And we all fall down

So it has been raining for the past 4 out of 6 days here in lovely Wichita Falls. (Stuart likes to say wuh-chee-tah falls) The two days of no rain there was also no sun so the ground had no chance to dry up. Therefore my house is covered in muddy paw prints. It also means that the boys and I have been stuck inside all day long. We've colored, painted, busted out the playdoh (something that I never do because of the heart attack that I have when the boys start mixing the colors and then pushing little bits into the crevices of the table..ahhh!), played hide-and-seek, yelled, ran around in circles, cleaned out closets, cleaned up the playroom, destroyed the playroom, cleaned out the pantry (my personal favorite) and watched a ridiculous amount of Handy Manny.

It came as no surprise when I woke up this morning to see a light mist coming down outside. Another rainy day... {violins playing something soothing}

I was determined to get out of the house, so I dressed the boys and loaded up to go to the commissary. We were out the door at 8:02 am. A personal record. As I pulled into the commissary parking lot, I was pleasantly surprised to see a new cart return in the parking lot. We have never had one here at Sheppard AFB and with the inclusion of self checkout in the past 6 months, there has been no option for returning carts when you self checkout. I digress.

Shopping went swimmingly. The boys did superbly. We sang our ABC's, Please/Thank You, Spider Man, all to the delight of our fellow shoppers. Luckily, since I made it out the door so stinkin' early, there weren't that many shoppers. We did have to maneuver around stockers but that's the price you pay for an empty store. While we were shopping, the mist had turned into a pretty hard rain so the boys and I ran to the van while our bagger waited patiently under the awning.

After getting really wet, I decided that it would be so nice of me to get Starbucks on the way home. This is a big time guilty pleasure for us. The funny thing is that I never get actual coffee there. I'm more of a cream and sugar with a little bit of coffee kind 'o girl. But I do adore their Carmel Apple Spice and Stuart has never been known to turn down a Venti Coffee with cream and 4 sugars. As I turned under the overpass and started to pull into the Starbuck's lot, I noticed that I was among the other half of WF that decided to grace Starbucks with their presence. Yes, we only have ONE location. I park, unload the boys, scurry inside the store, place our order, wait very patiently with two sets of ogling eyes, get our order, shimmy back to the van, reload the boys and head to the house. It was quite the adventure.

As I pull up to the house, Stuart opens the garage and comes out to help with the unloading. He was more than excited to see the 4 fantastic Starbucks cups. I hand him the carrier with all 4 drinks and make my way around to help Tucker out. As I set Tucker on the ground, Stuart's greatest nightmare happens. He falls. Really hard. In public. And drops all four drinks.

Tyson immediately bursts into tears. Tucker runs over to play in the new mess. Stuart flails about trying to stand back up. And our fabulous sidewalk gets a taste of Carmel Apple Spice, Cream, Sugar and Coffee with a double side of chocolate milk and whipped cream. Yum.

Thankfully Stuart was ok, just a skinned knee and bruised ego.

I load a sobbing Tyson back into the van and make another trek to Starbucks. $15 later, we all have a beverage and sit around the table eating chocolate donuts. Good times.

Mommies, I need your help

What's the difference between a "T" and a regular size? (i.e. 5T vs 5)
I can't seem to find a definitive answer and I really would like to know. Tyson is a 4T/5T right now therefore he's in between the baby/toddler clothes and boy clothes. He can wear a 5, but what's the difference?

Independence

Rain, rain, go away...

Note-Tucker didn't actually use the potty but he really wants to be like his brother right now.

Look Alike

Husbands are Humerous

Stuart and I have been married for 6 years. During that time we have moved 6 times and have lived in 6 different dwellings. For the most part my "decorating" and organization has been the same in each dwelling, with the exception of having kids. With that said, let me explain my dear, husband.

Since I have been sick all weekend (and can I just thank my lucky stars that this illness fell on a weekend?), Stuart has been picking up my slack and "taking care" of things with the boys. (I really do appreciate his help, it's just comical to me the way that he helps) Friday was the beginning of my incarceration and thus started day one of Daddy Helps. His culinary genius spiked and he loaded the boys and came home with a tempting little concoction known as: pizza. It smelled good, but I wasn't hungry but the boys ate and there was minimal clean up required. Friday night I was pretty much comatose so I have no idea what happened at bed time and whether or not teeth got crushed, but I know the boys woke up in their room Saturday morning, so he at least got them in the right place Friday night.

