aLL aBouT Me

My Birthday Meme
25 Things About Me

1. I usually have the best of intentions.

2. I find it hard to talk about my children without getting teary. What is within my heart bubbles up and gathers in the corners of my eyes. I don't know what to say about the fact that my nose runs too.

3. Sometimes after a day of making things I am too excited to sleep, and I lay with my head on the pillow thinking about all the things I am going to make the next day.

4. I wish I had more patience. With Everything.



5. I am blessed. I am lucky. But I have also worked hard for what I have. Some people think things have come to me a lot easier than they actually have.

6. I prefer to use mens' deodorant.

7. My husband is my heart, my soul, my greatest love.

8. I cannot cook vegetables. Last time I tried to make broccoli there was audible gagging at the dinner table. Apparently it was mushy.



9. When someone hurts me deeply, I have a bad habit of apologizing to them. Then I never want to see them again. Ever.

10. I feel twenty years younger than I am.

11. I wish I had more opportunities to go dancing or to sing. I wish I was better at both. I wish I could sing like Stevie Nicks.

12. I have learned some of my greatest lessons in life through my extended family.




13. I fight actual despair sometimes. I battle deep anxiety. I can be overwhelmed with rage and anger. I feel I am usually able to triumph over all three about 3 weeks out of every month.

14. I love SURVIVOR. Every season I swear I won't watch it again and then I get sucked right back in.

15. I used to write poetry. Now I only write poems in my head.

16. Sometimes I wish my children were smarter so that I didn't have to work so hard on their homework.

17. I have a hard time thinking in a place that is messy. I wish I had more time to just clean things.



18. Sometimes I do so much for others that I do not have time to get my hair cut.

19. I hate matching up socks.

20. I have a hard time letting go of things. My son is the exact same way. I worry about this, and have a hard time letting go of it.

21. Sometimes blogging is a huge pain in the ass and an absolute chore, but I feel like the people I have met in cyberspace are soul mates of a kind, and I genuinely care about them. (this means you. you know who you are.)

22. I hate the fact that I am judgemental. Damn me.

23. It kills me to pay a lot of money for shoes. I wear sandals 6 mos. of every year.

24. I think some country songs are brilliantly written. Brilliantly.

25. I hope that I can always try to find the humor in any situation, and that when I cannot at that moment, that I can find it on hindsight.

SMaLL ReGReTS

In no particular order: some minor regrets. Because really: what good is having a blog if you don't use it to whine and complain every now and then? I know what you're thinking: That's Why We Have Husbands. But sometimes a girl just wants to moan about something and not have someone present a workable solution. So here's the short list of THINGS I REGRET TODAY:

1. Allowing Banana to hear the song "You put De Lime in De Coconut."

2. Banana choosing "You Put De Lime in De Coconut as an anthem of sorts.

3. Hearing "You Put De Lime in De Coconut" 27 times in a row.




4. That I am not tall enough to carry off a poncho or a shawl. I put a poncho on, I look like a tee pee with a head sticking out.

5. The 2.5 hours we spent watching COUPLES RETREAT because we assumed anything with Vince Vaughn would be at the least mildly entertaining.

6. Doing a Google image search with two kids standing over my shoulder for "Winnie The Pooh." Seriously: DO NOT DO THIS.

7. Buying the Princess Lea hair extensions on Etsy because they looked so good on the model in the picture. I am not Bjork. I don't know why I ever thought two braided muffins of hair would be appropriate to wear to a PTA meeting.



8. Not flossing more.

9. Not making my children floss more.

10. That I can't get You Put De Lime in De Coconut out of my head.

Happy Wednesday Chickens!

BaNaNa iS SeVeN...LuCKY Me

Dear Banana,

I should have a fabulous blog ready to post that you can discover floating around in cyberspace one day when you have a little girl of your own, but unfortunately I do not. Your birthday party--a Luau theme, which included 16 other little girls and 3 boys, just Kicked. My. Butt. Seriously: I have felt better after a week long bender.

It began with getting ready for the party. When you discovered that every floral dress that you owned all of a sudden did not look tropical enough, and then it progressed to the deepest recess of Hades the bathroom mirror where I attempted to do your hair. I tried 4 different styles, trying to keep hold of your pony tail holder while you bounced up an down and whined that IT DIDN'T LOOK THE WAY YOU WANTED IT TO LOOK until I finally put the hairbrush down on the counter and you flounced out of the room in tears. After taking a few moments myself to try to stop my head from exploding calm down, I went to talk to you where you sat sobbing on your bed and you said: I CAN'T HELP HOW I AM ACTING THIS IS JUST HOW MY BRAIN WORKS.

