Maybe Jeff Dahmer was just misunderstood

I decided tonight was the night.

The cats really needed baths. (Yes, they did.)

The only other time we gave them baths we found that Crook (washed by Aiden) hated it and Jack (washed by me) was more tolerant, although far from happy about it. We had approached it differently and so it was unknown whether the difference was from the cats or the person washing them.

Tonight we found out.

It's the cat.

I decided to start with Crook since he was such a beast about it last time.

We walked into the bathroom and I shut the door. This was his first clue that something was awry. Then I took off his collar, opened the shower curtain and turned on the water.

After I peeled him from the ceiling I got him back in the tub and started to attempt the washing.

About 2 seconds into that I could see I would need help. I had run an inch or two of water into the tub so I could avoid his exposure to the shower head (that was Aiden's gig last time. Cat's don't like water and REALLY don't like it coming out of a shower head on a hose at them, FYI.)

The entire contents of the tub ended up on my shirt, including the cat. Aiden came to my rescue and while I attempted to hold the cat, claws, and jaws away from me (and keep his fierce crying/growling/faked asthma attacks at a minimum) he washed the parts he could reasonably reach.

The rinse cycle was severely short and may end up making the whole dandruff issue worse. I decided it was most definitely over when he bit through my finger. In two places.

Aiden asked if I needed anything and I composed myself enough to say "a hammer".

Jack's bath went a WHOLE lot better. He's just a better cat, in general, although the kids all call him the mean one.

The whole thing got me to thinking about two things. First, we should zip-tie Crook to the chain-link fence and use the hose next time he needs a bath.

Second, maybe not everyone who kills cats is going to become a serial killer. Maybe the cats have it coming.

***I would just like to explain I would never actually kill a cat. The zip-tie thing would only work if Aiden was helping and since he's morally against it, I can assure you, the cats are safe.

The Joan Rivers of Chocolate Bunnies

As the Easter Bunny was doing preparations for tomorrow's festivities, he came across a bag from Rite Aid in the storage bin used for Easter decorations. It was nestled all snug in there among the baskets. Apparently I was mad at the kids last year and would not allow them to eat their chocolate bunnies. Or maybe we bought extra and never gave the other ones out. I don't know. What I do know is that the Easter Bunny came down the hall with the bag asking if I was hungry.

Turns out chocolate bunnies do not like to spend a year in a non-temperature controlled storage unit where they subsequently freeze and thaw for 12 months.

They do not age well.

I question the validity of their claim: TOTALLY DELICIOUS!

Does the Easuh Bunny do this?

"I can't get my tights, Mom."

"I didn't throw them up on the top of...."

We went down the hall so she could show me.

"They just landed there. Really."

Annie's explanation would have had ME sold.

Aiden subbed at Head Start a couple times this week including this morning. Yesterday he needed to be there by 7:30 and we were fully fed and dressed and ready for our day before we walked out the door. Today he needed to be there at 8:00 and we were mostly dressed, half of us had brushed our teeth, none of us had eaten, and we straggled out the door.

When the girls and I got home from dropping him off I asked them what kind of cereal they wanted. Then I whipped out my big surprise: I went to the store last night and got a few things including cereal. This may not sound too exciting but they were forced to eat Malto Meal yesterday because they were refusing to eat the Cheerios which have been around for a couple of months.

Not only did I get cereal, I got Cocoa Nuggets. See, I have this thing about Cocoa Pebbles. The other day Aiden had a coupon for a really cheap box so he brought me some home (to feed the PMS monster). The girls were not supposed to see the box but they did and they were SO mad that I would not share with them. (no excuse here, just sometimes I am mean like that!)

So I got them all excited in the car. Well, I got Annie excited. Ashley kept saying "Co-Coa mfmfmffffs" and I would say "Yep, Cocoa Pebbles".

Finally she managed to tell me she did not WANT Cocoa PEBBLES, she wanted Cocoa PUFFS. Her bargaining power/reasoning was "I had them at GRAND-ma's one time!"

