So much for that idea!

I've been wanting to post a recipe for the last few times...but food has been the last thing on our minds lately. And last night was no exception.
At roughly 1:45am a certain 6 year old let off a puke bomb in the bathroom; then proceeded to go back to bed as if he'd just gotten a drink or something.
It took me a few moments to leave my wonderful dreamland involving sunshine, Hugh Jackman and a bottle of sunscreen, to realize; Did I just hear someone get sick?
Usually when that happens there is more to follow, either by way of more coming out, a toilet flushing, sink running a voice calling out "I'm okay. I just puked."
No seriously, he does that. Big boy makes his way to the bathroom, does what he needs to do, knowing his momma has a weak stomach calls out; "I'm okay. I just puked." and goes right back to bed.
Not last night.
There was no warning, he, of all of us, had been the healthiest the longest. He even ate a great dinner, no hassle, no fuss.
We sat down for a family popcorn night of Winter Wipeout.
2am and I'm wondering to myself "what the??? Do I smell barf?????"
And that's when I knew Hugh wasn't there, that's exactly the moment I realized this was not a dream, I was about to step into, literally, my worst freakin' nightmare!!!!
Que Twilight Zone music.
I honestly debated: Should I wait for Rob? What time is it? What day is it?
Realizing he wouldn't be home for hours. Hours. (He was doing his paper route.)
That smell was pushing me over the limit NOW!
I grabbed my bandanna and reach around in the dark for the pot of vapor rub. I slathered up my nose and headed for the closet, I needed gloves before I could even look.
Oh God!
No. Really, that's about all you can say when faced with the sight of it.
Had this child been possessed by demons? My God!
(I am saying his name more out of pleading prayer then shock or surprise)
There is just no way I am going to make it through this. The bile is rising at the sight, I have not even really looked, I just see that sick pinkish/orange/yellow gore and my gag reflex is quivering.
Oh God, help me, if there's chunks...
If I were to name this event it would be Pukalots SplatterCox.

It was everywhere; Places I was not going to clean, I would make it out alive, there would be a news alert: Woman dies after reportedly puking herself to death...No she did not go on a binger or suffer from a deadly disease, she had a violent reaction to cleaning up after her son threw up.

If I blew, Oh for the love of the Lord, Rob was going to find hell had taken over his house.
I got my son up out of bed.
"You need to clean this up." I spoke trying not to breath.
He dutifully got up, looked around and said to me: "Where?"
You've got to be kidding me child! Where? I'll tell you where!
EVERYWHERE!
I rolled up the rugs and placed them in a basket, he brought the stench downstairs.
I mopped the floor and he cleaned the toilet, walls, cabinets, tub and door.
I made him do the chunks.
Don't judge me; I have a very weak stomach.
When I was a nanny, my girl got sick, I ran across the street to get the neighbor to help her.
Can't. Do. It. If I start, no, no I can't even go there.
I can handle babies.
With their poop up the back, puke all over the sheets, gag-eat-barf; but when they get to that age where smell and chunks are involved I can no longer deal.
Someday, some woman is going to thank me.
My son will be the cleanest puker ever, why?
Because he had to clean up after himself.
Seriously, think about that.
If you knew you were going to have to clean up your own mess, wouldn't you make darn sure the mess was as small and as contained as possible?
Wouldn't you fight back that urge until you were at least aiming distance from a sink/toilet/trash?
Because letting loose a spray of splatter-gore would mean you having felt gross enough to let it come out, now your having to clean it up.
For whatever reason he chose to blow chunks. There is no better "reality check" then to have to clean it up. Bet he's making a little note to self: Make it to the toilet.

My son is a puker. I admire that in him. He doesn't fight it, he just goes in takes care of it, cleanly for the most part.
I fight it. Even if it means feeling better 10 minutes later, I'd rather feel sick then feel that minute or two of loss. My daughter crys. She gets so upset with that loss of control that she crys.
Rob is somewhere in between bring it on and okay I guess I'll feel better.
Nobody likes to clean it up. And I think I can say that with complete confidence that I'm speaking for everybody when I say NO body likes to clean it up.

