Summer List -- Things I will do this summer.

A List of Things to Do this Summer

This summer's To Do List: Keeping it short and simple, cuz it's SUMMER people.
What is YOUR summer to do list?

1. Read insanely long classics.
2. Learn how to do a website.
3. Learn how to use new fangled camera which allegedly will be my graduation present.
4. Get Bear to go in water.
5. Get Turbo to go underwater.
6. Learn to swim, take three.
6. Help Drama learn multiplication table by heart (she's like, going to middle school... ack)
7. Lose Ten Pounds.
8. Overcome fear of grilling.
9. Paint two bedrooms, a bathroom and a kitchen.
10. Raise beautiful container tomatoes, peppers and strawberries.
11. Explore the green way walking trails (some of us have 'walking down walking trail' issues)
12. Find cooler music to listen to.
13. Give up Diet Coke, take 323.
14. Figure out how to program cell phone.
15. Keep house clean enough to enjoy summer.

Things I will NOT do this summer:

1. Kill basil plant.
2. Give up on Crazy.
3. Gain 10 pounds.
4. Let Kooky, the loony neighbor, get on my nerves.
5. Drink more than one frappacino a week. (We all have issues).

So that's it.

My Wednesday What I'll Do This Summer list, for people who like lists.
In the fall, we'll repost to this post, and see what I did, or did not do.

Tah! I have non-school things to do!

Things to do

I have things to do today,.

And no one to chatter to about it.
So here it is...

Followed by a LIST for More Gravy, who is addicted to lists.

Errands, if you will.

Post office, to sell back the last school text books I will ever ever in my life ever need to buy for myself -- While at said post office will mail 'hard copy' binder of last project to last instructor I will ever have to deal with in my life, (for school) thereby officially ending the last bit of school work I'll ever have to do for the rest of my life. This is the final bit before the official 'graduating' bit.

Great Clips, because buddies need hair cuts.

Bank, to deposit the IRS refund check that accidentally didn't get directly deposited due to a minor error oopsie daisy me.

Grocery, because I ran out of half and half for coffee and paper towels for picking up dog poop in the house, thank you Crazy, thank you very much.

Library, because I really need new books to read, to replace the other ten library books I didn't read.

Pet store, because someone is out of canned food.

Target, because Hubby McRed needs new shirts, and he, unlike me, can wear Target clothing.

Breakin' Out

I have a plan.
I'm gonna break out.
Somehow.
I don't actually have a plan yet.

I'm just gonna find a way to break out.

And no, I don't mean with pimples, or some strange skin affliction caused by an excessive amount of orange juice and pistachios, but I think that was really just hives brought on by nerves but never mind that.

No, I mean, I'm gonna break out of this here mundane, uninteresting life.

I'm going to lead an interesting life... one that doesn't involve little boys missing the toilet with their poop and then falling off said toilet into the puppy pee no one told me about, screaming for help while said puppy ate said poop... not that sort of interesting life. I've had enough of that interesting life.

Certainly not one that involves Drama Girl exhorting her will at the lab and refusing to get her blood drawn while screaming, that's not the sort of interesting I mean.

Nor do I mean interesting tales of being the mom of Pee Wee Drop Outs. Or being the mom of a water-phobic Bear who thinks pools are giant tubs for monsters, not that sort of interesting, either.

And I don't mean interesting in the way that my psychotic kook of a neighbor calls me up on Day One of my owning said poop-eating puppy to bemoan the loss of civilization as we know it because Lahdeeda got a puppy and OBVIOUSLY isn't the sort of woman who'd take care of it, and could I take Cujo the Killer Rabid 30 LB PuP Who Strikes Fear in the Hearts of Anthills Everywhere out the front door (no). That sort of interesting I'm done with.

I also don't mean the sort of interesting where Hubby McRed announces that he is going on a business trip, in three days, and will be gone the weekend that both of my papers need to be written so I can graduate. That's not interesting, that's just a special form of hell invented just for me.

I mean the sort of interesting that makes people want to read about my interesting life without having the same effect as they would watching a train wreck. You don't want to watch, you can't help yourself, but boy are you glad you're not on that train!

The sort of interesting life that involves making strawberry jam and taking cute little pictures of it with cute little blond haired toddlers and I don't care if you used a little powder gel pack and it was easy peezy Ms. More Gravy, it was quintessentially quaint.

I love alliteration.

