I haven't slept for days.
Not that I've been up 24/7, but I haven't had one full night of solid sleep in weeks.
At first it was because of The Big Sick that had descended upon the house. I was up with the kids, then up thanks to my own hacking and sputtering.
But now, I've been up for a different reason...
Big things are afoot at the old ranchero, my friends. By the end of the week, when all's said and done, we may have a new house and with it, an at-home wedding.
My mind's abuzz with details. I feel like bees are swarming inside my brain.
The excitement is almost too much.
I'll keep you posted.
~ ~ ~
Oh, and this Twitter thing on the right? I'm still trying to figure it out. As a communications professional - and a mom who's going to have high-tech kids soon - I'm going to need to know more about social media than I do.
A stranger in a not-so-strange land.
I've been sick for the last two days. I mean really sick. My whole body ached. My throat hurt and I had zero energy. It's the worst I've felt in a long time.
It's been rare that I've been rendered totally incapacitated - at least since becoming a mom. I've written before about what happens when moms get sick and how anarchy can seize the homestead in no time flat. So generally, despite how badly I feel, I don't linger in bed too long.
But this time was different. This time, Mark was here to help. He tucked me into bed and assured me he'd be able to manage.
And manage he did.
He handled pick-ups and drop-offs with ease. He made the kids a homemade dinner instead of taking the easy drive-thru route. He read bedtime stories, helped with homework and listened to nighttime prayers -- all while I lay, like a puddle in bed in a feverish, achy haze. I was only barely aware of my surroundings, but I know he refereed a good deal of mind-numbingly stupid sibling squabbles without so much as raising his voice.
What can I say? The guy is a real gem. They got along fine without me. In fact maybe even a little better without me.
When I started to emerge from my fog late yesterday afternoon, and stumbled around the house, I felt like a stranger in a not-so-strange land. Sure, it was my house, but everything was somehow different. The house felt foreign to me. I wasn't sure where things were and I had no idea what we had to eat in the pantry, fridge or freezer.
Life hadn't stopped when I hit my heating pad a day and a half earlier. It kept moving on. Dirty dishes didn't pile up. They were washed and put away. The house wasn't a cluttered mess. It was neat and tidy -- tidier than when I left it.
For a mom, little things, like not knowing if the dishwasher holds dirty or clean dishes, can feel so foreign and strange.
So today, I finally feel up to jumping back into my life. To take the reigns of this household and start driving again.
But I've got to admit, it was kind of nice to be allowed to ride in the back seat for once. Too bad I was too sick to enjoy it.
It's been rare that I've been rendered totally incapacitated - at least since becoming a mom. I've written before about what happens when moms get sick and how anarchy can seize the homestead in no time flat. So generally, despite how badly I feel, I don't linger in bed too long.
But this time was different. This time, Mark was here to help. He tucked me into bed and assured me he'd be able to manage.
And manage he did.
He handled pick-ups and drop-offs with ease. He made the kids a homemade dinner instead of taking the easy drive-thru route. He read bedtime stories, helped with homework and listened to nighttime prayers -- all while I lay, like a puddle in bed in a feverish, achy haze. I was only barely aware of my surroundings, but I know he refereed a good deal of mind-numbingly stupid sibling squabbles without so much as raising his voice.
What can I say? The guy is a real gem. They got along fine without me. In fact maybe even a little better without me.
When I started to emerge from my fog late yesterday afternoon, and stumbled around the house, I felt like a stranger in a not-so-strange land. Sure, it was my house, but everything was somehow different. The house felt foreign to me. I wasn't sure where things were and I had no idea what we had to eat in the pantry, fridge or freezer.
Life hadn't stopped when I hit my heating pad a day and a half earlier. It kept moving on. Dirty dishes didn't pile up. They were washed and put away. The house wasn't a cluttered mess. It was neat and tidy -- tidier than when I left it.
For a mom, little things, like not knowing if the dishwasher holds dirty or clean dishes, can feel so foreign and strange.
So today, I finally feel up to jumping back into my life. To take the reigns of this household and start driving again.
But I've got to admit, it was kind of nice to be allowed to ride in the back seat for once. Too bad I was too sick to enjoy it.
