Snow Days Don't Exist Anymore

We're having a blizzard today, with up to 18" of snow possible.  No joke - it's a-snowin' and a-blowin' out there.  It's almost as if the gods are taking pity on Vikings' fans today, and giving us some time off to mourn the loss of the NFC championship game...

But as you can expect, a snow day for schools doesn't translate to a snow day for parents.  Total bummer.  And when you're a household with 2 working parents, well, your poor unfortunate kids don't get the luxury of sleeping in.  Woke my kids up and got them ready to go to Grandma's house, and we're just about out the door when Wyatt makes the wretching sound.  It wasn't a true barf - the kids all have colds and are producing copious amounts of mucus, so his "barf" was actually snot he had swallowed overnight.  Ew.  For reals.  Ew.

So I call in sick because I don't really think my mom wants to deal with that all day.  And then we get our Flexible Learning announcements.  Do you know "Flexible Learning?"  Are you lucky enough to get to deal with this wondrous invention of the education system?  No?  You poor dears.  You have no idea what you're missing out on.  Let me tell you:

• Fights.  You're missing out on fights.  Fights with technology, fights between your children, fights about getting the assignments done, fights with your own conscious about throwing int the towel on these stupid ass assignments...it's magical.
• Technology problems.  Your school will use a system for the kids to get their flexible learnign done, which will not work with anything but your ancient laptop, which rarely even gets turned on anymore, and which will take at least an hour to update before allowing you access to anything.  Then your kids will forget their passwords.  And they'll remember then right before you're about to lose it completely, but after you've torn through every piece of paper you've saved from school so far this year - and finally emailed the teachers.  So fun!!
• Endless Questions.  "Mom, can you help me find the lowest common denominator?" "Mom, is a bunch of kittens called a litter?"  "Mom, I don't know how to do math, do you?"  "Mom, my google docs aren't saving.  What do I do?"  All of which you are expected to be able to answer and help with.
• It takes all day.  Because you're at home and your kids won't focus and they don't want to be doing this, and you've allowed them to access the internet and they want to watch all the you tube videos.  All of them.  One kid's assignments took us over 4 hours today.  FOUR HOURS.  Thankfully, I only have 3 kids and one is too young to get any Flexible Learning.  But this means I still have one more kid's crap to get through. If I had gone to work today ... we'd have to stay up until 11 to get all this shit done.  Seriously!!  

Fair criticisms of this Flexible Learning: Not every family has readily available technology for every student to be working on their Flexible Learning at the same time.

• Even if there is readily available technology, it may not be compatible with the platforms you've chosen.  Why can't Amazon and Google just get along?!?!  Or why do we have to use a Google login for everything the school wants us to do?!?!
• Not every teacher is responsive to requests for assistance (though they're supposed to be.  Ahem.  Looking at you, Mr. R!)
• Households with 2 working parents are at a distinct disadvantage, as for the most part the work waits until we're home from work.  You know, after we've picked up the kids from wherever they were (if they need daycare), gotten all our crap put away, made supper, etc etc etc.  When are the kids supposed to sleep?
• WE LIVE IN MN!  It snows in the winter.  A lot.  Why can't we build in just a few snow days, like we used to?  There's not a darn thing wrong with kids getting an unexpected day off - and dare I say it, I bet the teachers appreciate it, too.

Some other fun things about days off in general, with some snow day & sick day specifics, too:

• Endless Hunger.  Ate breakfast, got to work trying to figure out how to get all this crap done.  "When's snack?"  Prepared snack.  They ate snack.  "Is it lunchtime yet?"  And so on & so forth until your formerly full pantry and fridge are empty and sad.  And it's blizzard-ing out so you can't just go to the store and get some more stuff...
• Whining.  Dear God, the whining!!  "Can't we do something FUN?" "Why do we have to do HOMEWORK on a SNOW DAY?"  "WHY CAN'T IT STOP BLIZZARDING SO I CAN GO BACK TO WORK?!?!"
• The Trapped Feeling.  We're like caged animals at this point.  Because we CAN'T leave, it becomes the thing we want more than anything else in the entire world.
• Snot.  So much snot.  In kleenexes...shooting out of noses...coughed up...nasty.
• So. Much. Disney. Channel.  'Nuff said.
• So. Much. Recorder. Practice.

