I have just become a Pampered Chef addict).

You can't just go to this parties and not buy something. It's the unwritten rule. You feel like you need to buy something because you were fed Chex Party Mix and sipped on fruit punch. Sometimes you are tricked to attend by words like "Mom's Night Out" (you had envisioned a restaurant meal or spa pampering) or "free facial (and instead, you were told that buying this $189 face cream made from the foreskin of baby Aborigines would prevent wrinkles from ever forming). Whatever the case, you find yourself nodding along with whatever miracle product is being touted.

So now, I am $158 poorer but wowzer, do I have a Super Extender Micro Antibacterial Tree Hugging Nature Friendly mop, among other things. And a dusting mitt that is supposed to require no Pledging. And a window washing cloth that says it needs just water. I gave it a whirl but had to dodge so many moths and bugs outside I am not sure I will see a difference. Plus my licky dog Atticus decides to slurp on the window after I was done and Katybird was pressing her nose up to the inside of the glass watching me.

I would have signed up to host a party and maybe gotten the mop for free but then everyone who attended would expect me to attend (and buy) at whatever product party they hosted next. And the vicious cycle never would end. And you would find me broke but with luscious Arbonne/Mary Kay/Avon skin & makeup, a kitchen full of Southern Living/Pampered Chef/Tastefully Simple items, a cleaning closet full of Norwex/Amway/Shackley and a house full of Longerberger/PartyLite/Gold Canyon.

Testosterone Reinforcements

Just when Husband was about to build himself a man cave in the woods to escape all the estrogen-charged drama around here, testosterone reinforcements have arrived in the form of teenage wonder boy Wyatt. Wyatt is an honorary nephew of mine (okay, not an actual blood nephew) based on the fact that I am fairly certain every time I have been back to my Iowa stomping grounds, he has somehow appeared in the vicinity of either of my sisters' homes (that being Lisa and Beth).

The Squirrels are delighted beyond words to have a "big brother" in the house. When they found out he was moving in with us to attend a nearby college (and we hoped to scam some free "mannying" services from him), they asked nearly daily when Wyatt would arrive. When they found out they are related to him (rather distantly but he does boast my maiden name as his surname), they were fascinated. The Squirrels are always fascinated with how many people they are related to, thanks to the fact that both Husband and I come from a long line of happily breeding rabbits.

(PS That's my "flower arrangement" thing on the dresser. Wouldn't want to get Wyatt disbarred from the He-Man Woman Haters Club)

Wyatt moved in without much fanfare. He is very low key, crazy smart, and rather quiet. He puts up with the Squirrels invading his personal space on a daily basis and doesn't mind when they type on his laptop, watch him play video games, swipe his gum, and mess with his cell phone and iPod. He also was non-plussed by the fact that he had to have a background check run and be fingerprinted since we are still a licensed foster care home. The other day found that Kate had crawled up on Wyatt's lap with her TAG reader and was merrily "reading" the "Ozzie and Mack" book while Wyatt was reading his book for Literature 110. Kate also likes to launch herself up in Wyatt's arms and hang on like she's a barnacle. Elisabeth just likes to jabber his head off.

We told Wyatt that living with us is like nuclear birth control. He will be VERY content to wait for marriage and kids after he sees this Momzilla in action! I probably should have had him sign a confidentiality agreement that he would never disclose my pathetic parenting skills to the outside world. Maybe I'll make that a condition of continued habitation as the troll in our basement.

Skunk in the Barnyard

Forget quorums, majority votes, Robert's Rules of Order, parliamentary procedure, democracies and oligarchies...this is how we make major decisions around here:

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"Skunk in the Barnyard - PEE-YEW"
"Somebody ate it...that's you!"

Katy-bird will wear strawberry lip gloss to school. Case closed. No prisoners.

Shogun Hair and Manly Gowns

Yesterday was a lesson in extreme patience as Husband went into Big Hospital for a scheduled heart catheter ablation. After his last bout with heart atrial fibrillation, his EKGs were sent over to an cardiac electrophysiologist who determined that Big D has "atrial fibrillation Wolf Parkinson Waite (WPW) syndrome with antidromic/antegrade conduction through an accessory pathway". Which basically means the wiring in his heart is haywire and should he go into a-fib again, the electrical conduction paths have a higher likelihood of leading to ventricular fibrillation which means you collapse and die without immediate medical attention.

Sounded dire so we elected for him to get back into his manly mint green hospital gown and have the catheter ablation whereby the doctors go in through the femoral veins and the neck, try to induce arrhythmia, and find the accessory pathways and shut them down.

Only Big D's heart wouldn't go into a-fib. They tried for three hours and used lots of adrenaline with no luck. What do you know? White boy finally found his rhythm!

So they closed Husband up and he had to lie still for six hours. All told, we spent 12 hours at Big Hospital and still run the same risk of his heart freaking out on him like it did before. The good news is that if the doctors couldn't induce a-fib with everything they were pumping into him, then it should mean that his heart won't easily go into a-fib. The other good news is that Big Hospital got wireless internet so I was able to almost finish season one of "Arrested Development" on Hulu.com.

The video is Big D trying to see if he could hold his breath and get the machine to beep that his respirations were bottoming out. Can you tell he is bored? Oh yes, and also, when I asked him how I looked (wrong question to ask any guy but especially at 6 AM while he is lying in a bed awaiting surgery AND I didn't do a whole lot to my hair), he tells me "you look like a shogun". I think he means samurai but either way, he sure knows how to flatter a girl. Good thing my love language is acts of service and not verbal affirmation!

Squirrels Race with Haerr-balls

This past weekend, we entered Eli and Kate in their first ever "Kids Triathlon" being held down by Aunt Susan's and Uncle Shannon's and Aunt Bethany's and Uncle Toffee's. Proceeds from the race (which also included the adult version) were to benefit Susan and Shannon's ranch for disadvantaged or disabled kids and adults.

We knew Eli would be fine with the 100 meter swim, 1 mile bike, and 1/2 mile run but were less sure how Kate would do. Kate acts like it will KILL her to have to pick up her toys or walk down the driveway to get the mail (granted, our driveway is a half mile long but still...). Kate has just learned how to ride with no training wheels and getting started is always a little precarious as she wobbles and careens for several feet before finally gathering enough leg strength to stay upright.

But alas, both girls jumped in with enthusiasm, no doubt aided by the fact that their cousins Hattie Rabbit, Aber Baber, and Lena Bean were all veterans to the event. Lena and Kate were the only ones in the same age group competing against each other and luckily Susan, who had run the triathlon just minutes before, was able to get into the pool with both girls and keep them from drowning as they completed the swim portion of the race. Then off to the bike ride! Husband worked them through the transition area (while I ran behind with the camera) and then he went running after Kate (literally...he ran the route) and escorted Eli back. Then ran back out to catch up with Kate and finished running with her in the 1/2 mile run portion. Perhaps Husband could just enter the race next year. At least he would get a medal for all the running he did that day!Eli came in first out of a group of...ahem...one...in the 8-year-old female division. Kate came in first out of two in the 6-year-old female division. Lena came in second. She may hit Kate in the knee before next year to even out the competition. Hattie came in first out of one in the 9-year-old female division and Abe came in first out of one in the 7-year-old boy division (are we seeing a pattern?). So the great news is that this race is small enough that all 19 kids who were in it got a medal. Now that's MY kind of triathlon!

(Props to Aunt Bethany whose team won FIRST in the team division - she was like greased lightning in the pool, Aunt Susan who won 2nd in her age division, and Uncle Shannon who won 2nd in his age division. I will spare them by not posting pictures of them racing without their permission).