Bad blogger. Bad!
I know... I've been terrible about posting lately. Truth is, we've been busy, busy, busy! So much so, that when I get a minute to sit down and write, I can't think of what to write first.
Wedding planning update?
Adventures in house hunting?
The obnoxious boomerang virus that's gripped the homestead for nearly 3 weeks?
Crowbar's gross insubordination at daycare?
My crippling fear of tweeting (twitting? twotting?) on Twitter even though I have an account?
Where to start?
I promise to sit down and fill you in on all the juicy details soon. I promise.
Wedding planning update?
Adventures in house hunting?
The obnoxious boomerang virus that's gripped the homestead for nearly 3 weeks?
Crowbar's gross insubordination at daycare?
My crippling fear of tweeting (twitting? twotting?) on Twitter even though I have an account?
Where to start?
I promise to sit down and fill you in on all the juicy details soon. I promise.
Twin Day '09
Next Friday is Twin Day at Mad Dog and The Deuce's elementary school and they couldn't be more geeked about it.
Oddly enough, they are excited to be someone else's twin for the day.
Each of the girls have already picked classmates to be their new twins and have already made plans to wear matching outfits. Mad Dog's so pumped, that last Saturday at the hair salon, she begged me to get her hair cut to match her new twin's hairdo.
"What's so special about Twin Day?" I ask, innocently.
"It's so cool! You get to look exactly like someone else for the whole day!" Mad Dog explains.
"But don't you already look like her?" I ask, motioning toward The Deuce, her biological, identical twin sister.
"Yeah, but this is different. This is for friends. And besides, Amber's letting me wear her extra Double Bubble T-shirt."
"Deuce isn't your friend?"
"She's not my friend, she my sister."
Oddly enough, they are excited to be someone else's twin for the day.
Each of the girls have already picked classmates to be their new twins and have already made plans to wear matching outfits. Mad Dog's so pumped, that last Saturday at the hair salon, she begged me to get her hair cut to match her new twin's hairdo.
"What's so special about Twin Day?" I ask, innocently.
"It's so cool! You get to look exactly like someone else for the whole day!" Mad Dog explains.
"But don't you already look like her?" I ask, motioning toward The Deuce, her biological, identical twin sister.
"Yeah, but this is different. This is for friends. And besides, Amber's letting me wear her extra Double Bubble T-shirt."
"Deuce isn't your friend?"
"She's not my friend, she my sister."
Say, "Cheese."
Back in the late 70's early 80's, I remember using empty Velveeta cheese boxes to make walkie talkies.
The thought of making a cheese-box telephone never crossed my mind. Mobile phones were still a long way's off and wireless devices were nonexistent. Heck, we didn't have a remote for our TV until 1984.
My kids, on the other hand, have never known a world without cell phones and tech gadgets. And while they love crafts, they'd laugh at using a big, clunky old Velveeta box for anything other than an iPod docking station.
They still make toy telephones, but they're more streamlined devices, fashioned out of post-its and foil candy wrappers.
LCD display, plus built-in camera.
Sleek design.
Spacious keypad - perfect for texting.
The thought of making a cheese-box telephone never crossed my mind. Mobile phones were still a long way's off and wireless devices were nonexistent. Heck, we didn't have a remote for our TV until 1984.
My kids, on the other hand, have never known a world without cell phones and tech gadgets. And while they love crafts, they'd laugh at using a big, clunky old Velveeta box for anything other than an iPod docking station.
They still make toy telephones, but they're more streamlined devices, fashioned out of post-its and foil candy wrappers.
Modeled after my own LG phone.
LCD display, plus built-in camera. 
Sleek design.
Spacious keypad - perfect for texting.Instead of razor-thin products, cell phone companies ought to try making paper-thin ones -- you know, to appeal to a younger demographic.
Anything else would just be cheesy.
Sick House, a haiku
Robitussin flows.
The pink color deceives them.
Fruit flavor? My ass!
Restless sleep for all.
Coughing, sputtering all night.
When dawn comes, we cry.
The pink color deceives them.
Fruit flavor? My ass!
Restless sleep for all.
Coughing, sputtering all night.
When dawn comes, we cry.