Luckily, Daddy's home early from work, so Mommy gets to check out for a bit.

Right, no, that doesn't actually happen 😉.  Daddy is out handling snow removal, and Mommy is on coffee #3 and flying through some laundry and dishes and pickup.  And there's a pot of chili cooking on the stove.

It smells great in here and I'm hungry again.  And there goes the dryer. 

Here's hoping we don't end up with 18" of snow and everything is cleared up by the morning...so we can get back to school & work tomorrow.  I can't handle another day of Flexible Learning!!

Crazy People Have Crazy Dreams

This is gonna get long-winded. And political, so if you lean to the right, or if you are easily offended by coarse language ... you may just want to skip it.

I've been having some crazy dreams lately. The kind you wake up from and feel "in the moment" still.

Yesterday, I woke up in heart-thumping terror, upset, heavy breathing, angry and afraid, because I dreamt I was pregnant again. Now, I realize how horrible that makes me sound, that being pregnant would be something to fear ... as a formerly infertile person who also experienced recurrent pregnancy loss, I feel terrible guilt over feeling this way. But at this point in my life - I'm in a parenting "valley" and I'm feeling old, and I don't want any more children. Moment of brutal honesty: I’m in a life “valley” at the moment and realizing I don’t have a great handle on a lot of things. But I definitely do not want any more new babies that I have to get up with in the middle of the night, change poopy diapers, pay for daycare, etc etc etc. I no longer get baby fever – I love to hold squishy babies, I love babies in general, but I don’t want anymore of my own, thankyouverymuch.  Also: I'm, like, 100% fixed, so it would also be impossible - so I was angry that my two surgical sterilization procedures had failed, in my dream. Like, rage-y angry. So, so angry.

It was easy to analyze this dream, however, as there is a new baby puppy coming to our house in March.  John’s getting a hunting dog, and I’m terrified of having a new baby puppy again.  So this dream, however much it amused me, has its roots in real feelings of mine – anxiety about the puppy, about the sleepless nights puppyhood will bring us, about the financial strain of preparing for life with a new puppy again (we have a dog, but we adopted him when he was already housebroken and had gone through most of the vet checks, etc).  And perhaps even the anger is rooted in reality: I’m not angry about the dog itself, but I supposed I’m not thrilled about all the time John will be spending training the dog for hunting, and thus away from the kids and me. Not proud of my feelings, but they are what they are … and it’s not a deal-breaker and in the end, all will be well, and I’ll love the dog completely because he will probably be adorable and I will get snuggles and love and giggles over his puppy antics, and all the things I love about dogs.

