Friday, May 30, 2014

Fwimmin' Fwimmin' ..and a Caption Contest Winner!

She vowed to herself that if he played "call me maybe" one more time she'd leave him for good.

Afternoon Readers,

Before we go any farther, let's stop and give Janine Doyle a big round of applause for winning May's caption contest! Just shoot me your info at paigekellerman@gmail.com, and I'll send a banana-yellow paperback your way...:)

I'm reporting to you live from the Split level, burnt to a crisp.

No, the house didn't burn down. That was just a very poorly constructed sentence.

However, I'm boiled to a crisp from the already blazing sun. And no matter how much I shuffle sideways and snap my claws at Husband, I'm have a really hard time selling the idea I've chosen to live out the rest of my life as a crab.

Winter pretty much catapulted us right into summer, so I did what I always do:

1.) Rejoice that the ice is gone.
2.) Realize it's pool season.
3.) Panic because it's time to put on a swimsuit. Remember I threw away my old, trusty worn out suit last year. File petition with the city to let me construct something durable made of burlap and trash bags.

And because I've written posts about shopping for a suit before, I won't emotionally scar you with what went on this year, but I think a stream of consciousness might do the trick...

"These suits are for twelve-year-olds. Crap, that's because I'm in the teen section. Ok, where's the Ye Olde Woman Coverings section? Hold on, is that a top? Nope, that's a price tag. Or maybe a top. Ahh, here we go, a nice one piece- Wait, why does it have holes in the sides? Ok, a halter top may be able to hold the wreckage of my torso in. But what about bottoms? Shorts. Skirt. Shorts. Skirt.

...not today swim skirt. Shorts it is."

For those of you who don't know, children who are caged all winter are pretty much insane by the time the first Honeysuckle peaks through the thaw. It's best to find a place filled with water and other things that are equally as dangerous and let them go play there. 

That's the Kellerman modus operandi every year. Show up. Become majestic masters of the aquatic element, try not to swallow so much pool water, you throw up on the ride home. Every day this week, we've been easing into this new schedule for life. In case you too need a quick reference guide for a perilous day at the pool, I've compiled a snapshot of our day*

*I often get complaints about how perfect we are. Don't pay too much attention to our spotless way of living, just try. That's all you can do. Try.
5am: Baby wakes me up and asks when we're "fwimmin'."
6am: Other children awake and ask repeatedly about the pool.
7am: Eat breakfast and ask repeatedly about the pool.
8am: Hide in the bathroom while children bang on the door and ask when they're going to the pool.
9am: Watch kids jump on the bed and kick clean laundry on the dog-hair-drenched floor while they ask when they're going to the pool.
10am: Wiggles marathon and my special time to weep, contemplatively in the corner.
11am: Beg children to eat lunch before they go to the pool. Eat three turkey sandwiches by myself and wait for the kids to be hungry, right when we get to the pool.

12pm: Convince everyone they need to put on suit, shoes, and clothes. Unsuccessful. People still asking when we're going to the pool.

1pm: Arrive at pool. Keep everyone from getting hit by a car.
1:15pm: Try desperately to stop all offspring from running into the pool with their clothes on.
1:30pm: Instruct all children not to leave designated area.

1:30-3pm: Retrieve children from areas they wandered to.
Keep baby from base jumping off the walls. 
Give baby stern talking-to for slapping you because you're trying to save his life.
Think you've lost a twin.
Retrieve twin in bathroom.
Think you've lost the other twin.
Find other twin in bathroom.
Advise both twins, when everyone gets out of the pool, it doesn't mean it becomes their private pool. They're also obligated to get out.
Wonder if you should let Sundance take her topless Barbies down the slide. Nevermind, you don't have the energy to care.
3:30pm: Announce it's time to go.
4pm: After having to put the baby under your arm and run in to pull everyone out, you manage to drag the entire caravan back to the car.
4:15pm: Don't let anyone get hit by a car. Drive off and look forward to tomorrow. Also, did you get everyone out of the pool?

All right, I'm off to buy sunscreen and practice walking sideways.

Until Next Time, Readers!

Tuesday, May 27, 2014

The Do's and Don'ts of Date Night After Marriage

It was a marriage held together by freshly-pressed ascots and tightly-clasped brooches.

Morning Readers,

I'm still recovering from the weekend, so, seeing as it's Wednesday, I should be ready to get back into the swing of things somewhere around...

Wait, is Augustober an actual date?

