Moi?

DH thinks I'm having anger issues.

I'll admit, this house thing has me a teensy bit fired up. I'm an old house person, same way I'm a dog person, and the thought that Douchebag could sell his family home--the one they bought in the 1950s--to some developer to tear down is kind of pissing me off.

(I'm also having pottymouth issues. Apologies all around. But it wouldn't be much of a blog if I didn't talk like I talk, you know?)

This morning, I got up at 5:30 to walk. The walk turned into a run. People, I have not run voluntarily since college. There generally has to be a very large person with a very imposing weapon chasing me at a good clip to get me to run. But I got myself so fired up and so upset and so agitated that running, pounding on the pavement and sweating and gasping for breath, was a fantastic release. It felt really good, until my lungs threatened to collapse and my knees gave out. 

The iPod was blasting--Kiss, AC/DC, Poison, Scorpions, Aerosmith, Buckcherry, Billy Squier, Guns N Roses. That felt good too. Angry music. Angry, pounding music for my good and pissed off run. 

I kind of fell through my back door at the end, looking like something an animal'd been chewing on and smelling even worse, I'm sure. I gulped down a glass of water, kicked off my purty pink workout shoes, and soaked in the air conditioning.

At that moment, DH came in, ready to head out for a business trip.

"I've been thinking," he said.

"Uh huh," I snorted. It was, after all, 6 in the morning.

"Maybe he's not a typical developer. Maybe he'll renovate it and keep all the original features we liked, and maybe in a year he'll sell it and it'll look amazing."

I stared. "This is Montgomery County," I said. "Have the two of you met? 'Save old houses and big trees' ranks just below 'introduce resistant strain of Polio into the elementary schools' on the overall priority list."

He nodded.

"I know," he said. "But maybe, just maybe, this guy has an appreciation for old houses. We can hope, anyway."

"You keep hoping that," I said. "I'm going to hope he has a serious lack of appreciation for the term 'load-bearing' and the damn thing falls down on him."

Maybe I should drink more.

Tidbits

So I spent the morning shopping around for a wi-fi signal booster. Our FIOS modem is in our basement, and my new office is in an addition to our house. That means the signal has to go upstairs, and through a wall with three layers--plaster atop cinder blocks atop brick--to get to my computer. And that doesn't work so well. But I found this site and made its cardboard-and-foil booster and plopped it onto my Actiontec router. And dayumn! Four bars! FOUR BARS! Anywhere in the house! And I was ready to spend $90! Rock on. *giggle*

I'm still waiting for Verizon to decide if I can upgrade my wireless account now or if I have to wait until September when my two-year contract is up. What an archaic, idiotic system we've created in cell phones. Stoopid.

It's been a food bonanza around here this week. Much stress. Much frustration. Many pounds. Somebody talk me off the ledge. Stop eating!

We've been practicing keeping our house clean and shiny. Just in case it has to go on the market soon. We're, um, not very good at it. LOL! But we're trying. At least, I'm trying. Not experiencing so much buy-in from the short people running around. If we ever do find a house and we actually ever do get a contract ratified, it's going to get ugly around here. Polly Pocket and her ilk may be evicted. 

I got a speeding ticket from one of those farking cameras the other day. What a rip that is. No points, tho, so I haven't decided if I'm telling DH or not. He has a long, proud record of camera-issued tickets. I'd hate to make him feel less talented.

We've been having issues with DS spazzing out, for lack of a better term, lately. I started tracking it and can pretty much say it's thanks to sugar and high-frutcose corn syrup (and no, I can't spell that. Sue me.). We've been watching his diet much more closely this week ("we" being "I", thanks) and I actually have noticed a difference. He's much more even-keeled when he eats more natural foods without all the fancy-schmancy sweeteners and with as little sugar as possible. My copy of "Sugar Busters for Kids" arrived today. We'll see how much we can do with it.

We lost a house this week. I cried a bunch when it happened, mostly because it went to a developer who's going to rip it down, and it's a beautiful 1930s masterpiece that just needs some TLC. And then I got really POd and emailed its owner to beg, one last time, to let us save it. He was a real douchebag about it (I'm into "douchebag" this week. Sorry. It'll pass.), which, oddly, made me feel better. Bad karma, I guess. Anyway, I then found out that two pairs of shoes I've loved for awhile were on sale at LL Bean, so I ordered both. And then I felt much better. Pathetic, really, but my feet are going to look sweet. Despite being crammed into the World's Smallest Closet. ;)

Anybody want to join me in a campaign to get Sandra Lee's skinny butt booted off Food Network? Good Lord, she is just horrible.

Until tomorrow, my sweets...

Brilliant.

And not just because I like the new Pilot.

July 9

You woke up at 5:30 this morning. At least, that's when you came crashing into my room and bounding into bed with me, all smiles and shrieks. I can't really blame you, though. You don't turn five every day. That kind of excitement seems appropriate.