Entitlement
When the twins were about four years old, The Deuce asked me, totally out of the blue,
"Who's my step dad?"
"You don't have one," I responded, surprised. At that point, my ex and I were still married.
I remember how my response pissed her off.
"Well, why not? You've got one."
She had a point. I have a step mom and step dad, both of whom the kids and I adore. Deuce felt let down that she, too, didn't have one. Annoyed, she sulked off and didn't bring up the subject again.
Fast-forward four years to when Mark and I told the kids we were getting married. After telling them we were engaged, I leaned over and asked Deuce,
"You know what this means?" After a split-second hesitation -- the light bulb went on.
"I'm getting a step dad!" she cheered. I half expected her to add, "Finally."
In my own childhood, I remember being a surprised when I met my step parents for the first time. This was the 80's. I didn't know anyone who had a real, live step parent. I was the first kid in my class to enter into such a unique family arrangement. Cinderella was the first time I even heard the word stepmother and, well, you know how that one goes.
So imagine my surprise when I saw they were fun, warm and loving. They were even good looking. Without warts or evil laughter of any kind. Hell, my new step mom (Grandma Judy) was actually cool. She drove a Firebird, had long, beautiful hair (like Crystal Gayle's) and had cable TV.
She was a freaking dream come true.
Seriously, having an extended family has been a blessing. I think the fact that The Deuce felt short changed for not having a step of her own speaks volumes.
So, as the wedding date approaches, the excitement and anticipation is building. Everyone's excited that Mark's joining our family. And a little girl's indignation at not having a step dad of her own will soon be a thing of the past.
"Who's my step dad?"
"You don't have one," I responded, surprised. At that point, my ex and I were still married.
I remember how my response pissed her off.
"Well, why not? You've got one."
She had a point. I have a step mom and step dad, both of whom the kids and I adore. Deuce felt let down that she, too, didn't have one. Annoyed, she sulked off and didn't bring up the subject again.
Fast-forward four years to when Mark and I told the kids we were getting married. After telling them we were engaged, I leaned over and asked Deuce,
"You know what this means?" After a split-second hesitation -- the light bulb went on.
"I'm getting a step dad!" she cheered. I half expected her to add, "Finally."
In my own childhood, I remember being a surprised when I met my step parents for the first time. This was the 80's. I didn't know anyone who had a real, live step parent. I was the first kid in my class to enter into such a unique family arrangement. Cinderella was the first time I even heard the word stepmother and, well, you know how that one goes.
So imagine my surprise when I saw they were fun, warm and loving. They were even good looking. Without warts or evil laughter of any kind. Hell, my new step mom (Grandma Judy) was actually cool. She drove a Firebird, had long, beautiful hair (like Crystal Gayle's) and had cable TV.
She was a freaking dream come true.
Seriously, having an extended family has been a blessing. I think the fact that The Deuce felt short changed for not having a step of her own speaks volumes.
So, as the wedding date approaches, the excitement and anticipation is building. Everyone's excited that Mark's joining our family. And a little girl's indignation at not having a step dad of her own will soon be a thing of the past.
Cowboy Cookies a la Fitz
This has been another long week.
Work's been as busy as ever, we learned the girls need $4K worth of orthodontics (that may or may not eliminate the need for braces in their teen years) and to top it off, this morning we had to run The Deuce to Urgent Care where she was diagnosed with strep throat.
I need a cookie.
Now, not just any cookie will do. I need Cowboy Cookies a la Fitz. And I need one NOW.
Cowboy Cookies a la Fitz are the best chocolate-chip and oatmeal cookie on the face of the earth. Seriously. I should know. I know cookies.
It must be known that I'm a purist when it comes to chocolate-chip cookies. I don't like it when people try to get fancy by using white chocolate or chunks instead of chips. (Chunks are too big and hard.) Also, I become extremely cross when someone tries to sneak nuts into them. Gah!
I tried my first Cowboy Cookie a la Fitz at work one day. My girlfriend, who was married to Fitz, brought in a batch to share.
Naturally I was suspicious.
Work's been as busy as ever, we learned the girls need $4K worth of orthodontics (that may or may not eliminate the need for braces in their teen years) and to top it off, this morning we had to run The Deuce to Urgent Care where she was diagnosed with strep throat.