This morning, I woke up also fired up, but in a happy, victorious sort of way. I couldn't get back to sleep, in fact, because I was laughing at the sheer implausibility of my dream, the ridiculousness of it all. I was invited to a Trump event – and it gets ridiculous and implausible right off the bat, here, folks: it was a discussion to which Trump was inviting Liberals, to help him learn how to be a kinder President. Basically, it was a focus group, for marketing research. So I get there, and he’s sitting not on a stage, but just in the front of a few rows of chairs, and all my liberal friends are there. We greet one another and chat about the craziness of what is happening. And we joke about how the event was being held in Alumni Hall at Gustavus; this is a tiny bit ironic, because this facility is adorned with paintings of previous Nobel Prize winners. Regardless of your thoughts about President Trump, I think it’s safe to say that he’ll never be enshrined on those walls.  Anyways, the event started with an explanation from Sean Spicer (with sourface Sarah Sanders in the background) that DJT really wants to try to improve relations with all citizens, not just the right-wingers, etc.  He wants people to understand that he’s not a “fill-in-the-blank-ist.” Also, some rules: we are not allowed to call DJT a racist, sexist, homophobe, etc. Simply not tolerated. (Isn’t it ironic? Don’tcha’ think?) So DJT opens the official event with some very brief remarks about how his popularity isn’t important, but his ability to reach people is, and as his popularity continues to decline, so does his ability to reach people. And that is why he has chosen St. Peter, MN, a small town known for being liberal, and Gustavus Adolphus College, also well-known to be a bastion of liberal ideals, as the first Presidential focus group (“first, but also the very best!”). Now, I’m there out of sheer curiosity, not because I honestly believe that this is a sincere effort by the President to actually engage anyone – it’s all about his ego and his numbers and this is simply an attempt to increase the numbers and provide a photo op so he can say “oh, I tried, but those mean liberals …”  So I’m clearly biased against the experience already, and judging by the amused looks on all my friends’ faces, so are they.  The format of the event is that Spicer asks our opinions on certain aspects of DJT and his policies, and we have a brief comment period.  It quickly devolves into exactly what you think – Donnie John the man-child is who we are dealing with, and he interrupts our comments to defend himself and let us know we are wrong. While looking us up and down and (in my opinion) giving us each a physical score in his brain (6, I hate her glasses; 1, she’s too mousy; sub-zero, she’s a disgusting fat-ass, etc etc etc). There is much frustration in the room, but we are all trying our best to remain neutral and use kind words. Simple words that even he could understand, and which were not ambiguous or in any way led him to believe we agreed with him in any way. Yes, it is difficult. Finally, I am called upon to explain my very low rating on the question “Do you believe the President cares for the well-being of all Americans?” While I wanted myself to scream “HELL NO!” I calmly stated that I felt the President’s tax plan, comments regarding minorities, support of homophobic policies, treatment of women, and his healthcare plans all solidify in my mind that he has no respect for anyone who isn’t a billionaire; he is completely out of touch with the changing views of America – even Republicans are not all steadfast anti-gay/anti-minority/anti-healthcare as they once were. But mostly, his views show me that he caters to a certain base of people, and doesn’t care about helping Americans better their lives, that he and his cabinet are intolerant of those who are different from them. I chose my words carefully, so as to not to hurl direct insults at him. It was sooooo hard, people! SO HARD! (that’s what she said!). My most careful line was “It feels that there is bigotry and intolerance being written into law.”  Donald made his scoffs and pucker faces, but for the most part didn’t interrupt my rambling. When I was finished, however, he made a face just like Alec Baldwin when he’s playing Trump on SNL and said “You forgot to say ‘intolerant’ – isn’t that a favorite word of liberal elites like yourself?” 

And I lost it. I stood up and screamed “You, sir, are a DUMBASS. I said it twice, you blithering idiot.  DON’T YOU KNOW THE 7 HABITS OF HIGHLY EFFECTIVE PEOPLE? Seek first to understand, then to be understood. You don’t even listen, you only think about the next thing you’re going to say!” And he fired backed “I believe my success proves I’m highly effective.”  And I retorted “You may have been a successful business person, but you are the most ineffective leader I’ve ever had the misfortune to witness. You, sir, are a dumbass and you will be the ruination of this country! America was a far greater country before you and your minions ever got your greedy hands on it, and it won’t be great again until you’re long gone. You’re an idiot, a racist, a sexist, a homophobic orange skinned MORON who doesn’t deserve the title of President, and certainly doesn’t understand the responsibilities with which you are tasked. You only care about winning, and keeping the little people down. Quite frankly, I hate your policies, I hate your cabinet, and I hate you. You are a moron and a gigantic orange asshole! Your mouth even looks like an actual asshole, and it proves that you are one because the only thing that ever comes out of it is shit.” And I walked out. On the President of the United States.

And I woke up feeling … good. And victorious. And supremely confident. And also before the obvious viral video of my actions leaked to the world.  Ha ha. 

I also did feel a little bit terrible, if I’m being honest, because I know I would never do this in real life, even if presented the opportunity.