*Segue alert*

Speaking of dates, Husband is a great one. But you can't have him. Mainly because we're married and also because I need someone to manage my weirdness and propensity to laugh at people who fall up the stairs. (Which is all well and good if they're your friend, but you never really know if a stranger will get offended and chase you with a half-full Chipotle bag, shouting, "Everyone always laughs at me.)

We needed to get out of the Split level. Things had gotten to the point where my beloved and I hadn't done anything remotely fun in so long, we both started growling at each other for no reason.

Date Night Tip #705: If the date night you've chosen is an actual growling contest, disregard, previous paragraph and resume emotionally-connected awkwardness.

There are so many who've been married longer than us, but I'm finding the five year mark to be one where a regular night on the town reduces the need to to slap one's spouse in the face with a frozen pizza.


Because we don't get out much, the do's and don't of date night get a little fuzzy, but this is pretty much what I sketched out this weekend....

The Do's and Don'ts of Date Night After Marriage

Do: Let your spouse pay like a gentleman.
Don't: Shout, "Let me see the check so I know how many boxes of Hamburger Helper to buy next month."

Do: Go check out the new movie theatre in town.
Don't: Have no idea where you're going, wander past the empty ticket taker booth and really think long and hard about whether you should see the new X-Men for free.

(And if you're reading this, I've thought about it, and maybe we could've just plead short term memory loss and sworn we thought we were at an Olive Garden, looking for someone to fill our endless pasta bowls.)

Do: Hold hands.
Don't: Hold someone else's hand. 

Do: Find a restaurant that's a purveyor of quality food, bocci ball, and bowling.
Don't: Spend massive amounts of time watching the drama of another table unfold before your very eyes. Or do. There's something about watching an over-handsy, drunk kid trying to put the moves on a man's daughter, right in front of him, that makes for a compelling evening.

Did that kid live? The world may never know.


Do: Wander into a sushi resturant.
Don't: Sit at the bar, admit you're too full to actually eat there, buy two beers out of guilt, and gladly accept two, free crab rolls because the manager thinks you're both really weird for admitting you've never even had sushi before. Arigato.

Do: Decide to cap off the evening by getting coffee.
Don't: Go into a coffee shop that hasn't been open for more than three days that's literally filled with drunk people.

Where's the line to order? Where's the line to pay? If I order the "Turtle," is it made with real turtles? I only ask because I respect authenticity. Where's the bathroom? Yes, my husband only ordered black coffee because someone has to make sure I make it back to where I live.

Because I take care of his kids.
And also because he doesn't like milk in it.
Yes, I'll accept your two, free chocolates because you forgot to make my order.
I bid you adieu. And you. And you and you and - Wait, there's only one of you?

Do: Go home with your date.
Don't: Go home with someone else's date. 

Do: Get up with the kids the next day.
Don't: Throw leftover prime rib sandwich at your spouse who's still sleeping. Eat that and go find a frozen pizza you don't need.

Until Next Time, Readers!

Friday, May 23, 2014

Mr. Teethbrush

"Luckily, I know just where my toothbrush is. I haven't been as vigilant about my eyebrows though."

Morning Readers,

Where did the week go?

Probably the same place rhetorical questions go to die. Either or, I know at least forty-three percent of it was spent trying to avoid thinking about the fact the pool opens this weekend and I still need a swimsuit. But, as I still have entire day to dodge that horror, let's move on to something less likely to give you nightmares.

(Statistics have shown most bad are composed of clowns or me in Lycra. Sometimes me dressed as a clown. Or, strangely enough, clowns in Lycra. Either way you cut it, the whole thing's really disturbing.)

There hasn't been much out of the ordinary going on around the Split level, you know, besides the baby choosing to spend his time putting himself in life-threatening situations or doing things that make him look socially awkward.

Exhibit A: The Toothbrush

Eh em ...I mean the "teethbrush".

Doc isn't quite sure what brushing his teeth even means, but so help me if I can't find one of the five toothbrushes he's lifted off people in the house. Learning early that licking someone else's toothbrush makes it yours has been highly profitable for the shortest among the family. In his possession...

One Jake and the Neverland Pirates
One standard Colgate
One Barbie Beach theme
One Dora and Diego
One Crayola marker-shaped tooth scrubber

Parents of this particular individual suspect there have been many more "teethbrushes" hoarded and hidden in various spots in the house. At this point, asking, "Did you brush your teeth?" is a pointless endeavor met with..

"I can't. The baby stole it."

Being smarter than everyone else who lives here, I got a jump on the whole thing and keep my toothbrush in an undisclosed lock box in Switzerland.

Really, the whole thing would be pretty adorable if we were rich; I hear the wealthy buy teethbrushes in spades. And also if I could stop saying, "Teethbrush."