I need a cookie.
Now, not just any cookie will do. I need Cowboy Cookies a la Fitz. And I need one NOW.
Cowboy Cookies a la Fitz are the best chocolate-chip and oatmeal cookie on the face of the earth. Seriously. I should know. I know cookies.
It must be known that I'm a purist when it comes to chocolate-chip cookies. I don't like it when people try to get fancy by using white chocolate or chunks instead of chips. (Chunks are too big and hard.) Also, I become extremely cross when someone tries to sneak nuts into them. Gah!
I tried my first Cowboy Cookie a la Fitz at work one day. My girlfriend, who was married to Fitz, brought in a batch to share.
Naturally I was suspicious.
"Oatmeal?!" I screamed in my head. "Are you joking? Truly great chocolate-chip cookies don't need oatmeal!"
I took a small one -- you know, just to be polite.
Surprisingly, the minute I bit into the delicious cookie, I was in utter and complete heaven. I'd been wrong about the oatmeal.
Horribly wrong.
The presence of oatmeal was not in the least overwhelming. It actually enhanced the cookie. Together the oatmeal and chocolate chips struck a harmonious balance, neither one competing for dominance. When I found myself alone in the break room with the Tupperware of remaining cookies, I took another. And another.
That was four years ago and I haven't had one since.
Every now and then I'd think of those cookies, but each time I'd run into Mrs. Fitz (a job change precludes us from seeing each other much), I'd forget to ask for the recipe. Until now.
So, upon having another stressful week, instead of Franzia, I chose Cowboy Cookies a la Fitz.
Thank you, Fitz. You are my hero.
Cowboy Cookies a la Fitz
2 c. flour
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp baking powder
Mix the dry stuff and set it aside.
1 c. shortening
1 c. sugar
1 c. brown sugar
Cream them together.
2 eggs
Add the eggs to the sugar mixture and beat until fluffy and then slowly add in the dry ingredients. Mix well.
Add 1 tsp. vanilla
1 pkg. chocolate chips
2 c. oats
Add the vanilla, chips and oats into the dough. Drop by teaspoonfuls onto a greased sheet. Bake at 350 for 12 minutes. (I actually had to bake them a wee bit longer -- could've been my oven.)
Keeping Cooking Fun Rating: 5 Spatulas -- a perfect score!
The Great H.
Last week I learned that one of my favorite teachers passed away.
Mr. H. was my 6th grade teacher. It was one of those schools where kids had the same teacher all day, every day, so students and teachers generally grew fairly close.
Mr. H. was awesome. He was gentle and soft spoken and just had a way with kids. When I think of him, the words patient and kind come to mind. Oh, and did I mention he was cute? All of the girls had crushes on him.
One of the things I remember most about my sixth grade experience was when I got a glimpse into the closet in his classroom. It was located behind his desk and was where he stored certain class supplies and some of his personal things.
One day, when Mr. H. opened his closet, I got a good look inside. And what caught my eye was a ginormous bottle of aspirin. I'd never seen an aspirin bottle that big before in my life. And my first thought was to immediately apologize to him that our class made him buy that humongo bottle in the first place.
Rest in peace, Mr. H. May you never have to pop another aspirin because of a pack of unruly sixth graders again.
Mr. H. was my 6th grade teacher. It was one of those schools where kids had the same teacher all day, every day, so students and teachers generally grew fairly close.
Mr. H. was awesome. He was gentle and soft spoken and just had a way with kids. When I think of him, the words patient and kind come to mind. Oh, and did I mention he was cute? All of the girls had crushes on him.
One of the things I remember most about my sixth grade experience was when I got a glimpse into the closet in his classroom. It was located behind his desk and was where he stored certain class supplies and some of his personal things.
One day, when Mr. H. opened his closet, I got a good look inside. And what caught my eye was a ginormous bottle of aspirin. I'd never seen an aspirin bottle that big before in my life. And my first thought was to immediately apologize to him that our class made him buy that humongo bottle in the first place.
Rest in peace, Mr. H. May you never have to pop another aspirin because of a pack of unruly sixth graders again.
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