And then you told me that you didn't want to get older and how you were worried that if you got older that nobody would ever be able to pick you up in their arms again. And so I sat you on my lap and tried to think of all the good things that came with getting older...and I drew a blank. Instead, I told you about how when you were younger you were the sunniest little girl and how you smiled at everything and loved everyone and how you were rarely unhappy. I told you how if everyone in the room was given a shiny diamond and you were given just a rock, that you would have smiled and been grateful and said something like: "I LOVE HOW BUMPY AND GREY THIS IS". I told you how your disposition was a gift to our family, a warm safe spot in the storm that sometimes surrounded your complicated brother, and how much we loved and valued your positive attitude.

And then I made you promise to never become a teenager.
And then you asked for a pony.

Daddy and I should have made a new slideshow for your birthday, but between making the cupcakes, creating tissue paper flowers and figuring out a limo route we were not able to--maybe later this week. Here you are again from last year.

We love you Banana- Happy Birthday. You will always be my baby girl.

Love Mommy

This Is What Happens When Lorrie Goes Away...

I’m not a blogger, or even a writer. I’m just a sucker for Lorrie. I’ll do anything that she asks. Within reason. In this case, all it took was the offer of her first-born child. Honestly, how could I say no to guest blogging for her if I get CBoy?

But that does beg the question: does CBoy read his mom’s blog? Are we yet aware of the possible long-term consequences of the damage doing so would incur? Does CPS know about this? Oh well, we can cover that on another day.

Anywho, a bit about me just so you know what you’re dealing with: My name is Sheila, I am 40-something, I am married to a fabulous guy who happens to be English, and we are the not-always proud owner of a hooligan dog name Murphy. Oh, and I live in Texas.

I was having a panic attack after I agreed to do this for Lorrie, because as I mentioned earlier – I DON”T WRITE. What would I write about? Who cares about what I have to say? I barely care about what I have to say.

Should I write about the horrible heat wave we went through in August, when while sitting on our back patio having a cigarette (yes, yes…I know, I KNOW…) a squirrel dropped dead out of one of our trees? Literally died of a heat stroke and fell into my backyard. It was Day 4 of a 17-day stretch of 100+ degree days. Honestly, I’m surprised it was only the one.

Murphy thought it was Manna from Heaven, as his main purpose in life is to chase them.

No, I can’t write about that - it would be awful for ZDub, as she is a lover of all things squirrel. Plus, I felt really bad for the squirrel. I love them too. And talking about weather is boring.

Maybe instead I should I write about the current home improvement project we are undertaking. New hardwood floors in two rooms, painting and the possible purchase of grown-up dining room furniture. I want this really cool table & chairs I saw in a particular catalog because it seats 10. And it’s reasonably priced.

But the table doesn’t go with the new floors. At all. I don’t think. It might go with the new paint, and the rug, but the floors? I don’t know. I have no eye for this kind of thing.

But home improvement is also boring. If you wanted to read about that, you’d go to the DIY sites, right?

So more panic.

And then, the two topics - Weather and Home Improvement - collided in such a way that it would have been wrong to avoid discussing:

Last night after work, I got onto the ladder to begin painting the crown molding in the dining room. Dinner is on the stove, the TV is on, and the house is a general tip. Oh, and the remnants of Tropical Storm Hermine have been winding their way through the state. We had biblical rain all day, about 7-8 inches. So of course, we’re tuned in to The Weatherman.

And then, the sirens start. The TORNADO sirens. But I don't worry since we’re watching the weather and the tornado is in the downtown area, and we are a good 12-15 miles from there. Plus it’s Dallas – why should we worry?

So I continue to paint. The Weatherman is talking about the tornado, showing pictures of the tornado. The traffic helicopter is up in the air, showing the track of the tornado. So how bad could it be? The tornado will fall apart, we’ll get some wind, and I can finish my painting.

And then The Weatherman says: the tornado has crossed I-635 & is near the Galleria. Well, that is where I buy my makeup. And it’s about 3 miles from my house. So I panic. Again.

We put Murphy on his leash and head to the bathroom. Per the Tornado Safety Manual, you hide in an internal room with no outside walls, no windows, no skylights. Of course, we can’t fit in THAT room – the water heater is there. So we go to the next best thing – a bathroom with a giant mirror. Hey, nothing is perfect.

We hunker down (because that is also what you do) with the dog & the essentials: my purse, our car keys, two iPhones, hubby's wallet, and the laptop. And we sit on the bathroom floor and watch The Weatherman on WiFi.