But I cannot, for the life of me, figure out why I had this dream on this night. We don’t talk politics in our house, because John doesn’t enjoy it (honestly have no idea what side he leans to, politically) and I don’t check the news before bed anymore because it makes me anxious and keeps me up at night – and I don’t recall having really read much news throughout the day. So is it just my subconscious, wanting to get it all out?  But that doesn’t make much sense, either, because, let’s face it, I’m not good at editing my thoughts on a daily basis – my FB feed proves that J. It’s a mystery. But one that delights me and warms my liberal heart on this chilly MN morning.

A Really Not Good Day...But Nobody Died, Thank God

You know you're not in a good place mentally when you get as excited as I am about grocery shopping alone... and you plan your trip to take as long as possible...

It's been one of those "Calgon Take Me Away!!" kind of days.  The kind where you had plans but your family decided it was more of a "we maybe shouldn't be in public together" kind of days. The kind where mom cries because everything & everyone sucks and she's at the end of her God damn rope and just barely hanging on...where everyone then behaves for all of an hour, and Mom relaxes for a second and in that second it all turns back to shit.

That kind of day.

Maybe a pint of Phish Food will help, maybe it won't...but it's worth a shot.

And if not, well, maybe shots would help. Tequila, anyone?

Summer Vacation, Day 1: We're Surviving...Barely...

The kids are now on summer vacation.  Teachers and children across the town are united in their joyous excitement!  Maybe some parents are, too ... I say good for you!  Me?  I'm terrified.  Summer means days at Grandma's for the kids, being spoiled by Grandma, watching too much tv, spending too much time on their devices, spending too much time in close physical proximity to one another during the day...summer means a couple of weeks of fun and good moods...then the fighting begins.  And the boredom sets in.  And the whining starts.  Ugh.

Knowing all of this, I decided to take a few days off work to make happy memories with them, while they are still happy.  Today is officially Day 1 of my "staycation."  I'm already regretting it... (kidding, kidding).

Last night, after staying up "suuuuuuuuuper late" (according to them, 9pm is still super late!) - they remarked how nice it will be to "sleep in allllllllll day."

Reality: Wyatt is up at the ass crack of dawn, watching Stampy Longnose videos on his Kindle.  At top volume.  Until Mommy stumbles downstairs to tell him to shut up.  Er, shut *it* up.  He totally redeems himself with a sweet smile and a request to go to his favorite bakery to get some breakfast treats while the younger ones and Daddy are still sleeping.  DEAL!  We head out at 6:45 am, and we're back by 7:45.  I imagine that I will make everyone's day with the treats...except this bakery (Friesen's, for you locals, which is AWESOME) doesn't make regular old cake donuts, and the lack of sprinkles causes Callan to lose his shit.  (Looking back on the day, this was clearly a warning tantrum...).  And then he claimed the Maple Bacon Muffin (*MY* beloved Maple Bacon Muffin!) as as his own breakfast.  And in a total dick move (sorry, but almost all 3 year olds are horrible people!), ate the top but left the rest and threw it in the garbage can.  I'm not even a little ashamed to admit that I still ate it; honestly, it hadn't touched anything super nasty, it landed wrapper side down and I don't care what you think anyways, because that muffin was freaking delicious!  And the joke's on lil' C - all the salty and delicious bacon was in the part he didn't eat.

My hubba-hubba-hubby and I head out to do some yard work before the rain sets in.  Callan comes out to help.  He does a fairly good job pulling some little weeds for me, but then loses interest and takes out some toys.  Check that: all the toys.  And puts them in the pile of leftover dirt from garden prep.  Did I mention it was going to rain?  That started sooner than we expected. Garden dirt, rain ... you can see where this is headed.  Muddy toys, muddy boy.  And girl, because Amelia came out to play, too.  Got all the toys back in the garage and headed inside.  To do ... nothing, apparently!  Glorious nothing!  Kids on Kindles, Mom on her phone, Dad on his phone...yes, it felt wrong, even though we all were co-existing peacefully for a few blessed moments.  I mention to John that we should do something today.  Maybe clean the house or something.  We laugh.  Oh, we are just so funny!  Noone was in the mood, and we were kind of trapped inside, so no point in making it an awful day by expecting the kids to do work.  Besides, it was Day 1 of summer vacation!!