Oh, are you wondering how he's doing today?
He's playing hockey right next to me. He was a little bummed that he missed Pajama day at school with popcorn and purple pop for Pp day, until I reminded him we had pajama night and popcorn the night before that led to the splatter bomb/ middle of the night clean up.
No fever, nothing. Just the vague memory of watching his mother turn into a completely helpless woman, that is until it's time to bake cookies! ;)

Now as for that recipe I was talking about, I just can't post it at the end of something like this. That is gross. But I promise it's coming...the recipe that is.
For now go get yourself a can of coke you're gonna need it ;)

*sigh* 2011

My husband was home with us last week. It was a sweet blessing when he came home and told me he had taken that week off. I was preparing myself for a week full of arguing and bickering from the kids, saying I'm bored and can we do...
I was looking at my Christmas tree with loathing: Worst part ever of Christmas, taking down the tree.
I am such a freak about where the ornaments go and how they should be put away, how to take of the lights and wrap and store the tree that I could never ask anyone to do that job other then myself.
Hubby graciously offered to help on Sunday (while the game was on) Unfortunately, that didn't fly with me. It was nagging at me before then. I needed to do it when I felt like doing it.
Now that everything is put away and the kids are back at school and the Husband is back at work and the sounds of the washer and dryer fill the air while I type this, it is dawning on me that it is a new year.
What are my goals? What are my dreams for this year? How will this year be different from 2010? How will they be the same?
What have I learned this past year? What will I hold on to, and what will I let go of?

I think the letting go is huge. Raise your hand if your a control freak? Raise your hand if find yourself trying to be a control freak? (I say try because honestly we can't control a darn thing.)
I've taken a lot of things personally, but it sure felt like not as much last year.
I am learning to look at the other side; when someone says something to me; where is it coming from?
9 times out of 10 it isn't about ME, it's something else.
And yet my response was "Oh my gosh! Did they just ... I feel so hurt!"
These days if I can't make sense of it I talk about it with people I trust to give me the truth, I lay it down and leave it until I have some resolution and then I release it.
This last year has made me question a lot of things having to do with my family. This last year has given me some healing in a very old wound. This past year has brought new wounds. But the difference in my response to them is tremendous.
I no longer look to heal it, I look to treat it, to keep it clean, to keep out infection.
I've learned that wounds sometimes never heal and the only place where they won't hurt anymore is Heaven, so the best I can do is keep the infection away.

I am taking my body more serious. There are things I simply can not change about getting older. ( Now I know some of you are slightly older then me and are probably thinking "What is that 36 year old complaining about!")
I absolutely hate these things my Doctor calls "skin tags". He tell me I can "go ahead and remove them myself, and they are benign". Ahh, I nearly jump through the roof when he touches my nether parts and he thinks I can handle taking a razor to my own skin?!? Next time I may suggest he needs his meds changed because he might be going a little crazy ;)
I hate that my skin is sagging in places that are SO unattractive. What is with that truffle shuffle under your arm when you wave? Seriously, yuck.
I guess I can live with my butt looking like a really bad golfer shot a bucket of balls of the back nine and forgot to replace the divots! But it is gross to see flaps of skin, when pinched, stay put, like they have super glue on them and need to be literally massaged back into place.
I do have a neck, but think they need to invent Spanx for it.
So by taking my body more serious, I mean spending time at the gym, not comparing myself to 20 year-olds and wishing I had my 20-something body back, because I don't want the brain that went with it.
I am trying to become more aware of what I'm eating and WHY I'm eating it.
That is as close to a resolution as I get.
So here's to the start of 2011! *Sigh*
Here we go!

These boots.

One of my friends on Facebook asked us to add to her "Favorites list" Like Oprah only she's not Oprah.

She gave her new favorite bottle of wine, added some other things and last on her list was "Pickles" It made me laugh, because I have known this gal for 25 years, I was a little girl when I met her and I looked UP to her. I remember fondly "fighting" over getting the last pickle in the jar when she came over. Now, flash forward 25 years and I stand a wee bit taller, unless she has on her "stage" boots. Hubby and I recently went and saw her sing. Man, that little body's got a big ol voice in it!

Anyway, I decided to add my picks to her list, which started a whole new topic:

Is there such a thing as Minnesota Sexy?

That depends I guess, but I say yeah, yeah there is. We spend most of our time bundled up. It's not about fashion here, it's about survival aka warmth.