"I don't know where the teethbrush is. But we have to go buy frozen pizza. Here, have this book that's been ripped in half." - yelled by me in the garage

"Did everyone put their teethbrushes back in the holder? And I meant toothbru- ...nevermind, I just saw the baby run off with all of them."

"Oh, that's so cute. Your baby has a toothbrush."
"Thanks, but it's actually a teethbrush and he always brings it to the post office."

At any rate, I know he'll grow out of this. If you can say anything about parenting, it's one, big transitional stage with a side of optimism and ever-present feeling of failure. *High fives everyone reading*

Well, I've got to haul the troops out in search of supplies for the weekend. You all have a fantastic holiday.

In the meantime, I'll be grabbing more teethbrushes, wine and some trash bags I can cut into a swimsuit.

Until Next Time, Readers!



Until Next Time, Readers!


Tuesday, May 20, 2014

A Letter to Butch and Sundance on Their Fourth Birthday


Morning Readers,

Mainly because I'm a terrible mother who likes to complain about her inner ear problems instead of documenting life's most valuable milestones, this post is a day late and a dollar short. Or maybe a dollar-fifty. I'm not sure how a week translates monetarily.

Last week, the illustrious and world-renowned Butch and Sundance turned four.

High five to me for keeping you alive this long. Hive five to you two for putting up with me for this long. I had a roommate in college who could barely stand me for a semester, so you get what I mean.

A Letter To You On Your Fourth Birthday

Friday, May 16, 2014

What the Neti Pot Did

"When I lean like this, I can almost hear you telling me I'm an idiot."

Morning Readers,

"Would you like another pepper?"

It's the number one question Sundance has asked since I started on this quest that is trying to figure out what's going on with my ear.Gladly, I nod and accept another jalapeno and keep wondering when I'll stop hearing my own voice in my head. (Turns out, I'm long-winded and fairly annoying.)

The good news is I've stopped spinning and my hearing's sort of back. The bad news is my hypochondria went crazy and made an appointment for me to purchase a very expensive lecture.

I blame the Neti Pot.

For those of you who don't know, a Neti Pot is a little, plastic teapot you fill with saline solution and dump into your nose. A great way to clean the sinuses. A terrible way to seduce someone you have your eye on.

It was all well and good. I mixed. I poured. I lost all the hearing in my right ear. And, as is consistent with my nature where it concerns health issues, I panicked. Never expect anything less from me.

Tuesday, May 13, 2014

Vertigo Veroncia

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you. Did you say you like my feather boa or you're from Manitoba?"

Morning Readers,

I'd like to start today by congratulating Katie Herzing on winning the Penny Jules giveaway! Congrats to a fantastic Reader, and please know I'm super jealous of all the ridiculously cute stuff you get to pick from.

You know what's not cute?

Sandals with socks, yes, absolutely. I'll take that as an answer, but I was really hinting more at the partial deafness I'm dealing with right now. Due to some sort of inner ear nonsense, I've developed the fascinating habit of falling sideways for no reason, coupled with the ever-present sensation I'm about to fall sideways for no reason.

Nothing sexier than a twenty-nine-year-old woman with vertigo. (Nope, not even your pet ferret in the hand-knit sweater you gave him for Christmas.)

Thursday, May 8, 2014

The Naked Plumber.....and A Summer Jewelry Giveaway From Penny Jules!

"You don't understand, I have to diaper that baby." .... "It's too late, Suzanna. You'll never catch him now."

Morning Readers,

Who else watched Alec Baldwin and Anthony Hopkins battle a bear to the death in the forgettable film, The Edge, last night?

Didn't think so. (But I think it's only fair to give a nod to the bear, who gave an impassioned and convincing performance. I truly believed you wanted to eat people.)

Moving on to less disturbing things happening around the Split level...

Now that I'm rearing my third toddler, I can say, with all confidence, I've learned absolutely nothing. This is particularly sad because God gave me two toddlers to start with, and one would think I'd be a veritable arsenal of knowledge against the antics of the miniature assassin set. A treasure trove of defense.

Life, proving I'm not smart, one day at a time.

For, if I'd been retaining anything useful over the last four years, instead of eagerly watching the digital clock on the stove tick to seven pm so I could start hunting for the corkscrew, I wouldn't have been caught off guard by the following scenarios this week.

Tuesday, May 6, 2014

He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not As Much As Baseball

I'm not saying I don't love our team, but could you stop texting my soul mate?