By noon, the smell of reheating pizza was in the air, and was just enough to lure Wyatt and Amelia out of the dungeon.  For a couple of seconds.  Callan freaks out because his pizza is not cold.  He wanted cold pizza.  I give him a piece of cold pizza.  I ask if he wants a beer to wash it down, but he says "No fanks!"  (So polite!).  John and I peruse the grocery ads, with me thinking I'd make a list and do the shopping, while he hung out at home with the kids.  He had other plans: "Let's get ready & head out."  Me: "Let's?  Are we all going?"  John: "Yeah, I thought it would be nice for everyone to get out of the house."  This from the man who tries to convince me that he should never have to go grocery shopping and especially not with children in tow.  I swallow hard and say "It's Friday afternoon of Memorial Day weekend, every place is going to be crazy busy.  And Callan's in asshole mode today.  Are you sure this is a good idea?"  He nods.  I say "OK.  Let's do this!"

Remember the Breakfast Tantrum that was an Omen?  And the freak out at lunch?  Definitely foreshadowing our day.  Stop #1 and Callan loses it again.  This time: because some nice lady in the Aldi parking lot gave me her cart - sort of a pay-it-forward-chain at Aldi, so I didn't have to dig out a quarter to pay her back ;) - and apparently Callan wanted to pick out a cart.  Ugh.  Tantrum in a parking lot.  He calmed down, but refused to hold one of our hands, and ran out into the parking lot.  So John took him back to the car while Wyatt, Amelia and I went inside.  I was impressed with their mostly good behavior, but these children just have no spatial awareness whatsoever.  Or awareness in general.  Stepping in front of people, taking up the whole aisle...we did a lot of apologizing and I started getting more anxious by the minute.  Survived that stop relatively unscathed, in psyche and in budget.  Made somebody else's day by giving them the cart, too.

Next stop: Cub Foods.  We all go in.  My anxiety peaks as they're repeating their mistakes from Aldi.  Amelia cannot stop dancing and bouncing and stepping in front of my cart and dancing and bouncing and STEPPING IN FRONT OF THE GOD DAMN CART!!!!  Ugh.  But I have to be proud of myself: I didn't yell.  I didn't even say any grown-up words.  I didn't ram that cart into the back of her heels like I wanted to.  I touched her arm lightly and caught her eye and quietly - so, so quietly - said "Last warning.  You need to stay behind me.  Next time, I will run you down."  Queue the big eyes.  She flits off to Daddy's cart.  Then back to me.  Then back to him.  Then Callan has to pee.  Then Wyatt is pushing the cart WITH ME.  Then tries to do it on his own.  Then needs my help again.  Then Amelia gets directly in front of my body and "helps" push the cart.  We go to the pop aisle and the kids go wild, demanding root beer and 7-up and cream soda and...water.  Bottled water.  Callan proceeds to whine & tantrum AGAIN because we won't buy him a bottle of water. John promises one at check-out.  Which Callan clutches in his chubby little paws like it's the last bottle of water on earth.  Amelia continues her bouncing/dancing/annoying me and getting in the way of my attempts to bag my groceries.  I feel like I'm going to lose it.  I don't. I tell her and Wyatt to put their hands on the cart and don't move, as I bag up John's groceries (we did separate carts so we could double on some of the sale items with limits.  So devious, we are!).  They listened, thankthelord.  But I need a very large iced campfire mocha (non-fat, about 1/3 the amount of chocolate they normally use, dark chocolate and OF COURSE I WANT THE WHIP!) like I've never needed one before!!  Alas, a stop at the in-store Caribou is not in the stars as John has reached the end of his rope.