My favorites:

• Fuzzy socks
• rubber bottom slippers so when you step on wet floor from snow being dragged in, your fuzzy socks don't get wet.
• Pomegranate~Vanilla tea latte from Caribou (It's been my fave for almost a year, it's the ONLY thing I order.)
• My ipod Christmas on the go mix. All MY faves and NONE of those blasted radio standards.
• Watching Survivor: Hubby and I think they should stop with the tropical locations and stick people in Minnesota in the dead of winter. Gives "Having Fire in this game" a whole new meaning!
• Ranger winter boots from Fleet Farm.

Here's wear the sexy comes in. I have cute knee high dress boots that make my legs look all niiice. I have Ugg boots, which I've had for 3 years now. And no it's not time to replace them, I can't wear them much 'round these parts because they can't take the snow aka wet.

So what's a girl got to wear to get around to shop and errand and mingle?

WINTER BOOTS.

Not little ankle high ones, if you were to step into a snow bank they would fill up with freezing cold snow.

You need boots that go half way up your calf, and if the snow is deeper then that, you just don't go OUT. Unless you have a great pair of snowshoes, which I do not.

They also need to have rubber bottoms and be waterproof. They need to be easy on, easy off.

Readers; I give you:

RANGER SNOW BOOTS from~ Fleet Farm.

It has taken me YEARS to find the perfect boot for Minnesota winter that fit my wide feet.

Now you might think they don't look too sexy now, but you are seeing them with pajama bottoms on. You'll just have to wait until I get my snow gear on.

Pants, jacket, mittens, fur hat...yes FUR hat. Just you wait...there is not an Eskimo around that could resist me.

Pink

So this weekend the car decided to die. We were at Panera having soup, I could think of worst places to be stuck.
I said to my husband, who; I like to remind everyone is the mechanic in the household, I said "Babe, I think the battery is dead."
"Nah, it's only two years old." He says while he's popping the hood. The minivan guy next to us says "Hey, you need a jump?"
Hubby says "Do you have cables? We don't have cables."
"No, I don't." He goes back to sitting in his minivan and waits for his wife to come back.
It's taking to long, so I get out and look under the hood. I see the battery is covered in "gunk" and I ask "What's all that stuff?"
"The posts are corroded."
I look at him, I don't say anything, because now would not be the time, but in my head I'm thinking if anything in my house looked that nasty we'd have rats, not mice; RATS.
I ask "Should I call your dad?"
He was waiting for someone else to come along with cables.
I call his dad, who only lives minutes away and could have been there by now.
Then magically "Macho Man" appears.
"Looks like you guys need a jump."
Oh we do Macho Man we do!
This guys' neck is as big as my thigh, and my thighs are like tree trunks; not 100 year old oak trunks but maybe a 5 year maple sapling. His arms are huge! He is wearing a sleeveless shirt which may or may not have been appropriate attire for our weather. His arms each had tattoos going around them, I mean the guy looked like a tank. A big macho tank, which is what you'd want to come save you in battle I mean from soup at Panera's.
He feels free to make an observation: "Looks like you're gonna need some tires soon."
Hubby answers "Yeah, like yesterday. Just isn't in the budget right now."
Macho Man looks at me in the car, I can smell what he's cookin'. (That is a shout out to the Rock, my favorite wrestler, I stopped watching when he became an actor, wait he always was an actor, um I stopped watching wrestling when the Rock stopped being a wrestler.)
He was saying: Lady, really, this guy is a schmuck. Take your car in and have it looked at.
I ask if I should call his Dad back.
Uh, yes I did holler that out the window where Macho Man could here me ask if he wanted me to call His Dad.
Macho Man then gave my man the once over, I think I saw him chuckle.
The car starts, Macho Man takes back his cables and Hubby thanks him.
I watch as Macho Man gets in his pristine big black monster truck and rumble away.
Hubby gets in and I burst out laughing.
"What? What is so funny?"
"I think you need some new tires." I say doing my impression of Macho Man.
Rob finds no humor in it. "He said 'it looks like you will need new tires soon.' He didn't say we needed new tires."
"It's one word, and it still means we need tires and a battery!"
"We don't need a battery, I'll clean it off and charge it over night."
"Because it's only 4 years old right?"
He gives me one of those looks, like women shouldn't talk of things they don't know...
I start giggling again and add: "And you had to wear a pink shirt today?"
Rob looks down and gets defensive "You bought me this shirt! And it's not pink it's watermelon!"
(That is exactly the words I used when I bought it and he called it pink.)
"Yeah, but Macho Man only saw a guy with a hoopty car wearing a pink shirt eating at Panera, what kinda of impression do you think he has of you?"
I completely lost it, I was laughing so hard I was crying. He did eventually find the humor in it and he also eventually said I was right because it was the stinking battery and it was old, in fact it was at least 5 years old.
Now if the tire fairy would visit I won't have to defend my pink shirt wearing husband anymore!