Saturday marked a comedy of errors. First up: dishes. I know what some of you are thinking, "Why are you worried about the dishes? Shouldn't you be happy that your husband is even helping you?" I am, really I am. But, have we met? Hi, I'm Clarissa. I like to put my children in matching clothing even though they aren't twins, I like to eat Skittles in color order, I alphabetize my CDs, I have a relationship with my TIVO and I like dishes put away a certain way. I am honored to be called obsessive compulsive. (I once took a goofy survey that said I was 114% OCD, I was only beat by JW who was 120% (I think) but she's a smarty pants nurse with a hobolicious one year old, so she gets a few extra points.) If you remember, we have moved a couple of times, but we have lived in out current house (and yes, it's OURS) for 7 months. One would think that my handsome husband would have a good handle on where things are by now. One would be wrong. When unloading the dishwasher, Stuart opens every cabinet so that he can "see" what's inside. Not a bad idea. But somehow he still manages to find creative ways to "hide" the things he doesn't know where to put/doesn't care where to put. It takes me a good 10 minutes to find all my missing pieces and then another 5 to put them up correctly. As for loading the dishwasher-that's a total disaster. There is no order and when all is said and done, he can only fit half the dishes that I can in the dishwasher and the rest are left next to the sink (pet peeve #148). I have relented a bit when it comes to this helpful chore, I DO appreciate the help so I have to let him DO it in order to get the help. Ahem.

Then came dressing the boys. Again, since we have moved several times and since we have two children, I have made things easier for him. Tucker's things are on top and Tyson's are on bottom. I have even gone so far as to label the dresser so that he can easily find pajamas vs pants. (I LOVE my label maker) Apparently this is too easy. As the boy flitted by me Saturday morning, non matching, I noted that Tyson was wearing one of Tucker's shirts and shorts and that Tucker was wearing Tyson's shirt and who knows who's shorts. To round our their ensembles were their church shoes. Umph. I hadn't the energy to correct him at that conjecture.

At lunch, I casually reminded Stuart that Tucker needed to take some medicine (he too has allergies).
Stu: "Where's the medicine at?"
Me: "In the medicine cabinet." <--in a ridiculously hoarse, whisper
Stu: "Where's that?"
Me: "Really?!"

At bath time, I asked (again, scratchy whisper) Stuart to get the towels ready.
Stu: "Where do we keep the towels?"
Me: "You have got to be kidding me."
Stu: "No, where are the towels?"
Me: making a mental note to give Stuart a tutorial regarding the ENTIRE house. With note cards.

I love my husband and I am so thankful that he helps. But sometimes I have to laugh at him. Really hard.

Snot and Snails and Sinus infections

I am sick.
I have a sinus infection.
Again.
I have had three sinus surgeries in the past 8 years to curve my affinity to sinus infections.
Obviously they haven't worked.
I blame allergies.
Which I have many of.
I blame to state of Texas.
Which is pretty much constantly in a state of allergen. (Does that make sense?)
I blame the male population which has perpetuated the notion that moms can still be moms while sick.
We can't.
I blame the chores that still have to be done.
I blame the dogs that still have to be fed.
I blame the children that still run to mommy when mommy is covered in snot and has her head in a vice.
I blame sinuses.
Do we really need them?
I feel like...poop. (I had to censor that because my mom and my grandparents read this too. Hi mom! Hi Neenee and Grangran!)
I am sick.

Interview

I had an interview last night for the first time in over three years. Yikes! Since Stuart is about to get out of the AF and become a full time student, I need to get a job so that a) I can contribute to the family and b) so that the boys and I will have health insurance. Mainly for "b" since Stuart will be receiving VA benefits and using his GI Bill.

So I have been looking around and finally made an attempt last night. Here are some notes that I gathered regarding the interview process:

If you are the interviewer

• Do not arrive 15 minutes late for the interview. It makes not only yourself look unprofessional, but the company in which you are trying to hire for.
• Do not sit around the office while waiting the 15 minutes past the interview time, talking to other employees and staring at the interviewee.
• Do not try and convince the interviewee that you did not know he/she was there. I was sitting right there, in front of your face.
• Do not start the interview by proclaiming your love of Las Vegas and gambling. Yes, the interviewee might have lived there but he/she doesn't really need/want to talk about his/her favorite game/casino.
• Do not try and sell your other company to the interviewee (i.e. Mary Kay). How incredibly unprofessional!
• Do not try to bring the interviewee "on board" with your other company because the other company offers better benefits.
• Do not spend 30 minutes during the interview yawning. I'm tired too. But I am really that boring?
• Do not at the end of the interview, declare that there are only two positions available and realize that the interviewee doesn't really fit into those two positions.
• Do not discuss the fact that the company doesn't offer full time positions, nor does it offer benefits for part time workers, since both were prerequisites for the interviewee.
• Do not say "that's so cool" 5 times in a sentence.
  