And that begs the next question: how on earth did we make it through crises like this in the olden days? With no internet or anything? How did we know when it was OK to leave the bathroom?

Thank Heavens for wireless routers and Steve Jobs.

After ten minutes, The Weatherman gives us the all-clear. We headed straight outside and the skies were a gorgeous blue. It was sunny.

And I start painting again. The crown molding looks awesome.

(many thanks to Racie Lover for the artwork)

In Which We Have A Night Out & Go Bowling

Hi, my name is Jen (aka Scrappin Jenny). Lorrie was brave kind enough to ask me to do a guest host here on her blog. I was more than happy to fill in for her while she's off having some adventure that I'm sure involves wine, turkey legs and possibly pottery. I'm sure we'll find out when she comes back...

I don't know how many of you have kids here (if you don't have any, please play along), but those of you who do have rugrats kids know how rare a night out for you and your spouse/partner/significant other is. When you get one you almost feel like you've won the lottery. Except you're not getting millions of dollars.

You know what I mean.

This past Saturday night my in-laws took our daughter out for the evening. This left my husband and me with a few free hours to do whatever we wanted (minds out of the gutter people).

We hemmed and hawed about what to do...dinner out? A movie? As we were pondering the possibilities my husband said "Want to go bowling?"

Now, let me say up front, neither of us are "athletic". The last time I remember going bowling was before I got pregnant with my daughter (in other words...long time ago). But something in the back of my mind said "Bowling could be a lot of fun, if not deliciously white trash."

So off we went.

We went to a new bowling alley not too far from us called Kings.

Okay..cool sign. Lot of promise here...

This was written on the window...

I think we're about to find out.

Before bowling, we decided to grab some dinner and drinks to build our stamina.

Naturally, the first thing I look at on the menu is martinis.

I got a pink lemonade concoction with vodka. This is one of those dangerous drinks that tastes just like lemonade so you suck it down quickly then when you go to stand up you find yourself sitting on the floor thinking "How did I get down here?"

That good.

We did have some food as well...

Burgers and fries. Always an excellent choice.

Once we finished our meal, we headed down to the lanes.

God, it sounds like we do this all the time, doesn't it?

I loved the interior of this place. It was very dark and red and I felt like I was on the set of Swingers the entire time.

This was the lighted sign above the register. Seriously...forget about the Real Housewives of Where Ever, these are the ones I want to hang with.

Once we got our shoes, we headed over to the lane we were given.

It was at this point in time that I just started using whatever ball was on the ball return because it'd been so long since I bowled that I forgot you had to pick a ball out before you headed to your lane. Let's just say that I needed a 7 to 8 pound ball, but the holes on them were made for the Olsen Twins so I had to use a 10 pounds ball because it was the only one I could get my normal sized fingers in. 

Let's just say it was not good.

Here is an action shot of me. It looks like I know what I'm doing, right? Form is good, ball looks like it's going to head down the middle of the lane. Well, it didn't. My final score was somewhere around 57. Not PBA material, that's for sure.

My husband was on a bowling league once, so you'd think he'd know what he was doing. Not so. I think he scored one point higher than me in the first game.

In the end we bowled two games. I considered the first game a warm up because I scored not one but two strikes at the beginning of the second game. Alas, the heavier-than-I-could-handle ball got to me and by the 5th frame I thought my arm was going to fall off and die. We decided to quit while we were ahead (and in one piece).

All in all, we had a fun time. We had dinner, talked, high-fived each other while bowling and laughed like idiots. 

Having beers while bowling did help...

GoiNG MeDieVaL

Last weekend we went to The New York Renaissance Fair. We went for all the things we love about a Renaissance Fair: the costumes, the crafts, the games and the turkey legs. Which we told The Spawn was actually mutton. Because it is so funny to watch The Banana sink her teeth into a leg that is twice the size of her head and say "This Mutton Tastes Great."

We did many fun things that we meant to photograph but didn't. Which is a shame because The Banana's summer homework was to read seven books on Medieval Times and write a report on it, but in June I got the idea that maybe we could skip all that and just hit The Renaissance Fair-take some photos and write a report based on those... Because it is never too early to teach your young children how to pull meaningless homework assignments out of their butts at the very last minute.

It was Pirate Invasion day at The Renaissance Fair, so there were more pirates than princesses...but we did get this shot with the King and Queen.