I mean the interesting sort of life that is filled with little interesting happy little facts.
Say, maybe this summer for instance, Bear will go in the water. That would be interesting, and photographic. I could photograph things. I could photograph quintessentially quaint little moments. It could be a new hobby.

The sort of interesting where I announce on my blog that yes, I again am writing another novel and it's just CRANKING away. (The first novel is done, is a kid's novel, and I don't know if I'm going to edit it, seeing as it's the first one I've done and needs a lot of work, but I'm not making that decision yet.)

Which if I think about it, really is only interesting to me, since writing itself isn't really interesting, until it's done.

Okay, an interesting sort of life where I actually go on vacation somewhere. (Not this summer).

The interesting sort of life where my tomatoes actually grow and can be used. Once I buy said tomatoes, of course. And peppers. In this OTHER interesting life I'd successfully grow peppers and tomatoes in my containers on the back successfully (we don't have a yard, which is nice, because I CERTAINLY don't want the sort of interesting lawn stories yard's entail, which I did in our previous home).

The interesting sort of life where when I take my dog out, she doesn't howl like a rabid manic looney bin at every other dog, cat, creature, that walks.

The interesting sort of life where I go out to lunch with my book club and I'm not so giddy at the prospect of adult conversation that I actually speak coherently.

The interesting sort of life where there's actually a good reason to get to plucking my eyebrows (I hear thick is in this season...)

The interesting sort of life where I have this hobby that positively makes me giddy. Like writing, but that doesn't involve being inside. An outside hobby. Maybe hiking. I'll go hiking with the kids. And the dog. The dog can fend off vicious ants while the rest of us all run away from bears. Maybe I can take up fishing...

The interesting sort of life where my sons have suddenly lost all capability to whine.

The interesting sort of life where I am okay with not knowing who the final Cylon is. (Gaeta, Zarek? Me? Who? aaahhh....)

And where I have other things to do besides wish Dr. Who would pick me as his next traveling companion.

Which really tells you how inherently UN-interesting I am.


Okay...

so what I really seem to want, is quite a boring life....

Hi, from the Dog

Hi,

My name is Crazy. I'm a dog. I'm an aussie-cattlehound-mutt-mix that drives my new mom absolutely freakin crazy, so that's her nickname for me on the blog. She won't use my real name, because I told her not to.

I live for it.

I'm writing this blog for her because she's super angsty right now. Something about two last papers that she just is dying over and the other girl here, the one she calls Drama, is doing a project on Giant Pandas that she knew about for a month that's due tomorrow that she started tonight...

Drama loves me, but those others, Turbo and Bear, they don't seem to enjoy being chased much, don't know why, and why do they have to be so grumpy, I'm just trying to give them good morning hugs, they are my faves because they have so many tasty crumbs around them!

Mom is really mad at me because I pooped in front of her door and at six months, I should really be over it. I did stand there, for like EVER, how is it my fault she didn't see me? And how is it my fault that she JUST took me out and I didn't do anything? There was the scent of bird on the wind, I got distracted!

So just saying hi. She'll be back soon, she just needs to get through the weekend mainly, and next Monday and Tuesday and she'll be done.

Where have I been?

Nowhere.

Just trying to get through one more week of a major pain in the ass class.... and two final papers....

Stay tuned for news of... gasp... the DOG.....

in the mean time, since I'm so sketchy, check out More Gravy, she's been updating her blog regularly, with PICTURES! and is becoming quite the blogging pro.

In the meantime.... WISH ME LUCK!

Paper paper on the wall

That made no sense.
But it doesn't have to.

My friend at More Gravy sent me a clever link to webs created by spiders on different substances. Note the one on caffeine.

That is mine.

Apparently, I can do great outlines, but details, due to the amount of caffeine I imbibe, are out of the question.

This may explain the problems I'm having with my paper, so I may dutifully inform my professor that I am incapable of providing more detail due to my caffeine affliction.

I say affliction, rather than addiction, because I'm not addicted to caffeine, merely afflicted by the absolute need for caffeine based on my present circumstance: the last month of school forever if I can manage to not blow this last class.

Why, you wonder, have I chosen to educate my loyal following of more than five but less than 20, on the performance of drugged spiders?

Why, because I'm Precrastinating!

Although, 20 out of 25 pages of this paper are now done, so there has been SOME work going on. The sad truth about procrastinators and precrastinators both is that, yes, at the end of the crastination phase, one must actually get the work done....

Duck, Mannequin

Taking four year old boys to a shop designed for 12 year old tweens is never truly a good idea, but like other moms who can't afford nanny's, or babysitters, I had no choice.