I didn't take/want the job for several reasons, but I was just baffled as I walked out to my car. Am I just getting too old?

Finding Tucker

Can you find Tucker?

Oh wait, THERE he is!

This has been the state of the boys' playroom for over a week now. I just haven't had the heart to clean it. At least the toys aren't all over the living room, right?

Good 'ole Texas

Last night we made a little trip a bit south of us to the grand town of Abilene (i.e. the place where ACU lives, or my sister lives). I have been to Abilene twice in my entire life and so have no "strings attached" there. But Stuart, ah my lovely husband, had tires that he needed to buy. HAD to buy. For his Scout (the vehicle) can not go another drive-less day with THESE tires, which are in Abilene. So we loaded up at 4 pm and started our way down the loneliest stretch of road known to man. Seriously. There was not a single gas station, run down shack, place to pee between Wichita Falls and Abilene. Good thing boys can pee standing up.
After entering the city limits, we attempted to navigate a town that is almost as retarded in street design as WF. Add to that a husband who REFUSES to ask to directions, Map Quest directions that were handwritten to get "the highlights" and you have us sitting in an adjoining town, scratching our heads. Finally Stuart gives in and finds a gas station to humiliate himself in and get directions. Haha. "Map Quest was wrong." was his reply. {smirk} "Maybe you should have printed out the directions instead of just getting the highlights." I so did NOT say this to him but I really, really wanted to.
We find the said tire seller, a nice fireman who lives somewhat close to McMurray University. I begged Stuart to ask him how to get to Chick-fil-A, so he asked the nice fireman how to get to the mall. (Do men ever listen??)
30 minutes later, we had exited Abilene and were on our way back to WF when Stuart finally relented and turned around. (See now I would have turned around waaay before that but he just couldn't grasp that concept that HE had made a wrong turn. No, Abilene up and switched all the streets right before we got there. It had to be!)
We finally made it to Chick-fil-A. The smile on my face said 1)Praise the Lord! It's Chick-fil-A! and 2)Look honey, you found it all by yourself!

Outside!

We made it outside yesterday-yahoo!! And we ended up spending 5 hours out there, including eating dinner outside. It was GRAND.

Who Knew?

Last night Stuart and I began looking up information on Preschool. Oh my word, is it really time for my little, precious, darling, just starting to wear underwear boy to go to school? Out of my house? Not with me or his daddy for a length of time during the week? Surrounded by actual kids other than the 5 he sees on occasion and his brother? Learning?
Yes, it is *almost* time.
Tyson's birthday is September 17 which means he doesn't make the cut-off for a traditional Preschool in the fall. But since he is now potty trained (thank the heavens!) there are a plethora of options including MDO, T/TH programs, and different church schools. We are filtering thru some of those now.
Decisions, decisions.
Who knew this day would ever come?

Today

HAPPY 1st BIRTHDAY to HOBO!!

So along with being a momentous one year birthday day for Hobo, it's also the day after that day. Remember my day yesterday? Well today happened. It rained last night and for awhile this morning. While the rain last night did help me sleep some and momentarily made me forget about my fear of all things night, it also meant that the boys and I were trapped inside this ever shrinking house. I'm glad for the rain, really. But after a week of no outside play, muddy paw prints, and muggy air, I am ready for it to go back to Oregon.

When Stuart got home at 10:45 am, he literally fell asleep on the couch while taking off his boots. It was kinda pathetic in a sweet way. So I thought some good outside therapy would be to load up the boys and take them to a very nice, fine dining experience. An experience that is rivaled by many but prides itself in it's fried potatoes pieces, non-chicken meat, red and yellow sporting grown man and of course, it's indoor playground. Yes my few readers, I am referring to M-C-D, Mickey D's, the place where everyone goes when it's yucky outside because they too are tired of hearing their children scream inside their own house, McDonald's.

I really don't know why we ever go there. The food is horrible. The boys never eat anything except for the milk and a couple of fires. There is always some mother there with >5 kids whom is just looking for a cheap babysitter for a couple of hours. But the boys love the playground. And I love getting out of the house. So we go, occasionally.

After ordering our food and precariously making my way back to the play area, I noted that there was an entire children's soccer team playing inside. Wonderful. Lucky for McDonald's. Not fun for me. I sit, the boys take off up the tunnel of germ infested horror, and thus we begin the ritual of saying "Hi mommy" and "bye mommy" with every exit and entry of the aforementioned black hole.

