Where Have You Been?

Over the past couple of weeks I have gotten a few emails and a couple of instant messages along the lines of, "Where have you been? I guess your summer has been crazy. You must have your hands full," etc. Are you people smoking crack? I have been posting almost constantly. I have made the comment, "I am SO blogging this!" on several occasions. Unfortunately, what I have written in my head and what has actually gotten posted are two different things.

I chalk it up to early senility and motherhood. You cannot hold either one against me.

In the effort to catch up (because things around here are going to really get "interesting" in the near future) here are the highlights:

* It took #1 Son 2 weeks to convince me that he did not fail Spanish and was really voluntarily attending a review session the first 3 weeks of summer vacation.

* The baby grew teeth - the baby was still nursing - the baby thought biting was amusing - the baby got over it, with "help."

* The Princess has no friends and her life is the most boring ever. I continue to attempt to sit her down to talk about it and boost her self-esteem, but she is never home.

* I had ONE petunia bloom (BLOOM, not plant) survive in my yard this year. Yes, my entire yard. Remember the tulip from last year? Missing In Action.

* There is one weed growing in the bushes in front of the yard that has now reached 6 feet tall. It looks like a tree of some sort. We did not plant it, nor have we ever seen it before in the last 7 years we have lived here. I am scared of it.

* Speaking of scared, #1 Son and The Princess went an entire week without trying to kill each other. They were even NICE and cooperative. I actually saw them hug once. There is a disturbance in the force.

* My fear hit a fever pitch two days ago when the kids made me breakfast in bed. Seriously. 2 Belgian waffles (GARNISHED with strawberries!!!) and a sunny-side egg. C. wasn't home nor was he aware of this. And it wasn't even Mother's Day nor my birthday.

Two days ago, my friends. They want something.

I'm sleeping with one eye open.

Guilty Pleasure

My friends, I have a new guilty Internet pleasure. Much like the proverbial train wreck, I am having trouble looking away. The site is called Don't Date Him Girl. This website profiles "alleged cheaters," all of whom are men. Women tell their stories, provide identifying info and can even submit pictures about the cheaters in their lives. It reads like a bad Maury episode.

perusing these stories (many of them painfully illiterate), I don't know whether to laugh, feel sorry for the women or want to slap them. Clearly the women utilizing these websites are lacking in self-esteem. My favorites are the profiles that include, "he will sleep with you the first night he meets you, refuse to wear a condom and then leave you when you get pregnant. He won't even buy a rattle or one pack of diapers!"

Sad.

Only 6?

This evening I volunteered to go out and put gas in the car. It is a rather mundane task, yet it is one that I savor. You see, in those precious 15 minutes, no one is fighting to the death over the last popsicle. No one is screaming, "Mooooommmm!" At the gas pump, nothing is thrown in anger (though it probably should be in protest of the outrageous price per gallon). I am not called upon to settle any disputes, no matter how trivial. In fact, for those glorious few minutes NO one is attached to my boob (yes, he's still nursing, and despite the fact that it feels like he's 3 years old, he's only 10 months).

When I started the ignition this evening, I was assaulted by the car stereo. Obviously my first born was the last one to touch the dial, as evidenced by the blood threatening to gush from my ears due to the decibel level. I've got to admit that I am not a huge fan of my kids' music preferences. At the risk of sounding like my parents, I cannot stand the nonsense lyrics, redundant thumping, and worst of all the lack of creativity and talent. How hard is it to sample the music of others and have a computer enhance your voice to a tolerable pitch? But I digress.

Once the pressure in my ears equalized I was able to make out something about a contest sponsored by the radio station. The grand prize is a brand new V-6 Ford Mustang.

Huh...?

Um...?

Am I the only one that believes that is an oxymoron? Military intelligence, deafening silence, and now V-6 Mustang?

*sigh* I miss the 80s.