I promised Drama girl ONE outfit from Justice, this outrageously overpriced store stocked full with tween dream clothes, knick knacks, trinkets et al, all with cutely dressed tween mannequins.

I did a decent job of pretending to be able to control my sons, admonishing them when they were about to do something particularly destructive, but for the most part, I just wanted Drama Girl to HURRY UP.

I had both of the boys right BEHIND me, and they were behaving well enough that I turned to Drama girl to look at an outfit she picked out.

I'd turned my back on them for about 20 nanoseconds, not surely a full second, when I hear a soft, 'aahh' and then, a louder ahhh which was about to turn into a full fledged cry. I turn around and see...

....


My son's head stuck between the legs of a tween mannequin that he had managed to topple over onto himself in 20 nano seconds. His fingers were UNDER the mannequin thing.

So there he was.
My son.
Head stuck between the legs of a tween mannequin wearing skorts and a cute sleeveless matching top, hand stuck under it.

The arm fell off, of course.

So I pull the stupid mannequin off his big head.
Mind you, I wasn't too careful about it. I figured if his head was REALLY stuck it wouldn't matter if I yanked it up over his head, it wouldn't budge. But his head wasn't FULLY stuck, it was just too heavy, and a tight fit, so I jiggled it over him and then realized his fingers were stuck under the board the mannequin stood on.

I took if off and picked up my sobbing, crying, very naughty four year old Bear.

I checked his fingers, only scratched, no bleeding or crushed bones.

We sat in an obnoxiously bright pink tween chair while Drama Girl tried on her outfits, and we talked about how it wasn't such a good idea, this sticking your head between mannequin legs.

It's a measure of my mommyhood style that my first response was "So, what did we learn about playing with mannequins?"

And yes, he was fine five minutes later, albeit very clingy, and suddenly overcome with panic at the thought that he'd be on the moon all alone and not be able to find his house...
...

ALL I said was, maybe he could wait on the moon while we shopped, that's all....

How to Do a Will

This is what I need to know.

I have found out that for the state of Colorado, with my main goal of a will being to name a guardian that all I need is the right forms, and I can do it myself.

But which forms?

Do I just get Quicken's willmaker?

Do I order the brochure of will making from the site the Colorado Bar Association recommends?

And, what happens, in the strange circumstance that I get hit by a meteor, but not beloved Hubby McRed, but then, in a bizarre twist of cosmic humor, two years later, he gets hit by a meteor, but he didn't bother doing a will, do the children go to the guardian I appointed, or, is my will void and they go somewhere else the court appoints wily nily? Not that courts appoint things wily nily, never.

Anyone?
Anyone?


I intend to either spend the $100 to 'make a will' at the local community center or to use software, but, I just need aaahhh.... suggestions.

anyone?

No Grabby Grabby

I was working on my paper from hell for the instructor from hell. To accomplish this, I set the boys, Turbo and Bear, on their own in the house. Everything was pretty much as calm as you could expect in this scenario.

But then it was dinner time. Hubby McRed came home. Drama Girl wanted attention. And Bear, who had a nice, calm afternoon nap, was revved. OUT of the kitchen they go. NO running in the house. JUST GO UPSTAIRS AND PLAY.

So they did.

Only for Turbo to come running down the stairs, somewhere between hysterical laughter and hysterical panic.

"Mommy Mommy!" he cried. "Bear is Trying To Get My Penis."

I pause.

And look. Turbo had barreled down the stairs behind me, for protection, apparently.
Down the stairs fast as can be, arm outstretched, hand making crab-like grabby maneuvers... is Bear.

Laughing hysterically and saying "I'm going to grab your penis..." Pause for his laughter, he thinks he's funny, "I"m going to grab your penis..."

We have a talk about how this sort of game is not okay, I don't CARE if you think it's funny, we do not grab other people's penis'.

But apparently, this is a GREAT game.

Because shortly after, Bear comes running down the stairs, "Turbo's gonna get my penis..."

And then Lahdeeda, yours truly, got fed up, and shouted,

"THIS IS A RULE. We DO NOT grab OTHER PEOPLE"S PENIS' IN THIS HOUSE."

I mean, yes, I had to make a rule....


Actual, cute, non-penis comment of the night (I don't recall the last time I had a day that didn't contain some penis reference from my preschoolers):

"Bear, I'm going to get you a t-shirt, I don't want you sleeping in your belly tonight."
"Okay, mom, and I need t-pants, too..."

awwwww