Speaking of, I have a hunch that good 'ole Ronald pipes something in thru the vents that makes all children inside scream at the top of the lungs, rendering their parents deaf and making these parents non-existant to their children. Except me. I can hear ALL THE SCREAMING. And I of course, ACTUALLY WATCH MY CHILDREN.

I finish eating and have done all the parents-not-parenting gazing that I can handle for one month, when Tucker comes running off the slide to greet me. Just as he gets to the table, he trips and falls head first into the stool. I jump up and in the two seconds it takes me to pick him up his eye is already purple and swelling-fast. Great. Great. Great. I yell (along with all the other yelling voices) for Tyson to come, NOW and clean up what's left of our mess all the while holding a screaming and swelling Tucker.

We make it home to wake up daddy and tell him that I broke his son. He barely wakes from his coma to see the shiner on Tucker's eye and say, "Night-Night boys." I find and administer the Tylenol and grab an ice pack. Of course Tucker wants nothing to do with the ice, but he gladly takes the Tylenol (a phenomenon that has just taken root) and I settle with him on the couch for some mommy therapy.


**Note to self-when having a bad weekend, expect for things to get worse.

Wrench

It's hormones; it has to be. Today is one of those days. Not in that I have "my little friend" in town but as in someone took a wrench to my world while I wasn't sleeping last night and screwed things all up.

To begin with, I didn't sleep at all last night. I had these weird, chaotic dreams that left me jumping out of bed, studying my surroundings and trying to make out if I was still dreaming or awake. All.night.long. And of course every time that my body flinched, Scout would jump off her chair and scurry about that house because that's what a dog is supposed to do in the middle of the night.

Stuart is off today because has to work NCOD (babysitting the airmen at the dorms) tonight and tomorrow night from 10 pm-10 am. (Yes, I'm having flashbacks to that the low point in his career called MID SHIFT) While I love having my husband home, when he's home he throws our schedule completely out of whack. Do daddy's not understand that we have a fine tuned flow of how things go and when you (HE) doesn't paddle in the right direction, the boat turns over and all heck breaks loose. Ahem.

Since Stuart was going to be home during the day, he wanted to get some work done of his ridiculously time consuming and now over the limit expensive Scout (the vehicle, not the dog). Which is all well and good, but you're home honey, in the middle of the day, and I have to go to the grocery store, and wouldn't it be nice for you to watch the boys so that I could go to the grocery store alone, by myself, without two pairs of hands grabbing at everything, and without two little bobbing heads that attract attention from the elderly population who like to TOUCH my bobbing heads and talk to those same heads as if they were 2 months old (anyone else get really creeped out when strangers TOUCH their children? Who knows what kind of germs have now been passed to my darlings). Wouldn't it be nice to do that for me?? Of course not, what was I thinking?

And then as I am driving to the grocery store with my daddy-rag dolls in tow, a funeral procession passes me. That was all it took. I broke. Big, fat tears immediately fall from my non-make-up-wearing eyes and I start sobbing. Really. Uncontrollable weeping. All I could picture was my MIL (mother-in-law) passing away and the aftermath that has ripped thru our lives. (I'll have to post soon about my feelings).

Two hours later, I stumble in the front door with cranky, hungry kids and the look of death for my husband. Yes, it took me 1.5 hours to shop. 1.5 miserable, loathsome hours. And I still have to go to Wal-Mart to get the things that the Commissary didn't have because I have to feed my dogs. They might appreciate something to eat. At least that's the responsible thing to do.

Is it too early for hard liquor?

Conversations with my 3 year old

Tyson: Mommy, I have to go potty!
Me: Ok, booger, let's go.
running to the bathroom, pulling down pants and underwear, sitting down
Tyson: I have to go poopoo.
Me: Good job buddy.
Tyson: I'm going poopoo like a big boy, like daddy. But daddy makes big poopoos out of his big bottom and I make small poopoos out of my small bottom because I am a small, big boy.
Me: That's right. And we are sooo proud of you for going poopoo in the potty.
Tyson: That's right. I am SO smart mommy!
Me: Yes you are!
Tyson: I have to go peepee too.
Me: Alright.
finishes up...
Tyson: Look mommy! It's a squirly poopoo! I did it! I did it! Can I have ice cream now?

Will It Hold?

Yes, that's my entire family in my bed, minus me.

Shout Outs:
Filing taxes in February-not worrying about the mad April 15 rush is priceless.
Electronic filing-hello!
Direct deposit refund-how stinking convenient is that?
Refund-the key word here is REFUND.
No longer being DINKS (i.e. Dual Income No Kids)-well we haven't been for awhile, but thanks to those kids we get money back.