Off to HyVee.  The decision is made to have me - JUST ME - run in quick.  Oh heaven!  Alone in the grocery store!  Oh look!  Starbucks!  You will be mine...after I'm done shopping.  I knock out my list in record time.

I'm a liar.  I took my sweet-ass time picking out a perfect watermelon and waiting patiently for the meat-man to restock the on-sale ground beef.  I read labels.  I don't buy half of what I look at, but I'm on freaking vacation at the HyVee!!  I'm smiling and chatty with fellow shoppers and HyVee employees and as I'm staring down the display of S'M'Oreos (s'mores Oreos, duh!), I get a text message: "Don't buy any stupid shit!"  I look around wildly, expecting to see John and the kids spying on me and watching me enjoy being by myself and taking my sweet-ass time.  They're not there.  Whew!!  I carry on.  But with a little hustle now, as The Guilt is creeping in.  I finish up and hit up the Starbucks.

There's a line.  I wait, patiently.  Then impatiently because the lady at the front of the line is waving someone over because her Starbucks app is apparently not working and she doesn't have any cash on her.  I'm not feeling especially generous to a woman who is dripping in diamonds and designer duds, so I decide against paying for her $9 worth of Starbucks beverages just to speed this shit up.  Also, the wait gives me more time alone ;)  A couple of people get in line behind me and for the first time, I become aware of my own appearance and, um, odor.  Realizing I had forgotten to put on deodorant, and had not changed out of the clothes I had been wearing while doing yardwork, and that I wasn't really even trying to suck in my gut ... I decided the Cinnamon Dolce Latte I had been dreaming about was not a good choice.  I order an iced tea.  Iced Fucking Tea.  WHO AM I?!?!  And the barista asks "What kind?"  And I repeat my order of "Shaken Iced Tea Lemonade."  And she asks me again, what kind?  And I say "the lemonade one!" like a total newbie, because I do not realize that you have to tell them what kind of fucking tea you want in your fucking iced tea lemonade drink that is not going to be even remotely as delicious as the iced Cinnamon Dolce Latte would be but which I am ordering because I don't want to be the fatty ordering a full fat drink or the one obviously trying to make it seem like I'm not a giant fatty by ordering the non-fat, no-whip version of this and getting the reminder from the barista that the flavoring is not sugar-free... So not only am I smelly and gross, I'm an idiot who doesn't know what she's doing at Starbucks and have to ask what choices I have.  *** sigh *** I should have stayed home today.  Why do I care about what those people behind me think of me?  The dude behind me also orders iced tea.  He orders it perfectly.  "Shaken Iced Tea, Peach. Passion." Oh bite me, Perfect Tea Orderer Man! Oh, fragile self-esteem ... sensitive mindset ... sick of you!

I traipse off with my cart to the car.  After two previous stops, the trunk of the ol' Camry is getting pretty full.  This last load almost fills it.  Are you familiar with the Camry?  The trunk on this thing ... you could haul some bodies in there. Just sayin'.  It's big.  And we bought a lot of stuff today.  Including some 12 packs of soda and sparkling water ... about 30 lbs of ground beef ... lots of processed things in boxes ... produce ... and it's almost full.  This is important to note.  There are also 3 children, their car seats & booster seats, across the back seat.  Off to Home Depot!