Okay, so I fell short on the Puffs, but they were not on sale! (somehow I have it bad for chocolatey cereal. I don't know why. I will mention I also like OTHER kinds)

Annie walked into the house SOOOO excited for her Cocoa Pebb---

"That does NOT say Pebbles," she informed me. This was based on her trying to sound it out and not being able to make the N in nuggats say Puh like Pebbles.

I came clean about them being knock off (without saying "knock off") and she was appeased.

Ashley, however, was further put off by the NOT Cocoa Puffs somehow being one step further from the truth.

Annie decided she did not want milk on her cereal. Normally I might fight it (might not, too) but I just said, "okay, but when you put milk on it it turns into CHOCOLATE MILK!"

Thus, I poured the milk on Annie's cereal.

Ashley was still standing in the corner regarding the whole scene with doubt and wonder.

"Are you going to eat it, Ashley?" Annie wanted to know.

"Maaaayyyybeeee"

"BUT IT'S CHOCOLATE!!" Annie explained

Ashley hemmed and hawed and mentioned several more times that this was NOT Cocoa Puffs like she had been served at gramma's house.

Annie said they had it at their dad's house.

Ashley still wasn't sure.

She finally did eat it. She liked it. She asked for seconds. She was denied. She was happy once again as she had a new thing to have a fit about.

Maybe later I'll post about having to take Annie to one of my classes and how she dropped the pencil box of colored pencils on the floor to scare the crap out of everyone. And how I had to take Ashley to another class with me today where she informed me (and the rest of the class) that she was bored, this class is boring, and she wanted no, needed no, HAD to go potty again RIGHT NOW (we had gone right before class... and she did make it without any accidents).

Maybe.

And on a side note...

I have to have a minor with the major I changed to. I did not want to spend the extra time to finish any traditional minor. I found out I could appeal and be awarded a minor area of concentration instead of a minor.

Basically the same thing but saves me a LOT of time.

I had to fill out a form stating all the classes I took under that heading. I wrote down my science classes and asked for concentration in science.

The requirements state you have to have 15-18 credits and at least 3 must be upper division (300 and up)

I ended up putting down like 29 credits in science ranging from chem 100 to mbios 305.

They approved it.

So now when I graduate my diploma will say "Human Development, Early Childhood Education with a minor area of concentration in Science".

AWESOME!

Also, it saves me a year.

If only there was hidden cameras to see it happen.

A few months ago Annie started having nightmares or at least claiming to have nightmares. Mostly this was occuring about 30 minutes after having been put to bed.

I decided to fight fake with fake and started placating her and Ashley with "happy dream" powder when they go to bed. (baby powder sprinkled around)

In the past we have also used "ghost be gone" spray. (Febreeze, air freshener, sometimes good ol' fashioned water sprayed around)

There is a picture in my mom's possession of my older sister standing in her crib next to the dresser on which the baby powder was kept. During nap time one day she woke up early and decided to decorate her nursery. It's a great picture.

I have flashed to a mental shot of that picture many a night as I set the container on the dresser while I kiss the girls. I have always been very careful to not leave the powder in their room.

Aiden did the powdering of the room last night. He is not aware of this picture. He has memory issues. I don't know if that came into play last night but the baby powder got left on their dresser.

I left the house this morning to go take a test. The girls were watching an Arthur DVD and reading books in the living room. Aiden was nursing a headache and laying in bed.

I was gone for 45 minutes, tops.

As I walked up to the door when I got home Annie was ahead of me. She pulled open the door and was SOOOO happy to see me!

I set down my stuff and looked at her. I couldn't put my finger on it but something was... off.

And what is that smell?

And why does she look like she's been drawing with the sidewalk chalk and then rolled around in it?

I started to ask her what was all over her (and I do mean ALL over) when she cut me off with "Ashley did most of it!!"

Oh crap.

I spied the closed door to their room.

I heard the gleeful laughter through the door.

I opened the door.