Everybody is all happy and smiley, and nobody's face paint is smudged with tears cried when mommy wouldn't spring for the $25.00 dragon puppet that someone would probably play with once and then never again, and no one had thigh chaffe from sweaty legs rubbing together under this...my costume....

Because no one had bothered to tell me that the official dress for women at The Renaissance Fair was a top that showed as much corseted boob as possible. (But this dress? $29 at Holy Clothing. A bargain considering the use I know I will get out of it. It makes me feel like a younger, prettier Mrs. Roper.)

But then, the day wore on as days do, and the heat soared and we all started to feel like this


So as we got back in the car, I asked The Spawn what they had learned from this educational Day Trip.

"Mutton is Good." Said the Banana.
"People had jiggely boobs back then" said my son.

UuNaTTeNDeD CHiLDReN

Real things The Spawn said this week:

ME: What are you doing getting a juice box out of the fridge before dinner? You know we don't have juice before dinner.
BANANA: It's not juice mom. It's a cocktail.

ME: Why won't you eat your Falafel?
CBOY: Because you said it was made from chicken pee, and I don't eat chicken pee.

Speaking of childen, on another google image troll for work I found a series of these signs:
















Now...where did I put those children.....

THe SeCReT To HaPPiNeSS SWaLLoWed

So chickens, many of you will remember my attempts at losing weight with Jenny Craig which were thwarted when Miffy, the Jenny Craig consultant, refused to work two glasses of wine into my meal plan. So ultimately I joined Kirstie Alley at the Dunkin Donuts counter, and any pounds I had managed to lose on that plan came home and brought a few friends with them.

I am about to embark on yet another attempt to fit into skinny jeans and tuck my t shirts in and I think this time I have found a weight loss plan that is going to work for me.

Because it includes magic pills.

And not just pills- the other day the doctor handed me a syringe and told me to put the needle in my thigh and shoot myself full of B12. And our conversation went a little bit like this:
ME: "I don't think I can do this."
DR.: You can do this.
ME: Ummm, no...I don't think I can do this.
DR.: Yes, you can do this.
ME: Why don't you do it first and then if it's not so bad I'll do the next one.
DR.: No. You can do this.
ME: Seriously..I cannot stick a needle in my leg.
DR.: Yes you can.
And this is why doctors make a bajillion dollars because after about 15 minutes of that back and forth I actually stuck that needle in my own thigh. YAY ME. Who knew that shooting up could feel like such an accomplishment.

And then I got three envelopes of pills and they are called: THE YELLOW PILL, THE PURPLE PILL and THE WHITE PILL. And let me tell you chickens that I have not felt this good since the 80s and I could just throw my hair up in a scrunchie and go dancing. One of the listed side effects of THE YELLOW PILL is euphoria. FDA approved, it actually says Possible Side Effects: Euphoria. And I have it! I have that side effect! And it is so much better than the dry mouth I got from my last batch of antibiotics. Now chickens, the other side effect they list is DRUG ABUSE and ADDICTION, which is why they only allow you to take THE YELLOW PILL for 3-4 weeks tops but in the meantime, I am going to train for a marathon, write my autobiography and alphabetize my kitchen cabinets. This afternoon.

STaSH

I spent last weekend surfing the internet and eating bon bons cleaning Chez Veasey from top to bottom because over the course of the summer, our abode has come to look a bit like an out-take from HOARDERS. It's all that packing and unpacking and packing and unpacking and packing and before you know it, THIS:



Turns into THIS:


Only mine is ten times worse. And involved a cat box. SexyHusbandoMine tries to be a help. Sometimes he takes my folded laundry and places it on top of my dresser and then tells me sweetly that he would have put it away except HE DIDN'T KNOW WHERE IT WENT. And everytime I cry and throw pans at his head bemoan the amount of work cleaning up after he and The Spawn involves, he suggest we get a HOUSECLEANER. At which point I always say no, because I know he is thinking:



And I'm thinking: no way is anybody getting into my house with the bathroom looking like that. Everyone knows that you have to clean up BEFORE you can get a cleaning lady. Sheesh. So I spent a romantic weekend with this guy:


And while dancing around the house to the music my children don't like when I play, I came across an alarming discovery in Complicated Boy's room. Faithful readers of this blog will remember that it was only last year when I stumbled upon my Maidenform bra tags carefully tucked away in his sock drawer. This time, I cleaned out a canvas bucket full of baseball cards, action figures, a thousand silly bands, and found this....




And I was all like WHAT THE HECK IS THIS IN MY CHILD'S ROOM AND WHY DOES IT SMELL FUNNY and I stood tapping my foot at the doorway until Sexyhusbandomine arrived home and I thrust it into his face and demanded he tell me WHAT IT WAS.