Random Dozen

Wednesday means random dozen! Link up over at Linda's.



1. Do you do garage sales? If so, tell me about one great find. If not, tell me why not.

I love garage sales, okay I love the idea of finding that FIND. I never do though, it always seems to be a bunch of junk, what's worse is when I go through the work of having one and NOTHING sells. I take care of my things, I would never think of putting a price tag on something that I myself wouldn't buy. Case in point our 30 year old full size mattress set, that had rips in the box spring, well worn...we had it in the back of the garage, somewhat hidden because it was well yucky and we were waiting for clean-up day to get rid of it. Someone saw it and asked if it was for sale. I looked at that stunned, thinking who on earth would want to buy that?
"I'll give you $50 for it." That was the ONLY thing that sold in the three days. I had homemade crafts, stamp sets I was trying to sell, perfect condition clothes, some nice pots and pans, a full set of dishes, I mean nice stuff and all that sold was a nasty old mattress set that we hadn't even put out. GO figure! We did end up giving all of our stuff away to bridging and Lupus.

2. Name the last thing you fixed.
You mean the last thing I fixed or the last thing I put at the top of my hubby's to~do list that actually got finished?  Me~My coffee this morning! Hubby~the truck's brakes.

3. Name your A) Favorite item of makeup OR B) Favorite tool
Eye brow pencil, without it I look like someone who got drunk at a party and as a result got her eyebrows shaved off. (they are THAT light) My favorite tool, and I'm not  afraid to use it is the hammer. See, when you run with a hammer in your hand people tend to get out of your way. ;) And I say that with love.


4. Which room in your home needs organizing more than any other?
 The foyer. My daughter and I have too many pairs of shoes that don't like to be put in bins, because well, we'd forget we have those cute ones to match this outfit and we'd end up wearing the wrong ones. We've just come to live with the shoe parade.

5. Which room could use re-decorating?
THE WHOLE HOUSE!!!!!!!!! Do you connections with Nate Berkus?


6. Share something unique about your town.
This is a bad time to ask me this, I'm having problems with the school bus/ and district right now and I can think of nothing nice to say. And Momma taught me if you can't say anything nice; drink a malt. You can't talk through a straw. Now if only we had a good malt shop, that'd be something to share huh?

7. If you could send a one-sentence message to your great-grandchild, what would it be?
Sass runs in the family; Embrace it!
8. Do you Facebook?
What?! We're not friends already?


9. Describe your favorite shoes.
Flip flops. The fit, the are easy on, easy off. They come in a variety of colors... In the winter I wear Uggs.


10. Do you listen to more talk radio or more music radio? What kind of station is it?
I used to be all music, then I started listening to a talk station for ladies in our area. They crack me up! But sometimes they get too gossipy and then I turn back on the music. As my son said in the car the other day "I like country Mom."


11. How far would you travel for a really good (favorite) meal?
Less then a half hour, anything longer wouldn't be pleasant for my date. When I get hungry I get crank~kee!


12. If you were totally honest with yourself (and us) what should you probably be doing right now instead of blogging?
 If I weren't doing this right now, I would be crying and cursing, getting myself all worked up over this bus route thing. Trust me THIS is SO much better for me!

The paper bag didn't stand a chance.

I have "trained" her to wait until she gets an "Okay" before snatching the bags. Roo was present and distracted me long enough for her the sneak in a grab one. I gave him the job of cleaning up after her. It is ONLY bags she chooses to shred. Not books, not magazines, not newspapers. She is a nut, then again it may be because the cat likes to hide in them? Hmmmm, makes sense to me now.