I shouldn't have done that.

I saw...

I saw white powder. Everywhere. The floor was kicking up little puffs of baby powder with each step Ashley took in her dance of the baby powder fairy. The part that could. Most of it was covered so thick it had died of suffocation.

I almost did. The air was so full of baby powder... it was actually foggy looking in there. There is sure to be lung infections coming up. I swear...

I closed the door and went to my room.

"Aiden?!?"

"mmmfffmfmfff?"

"Are you aware of what these girls are doing in their room?"

"nooooo...?"

"WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE?!?"

He got up and was greeted by the ghosts of two little girls standing in corners. At least, they looked like ghosts.

We took them outside and made them brush themselves off. It was enough to make them look like they were peeling out down a country road. And that didn't even get half of it out of their hair.

Aiden threw them into the shower while I vacuumed their carpet. (CPR)

While I was at my afternoon class Aiden wiped the rest of the powder up. It was on their dressers, their nick knack shelf, their bookcase, Annie's top bunk, Ashley's bed (on the side by the wall), crammed into the cracks of the bunk bed ladder...

I think I hate the smell of baby powder now. Aiden says he knows he does. I guess that's too bad since the WHOLE place smells like a baby's butt. And our vacuum will be pumping out the smell for years to come.

I think I am now going to find something for "nightmare powder". Maybe it will be thumb tacks scattered around.

Dream dream dream Dreeeaaammm

That's my sad attempt at the song. Now do you hear it?

I've been having all this drama with my hair lately. I ran out of the shampoo/conditioner I liked and forgot I had more of another kind I liked so we bought some that I found out I hated. So my hair was feeling really dry and icky. Plus I need a trim but can't afford one so my split ends are pretty wild (to me). Then there's the part where I keep thinking I should just cut it but I don't really want to, just tired of the scraggly, flat, dry, gross hair I think I have, some of the time.

Anyway, the other night I had a dream that I was pulling it back into a ponytail and twisting it and all the hair broke off from the ponytail point into my hand. Turns out it was a cute new 'do but I was freaking out in my dream. (In all honesty, I don't think it's THAT dry).

So that was strange. Then last night I had a dream that I was at my Grandma's house. I was like 14-ish and I was going to spend the night. Grandma was showing me how she brushes her hair before going to bed. Then she let me comb it for her. Then she combed my hair and was telling me all about how to style it. (this is funny because she had short hair when she was alive. That's right! I was dreaming about spending the night with my dead Grandma- who was very much alive in this dream. Oh! it's all complicated in my dreams)

Later I was walking down the hall and saw this big wide bowl on top of a dressing table. In it was a bunch of hot dog buns and some nut crackers. I was confused for a minute and then I realized it was so she could break off pieces off the dried up buns to throw to the birds who she'd let in to fly around her two story high living room.

That's just to let you know, I KNOW it's a strange dream. But I had to look up what it means to dream about hair and dead Grandmas.

Dreaming about hair means stuff about thoughts and feelings. Like, tangled hair means you can't organize your thoughts. If you want to know more, click the link.

Dreaming about dead Grandmas is harder. But you can sift through all the dead information (information about dreaming of dead people, is a better way to say it) and pick out what you will.

Apparently I am being influenced by negative people, am about to suffer material loss, cannot organize my thoughts, and am having a loss in strength.

Or I am abnormally preoccupied with looks.

What is that up in the sky?

Oh!

It's the sun!

And it's surrounded by blue!! I was forgetting what blue looked like. I only remembered gray.

We took the kids outside today for 4 hours. Awesome goodness of all things holy!- it was great!

There was no screaming or crying or fighting or killing of the siblings/parents/children. How do you argue with that? You don't.

Alex's sense of humor was on point, as well. The kids were riding bikes and playing Batman. Them playing Batman made the bikes transform into cars. As one of the neighbor girls pulled off to the side to stop she announced she was going to get gas. Each of the kids who rode past her while she got gas were told she is getting gas.