At which point Sexyhusbandomine very helpfully said that he didn't know what it was, but that if it was pot it was a real bummer because it had so many sticks in it.

Which is about as helpful as stacking the clothes on top of a dresser and saying you don't know where they go.

Anyhoo, turns out it is catnip. And part of a mad scientist experiment. Phew. Apparently catnip still gives a good buzz...even if there are a lot of sticks in it.

HiGHWaY To HeLL

TRAVEL TIPS FROM LORRIE based on last week's journey to Hades trip.

1. Do not assume that just because your six year old has not thrown up for the past four months that it is safe to remove all plastic bags, baby wipes, and changes of clothing from the car. This is basically giving the middle finger to the Gods of Car Sickness. Also: Dramamine has an expiration date. Who Knew.

2. If you have two children, make absolutely sure you do not have only ONE pack of chocolate covered pretzels in the snack bag or there will be conflict that makes the whole Israel-Palestine thing look like a "discussion."

3. Do not purchase Mel Brook's DRACULA: DEAD AND LOVING IT starring Leslie Nielsen and assume you have now furnished some form of entertainment for the five hour trip.

4. When the six year old throws up unexpectedly do not turn around, unbuckle your seat belt and attempt to catch it with your hands. Doing so will cause the vomit to run down your wrists and up under your arms, saturating your bra with partially digested chocolate covered pretzels.

5. If your wife attempts to catch your six year old's throw up in her outstretched hands (see number 4) do not then yell at her if she begins to gag and tell her you will kill her if she throws up too. Just shut off the bell that keeps ringing from her unbuckled seat belt, quiet the sibling that is screaming how gross it is, AND O MY GAWD JUST FIND THE NEAREST EXIT, OK?

6. Never travel a route where there are stretches of highway where you can't find an exit or place to stop for 20-25 minutes. AND O MY GAWD JUST FIND A FLIPPING EXIT ALREADY.

7. If you finally find a place to stop, it would be better to throw the clothing into the woods where it will ultimately decompose and become compost than to place it into a bag you find in the trunk and forget about it for a week.

8. It is ok to never roll the windows up in your car ever again. (see number 7)

Happy Travels!

On VaCaTioN

Hello Chickens,
I will be out o town the rest of this week and not able to blog but I will be back on Monday and I will Have Stories. Even if I have to make them up. Or steal someone else's. In the meantime, I leave you with another NEW product launch coming to a fine retailer near you soon. Our new website is still slated to go live in September: have you marked your calendar? In the comments below, let me know what YOU love.

ONe SeNTeNCe BooK ReVieWS

Hola Chickens. Welcome to July's installment of One Sentence Book Reviews.

First Book: The Help by Katheryn Stockett.

This story of racial conflict in Mississippi in the 60's is far more dramatic than the struggles for bathroom privileges at Chez Veasey in 2010, although those can get pretty hairy when I bring fresh plums into the house let me tell you. This book? 4 Thumbs up and a Thank You to Oprah.



The Passage by Justin Cronin


Yes. Another Vampire Book. But in this one it's the result of a government experiment gone awry, and the setting is a post apocalyptic world where MANY PEOPLE DIE and that's your warning people. don't get too attached to your favorite characters, I'm just saying. You are welcome.

The Strain by Guillermo del Toro and Chuck Hogan

I actually quit this book 3/4 of the way through because it started reading like a possible movie script for David Caruso and My Gawd people it's just not believable that EVERYONE who hears a slither/rattle/rumble from a dark basement, crawlspace or garage goes to check it out. Some of us would run like hell. The smart ones.

I also quit this book, Say You Are One of Them by Uwem Akpan

Because I like my pure evil to be something that can be destroyed with a cross and a stake, not something that hurts children and is so painful to read that you fall asleep sobbing. I think books should have a SAD warning.

Then I read My name Is Mary Sutter by Robin Oliveria

Can a determined young woman who wants to become a surgeon find love on the battlefields of The Civil War amidst the dysentery and piles of amputated limbs? When she strokes the cheek of the handsome older doctor with her gifted hand you may want to cry out I HOPE YOU WASHED THAT THING, but then you get distracted by the fact that Lincoln appears as a character in this book. Two (clean) thumbs up.

And right now I am reading what the rest of the world is reading:


But unlike the first one, I am reading this in soft cover instead of the Kindle so that I can flip to the end and make sure everyone survives.

What's on your nightstand? (keep it clean, Kreg.)