With your curly hair, blue eyes, and chalk-white perfectly square teeth, you have the classic beauty of the Gerber baby. Rare is the day we go out that someone, somewhere doesn't stop you to tell you how gorgeous you are. And you almost never fail to please, with that quasi-shy grin and those long, batting eyelashes you use to reward the bearer of the compliment.

You'll start kindergarten this fall, impossible as that is to believe. Petite enough to still clamor up into my arms, wrap yourself around my neck, and snuggle your face beneath my chin, you're nonetheless a spunky little elf. Your voice carries for miles--oh, Lord, my ears beg for mercy by the end of the day! And while the shy smile charms strangers at the grocery store, any hint of familiarity brings out the real you, and the real you is the polar opposite of shy. I knew you were above and beyond most preschool girls when your teacher told me she was going to call me in 20 years, to see if you "ever stop talking." We joke in whispers after your bedtime that your kindergarten teacher should go ahead and start drinking now, to take the edge off.

In the parking lot at big-kid school, they already call you "the mayor." You're a tiny woman in charge with your peers, and they inexplicably follow you around like so many lemmings. Show me a crowd of children your age, and I'll find you in the dead-smack center of it, guaranteed. 

You have a temper that rivals something from the Old Testament when something strikes you in just the wrong way. The salt pillars and massive floods have nothing on you when you're angry. "Don't make eye contact," we mutter to each other. "Just slowly back away. Don't show fear." 

Thankfully, those moments pass. And at night, when I check on you before I go to sleep, you epitomize the cliche. You're an angel in the soft glow of the nightlight, perfect and peaceful and serene. I love that. I love your curiosity (although the 10,000 "why" questions a week can stop anytime, just between you and me). I love your snuggliness and your open displays of affection, and I love your spunk.  When your teacher commented about calling me in two decades, I said "You won't have to. She'll be president by then and you can see for yourself." And then I laughed...but it wouldn't surprise me a bit to see you running the world. You've got that "it" about you, even now.

Thank you for five wonderful, challenging years. I can't wait to see the next five. I love you more than you can possibly understand.

Happy birthday.

You Shop Too!

I ordered the below way-cool bag here.  Happy shopping! :)

When Mama's Happy...

I will freely admit to being handbag obsessed. Twice or three times a year, I must have a new one. Must.

I just found my bag for fall. Thanks to Allison, I have a healthy (maybe) addition to Etsy.com, and I found a fantastic designer who's making me a great bag.

It's this bag:

In this fabric:

Don't even ask me why Blogger won't let me place the pictures where I want them. Dammit. But you get the idea...

The Chaos That Is My Life

Didja ever have one of those days where finding a place to even start talking about it was overwhelming?

Yeah.

We'll start with the good stuff: vacation rocked. Despite semi-crappy weather, we all had a blast at the lake. The kids learned to kayak and water tube (under strict supervision...no need to get all custody-battle with me) and I had a great time tubing myself. DH enjoyed his new/old boat, we all got a little sun, and nobody came home in a box. Which is always a plus for a family vacation. 

When we got home, DS had a super surprise waiting for him in the mail. Earlier this spring, I wrote to several famous astronauts and asked them for autographs for DS's birthday. Silence ensued. But this week, a package arrived. From John Glenn. With a photograph of him in his orange NASA flightsuit, and "To Joseph. Best Regards, John Glenn" written on it in Sharpie. Coolest. Thing. Ever.  DS hasn't stopped smiling. We framed it this morning and it's on display in our living room for now. John Glenn, you ROCK. :)

So we're puttering along nicely post-vacation. Came home to a disaster-free house, which is a huge bonus--we normally come back to a mess of some sort. DH took the kids to his parents' yesterday and then to his sister's for a cookout while I stayed here and cleaned and shoveled crap out. Gotta get ready in case we decide to put the house on the market.

Mid-day, he calls. Upset. FIL, who is 77, was backing up his car, hit the gas instead of the brake, and smashed both his car and SIL's car to bits. Nobody got hurt, thank God, but this is the second time this has happened in about three months. MIL stormed in the house and refused to talk about it the rest of the day. FIL just sat there. 

Ugh.

It's been ugly around here, but the long and short of it is that he needs to stop driving, and it's going to be WWIII to get there. Ugly, ugly, ugly. I've spent the morning investigating senior resources where they live, and there's an emergency sibling meeting later this week to talk about it. I'm also, apparently, getting a BlackBerry so I can work and shuttle them around when necessary, being the closest thing to a SAH person this family has. Lucky me.

The other update is that my daughter, who was thrilled beyond words to get a SuperSoaker for her birthday, is now pissed because she gets wet playing with it.  And my daughter is not attractive when pissed. Her head spins around, she shoots flames from her eyes, speaks in tongues...it's unpleasant.

Nine weeks to school.

Moving right along...