When she told Alex she was getting gas he said, "oh, I didn't see you eating any beans!"

That boy, I'll tell you what.

He is SO my kid.

Posted today but still true...

My friend, Amy, and her family came over for dessert the other night. Somehow we got around to strange stories. First it was how a friend of hers used to put the cat in the freezer for a minute to get it to calm down when it was way out of control. Sounds bad but it is strictly funny when she tells it.

That reminded me of the joke about the guy who gets a parrot but finds the parrot to have a foul mouth (not FOWL. ha ha ha). As a last ditch effort he puts the parrot in the freezer to chill out. The parrot sits in the freezer cussing him out for a few minutes and then gets REAAALLLLY quiet. The man lets him out and the parrot is all "thank you, sir" and "maybe we got off on the wrong foot". The man is happy with the new leaf from this parrot but wonders how it was so successful. The parrot then says, "Can I just ask one question? What did the chicken do?!"

Amy, as usual, can top this joke with a true story. She's known all kinds of people in her life and I am betting, based on the stories, that either she met all of them during their padded cell days or they were all on their way there.

Her friends decided they were going to buy a live turkey, raise it, and then eat it for Thanksgiving. They had had it for enough time that it became like a pet when it was time to butcher it. "good luck" said her husband and headed off to work. (I think this was part of the original deal. Otherwise, he's lucky it wasn't HIM who got butchered.) She found that she just couldn't whack its head off no matter what she tried to tell herself.

So she got her hands on some chloroform and held a rag over the turkey's head thus causing the turkey to pass out. This made it an excellent victim for kidnapping but since she already had it she continued with the master plan. Did she cut off it's head? No. She plucked the feathers from it and popped the passed out, LIVE turkey into the freezer hoping this would be the way to deal with it.

When her husband got home from work she figured it had been in the freezer long enough, surely it had died. She opened the freezer to show her husband the result of her efforts.

Out came a bald (featherless anyway) turkey who was fit to be tied. It ran all over their house until it was finally caught and beheaded. I don't know who finally did the honors. I don't know if Amy told us. I couldn't stop laughing at the mental picture of a bald turkey running around the house.

If you think THEY were stressed out about it, how do you think the dang turkey felt?

One Down, a Whole Bunch To Go!

Things I love about my husband, on our anniversary:

• He loves our kiddos as if they were his own.
• He is my best friend.
• He does the laundry.
• and the grocery shopping.
• and the taxi service.
• and he rarely complains about it.
• He makes me happy even when I am feeling totally down. and don't want to be cheered up
• He proofreads all my papers for me.
• He lets me practice my speeches on him and is able to give excellent feedback.
• He thinks I'm pretty.
• He loves me.
• He thinks he is the lucky one. (ha!)
• He does 97 % of the cooking.
• and 99.9% of the cleaning.
• He takes the kids out of the house so I can sleep the day away (occasionally).
• He tells people (and me) what a great mom I am. even when I don't believe it.
• He goes to class for me when I am sick.
• He gets excited about all the little things I might forget to notice.
• He has introduced new traditions to our family (like St. Patty's Day celebrations)
• He loves Christmas.
• He covertly got my friend to babysit tomorrow night so we can go on a *free* date. It is not sad and pitiful, either. We are going to eat a picnic and watch a movie in the van.
• He's romantic like that.
• He knows not to buy fake diamonds.
• He knows I would wear them anyway.
• He is everything I ever wanted in my husband and I am excited each day to spend another day on this spinning rock that's hurtling through space with him and the kiddos.
• There is no one else I could laugh this hard with.
• We're stupid in the same ways (nerdy stupid). Like, we critique our arguments by how well we obeyed the rules taught in every communications class across the land.
• He served his country in the Coast Guard and has MANY stories to share about it.
• We got married on a Tuesday at some random time in the afternoon JUST so we could be married on April Fool's Day. It fits us.
• We're cheesy together.

These are some of the bazillion reasons I love my Aiden. My midgety, crippled Aiden.