Morning Readers,

Ahh, the warm weather is finally upon us. The implications of this sweet deliverance from the cruel beast that was winter is three-fold.

1. This past weekend was the first I'd worn sandals in six months. I'd like to take this opportunity to apologize for any emotional trauma caused to innocent victims caused by looking at my feet after their long, winter hybernation.

2. I can roll down the windows and pretend I'm driving a Mustang and not a minivan.

3. Husband I start our traditional spring separation.

Who wants to hear more about my feet?

Baseball it is, then.

Of course, it's not a separation in the typical sense, although I do get full custody of the children.* But when the first snippets of announcer banter crackle across the TV, and Husband's eyes stop looking like the sea and more like baseballs, I know I've lost him until September (or August, depending on our loss ratio).

*Please see me about the "Take three children for the day, get free peanuts and cracker jacks" deal we have running right now.

After seven years together, I've grown accustomed to games every night, him yelling at no one in particular (unless I really was responsible for trading our outfielder), and gentle whispers in my right ear. "You're in my spot. You know I always sit on the left."

But where the relationship was previously and clearly understood, the hand of technology stepped in and poked it's finger at the delicate balance with an iPhone.

The other night, I'd just passed out face down, contentedly drooling in my pillow, when a "ping" made me jerk my head up. "Wha- Why- Who is texting you at midnight?"

Husband didn't bother picking up his phone. "It's baseball."

"What does baseball want? ...Wait, how did the Great American pastime learn to text?"

"It's just my fantasy stats."

"You wanna know the status of my fantasy? Not being woken up by a sport when I'm having a perfectly agreeable dream about danish."

We've moved into brand new territory, Readers. Not sure how I feel about this one. I know how I feel about danish though, so that's still pretty concrete.

***
Today's post was brought to you by Scorebig.com. Because cheaper tickets for things is better than more expensive tickets for things.

SB: Would you be interested in tickets for something you'd like to see?
Me: As a matter of fact, baseball's been texting husband lately, so if you could get me something so they could hang out in person, that would be great.
SB: Our pleasure.
Me: No, the pleasure's all mine. I'd rather take Husband to a Royals game instead of wondering way things that aren't people are trying to contact him at indecent times.

(Seriously though, it's pretty great. Pick the tickets you want, tell them what you're willing to pay, and they get you hooked up. The moral of the story being, if you're getting wierd texts in the middle of the night, check out Scorebig.com.)


Until Next Time, Readers!

Sunday, May 4, 2014

A Quick Gift Guide and May Caption Contest

Your Caption Here

Morning Readers,

Just in case the candy companies haven't sounded the alarm yet, I'd be remiss in not mentioning this weekend's most prestigious holiday.

I love it because I'm a mother.
Or so they tell me.
No, I'm sure of it. Otherwise, it wouldn't be, "Momma, I want jello." "Momma, I used the sprayer to wash the kitchen floor." "Momma, stop pretending to sleep and feed us breakfast. We see you breathing. I'll slap her in the face to make sure she's awake."

But, seeing as the Three Amigos are still pretty tiny, I don't expect much special treatment at this stage of life. That's why I'll let you guys in on my special Mother's Day gift guide:

Me: By the way, you ordered me shoes for Mother's Day. They'll be here on Wednesday.
Husband: You're welcome.
Me: Thank you. I just knew you'd think I'd like them, and that you would've ordered it if you'd seen it before I did.
Husband: Because I love you.

So remember, Readers, you too can order your own Mother's Day gifts and let the giver know they bought something they weren't aware of. (Or, you can ask them for an ebook copy of At Least My Belly Hides My Cankles, because it's only .99 cents until Mother's Day....:)

***

And now, this month's caption contest!

What's in it for you?

Nothing. Kidding. Wait, will you take nothing? I didn't think so because you're like me. OK, every month's winner gets a free paperback copy of At Least My Belly Hides My Cankles, and I'll even write out, in ink, the fact you're a caption champion, on the inside.

I really wanted to give away a pony or ten thousand dollars every month, but we have a mortgage and the cars are always near death. You know how it is.


Rules:

1.) Be awesome. But since you're here, I think we can check that off the list.

2.) Comment with as many captions as you like but try to keep it PG. This does not stand for "poached goats."

3.) Captions can be dialogue, commentary, headlines or whatever made you snort when you thought about it.

4.) No ripping on other people's captions. We love each other here. Hug a friend. Don't tear apart their carefully crafted imaginary headline, etc.

Oh my gosh, rules are exhausting. That was four whole sentences. Ok, get to it. This month's winner announced on May 28th!

Until Next Time, Readers!