Obviously, John is allowed to enter alone.  I'm enjoying my iced tea lemonade.  NOT!  It's shit.  Don't ever order it.  Or at least add sweetener to it.  A few minutes go by and I realize that it's only fair that he gets a vacation, too.  Then I realize it's charcoal sale time...and we've got the Camry already loaded down with groceries & shit.  And I say a little prayer for him to exercise restraint, for I know the charcoal is a fabulous deal and this sale only comes around one time per year and we are nearly out of charcoal at home and the official grilling season is now upon us and he does prefer the charcoal to the gas grill in the summer...  A few minutes go by.  I'm getting nervous.  He knows...He knows how little space we have left.  He knows we can't be buying 8 of the double packs of charcoal.  RIGHT?!?!  Yes, yes he does.  He only bought 2 of them.  Which had to go under the kids' feet in the backseat.  Wyatt's knees are now touching Callan and Callan is not having it.  He hits Wyatt.  Wyatt hits him back.  Giant 9 year old vs. giant almost 4 year old.  Who wins?  MOMMY WINS, MOTHERFUCKERS!  Or, more accurately, Mommy loses.  Loses her shit.  I ban touching one another.  I ban screaming.  I ban talking.  Amelia cries because she "wasn't doing anything!"  And she's right, in that moment, she wasn't.  "I know, baby."  I tell her.  "I know you weren't right now.  It's just so freaking loud when we're trapped in the car and the boys were fighting and I am at the end of my rope!"  And she says "You need some coffee, I think."  So I laugh and say "yes, yes I do."  And instead I drink my sad stupid lemonade ass tea and I try to find some calm.  All I can think is "The cinnamon dolce latte would have helped."

And now, after John and I unloaded the groceries and put away the things that had to be put away, after he started the fire in the firepit that I asked him to but which I am now ignoring, after I have ignored everyone for a good hour...now I'm going to  wash up the ice cream pail and giant bowl that previously held fruit that didn't get eaten before it went bad, so we can again fill it with fruit that probably won't get eaten before it goes bad.  And the kids are bored. And whiny.  And hungry.

And apparently there's "nothing to eat in this house."

And I'm also going to start drinking now.

Happy Memorial Day Weekend, peeps!

And So It Begins...

So here we are ... the start of something new.  My #1 goal for this year (and every year) is to improve communication with my friends and family.  Obviously, I have failed in the past.  Lots of you have suggested that I start a blog, so, well, here goes!

So, the title of my blog is "Crazy Cakes Tales from Awesomesauce Town."  Why's that, you ask?  Well...because my life is crazy, but also kind of awesome.  A lot of the time.  (And also because it's a little less offensive than "Holy Shitballs, Be Glad This Isn't Your Life!")  And we use the phrases "Crazy Cakes" and "Awesomesauce" prolifically at our house.  Well, at least *I* do.  Oh, and I bake cupcakes & cakes & bars & cookies & ... did I mention I'm obese?  Well, I pretty much am.  Anyways, I don't bake as a business because, honestly, I can't handle the pressure of having to be perfect.  So it's more of a hobby, something I do for fun, for my kids birthdays and sometimes for family events.

I have, on occasion, done some baking as a favor to friends, who do pay me.  But it's not a business venture I'm interested in pursuing.  Because I have this annoying trait of expecting so much from myself and then beating myself up when I don't meet my own (usually unrealistic) expectations.  I'm also working on that this year.  But seriously - can you imagine screwing up the cupcakes ordered for a wedding?  Or a fun birthday party?  I'm not nearly talented enough at the decorating part to handle that kind of pressure ... I make tasty cakes, but they aren't always the prettiest ;)

Gaaaaawd, now I'm using emoji's in my blog.  I'm such a cliche!  And I'm totally off topic!!

Wait, what was my topic??  Right.  The blog.

So what, exactly, do I hope to accomplish with this blog?  In all honesty - I don't know!  I think I'd like to foster a community of other "good enough" type people.  Where we can share our life failures and our successes - where I can share crazy crap that happens in my world - and you can share yours.  Deal?  Deal!  (Totally stole that from my BFF - shout out to Ang!).

Most of you know me already.  You know I'm crazy, my husband is crazy, and, well, crazy breeds crazy 'cuz now we have 3 crazy kiddos.  Crazy in the best possible - and least dangerous - sense of the word.  We're loud.  So loud.  So fucking loud.  My kids' laughs are always the loudest.  And kind of obnoxious.  But I love them so much.  Currently, the children are 9 (boy), 7 (girl) and 4 (boy).  There will be no more.  Three is enough!  We're busy in the sense that we are always doing our best to keep the kids alive - and it turns out, that's actually harder than you'd think it would be.  I joke.  Kind of.  We're not busy (yet) with activities and playdates and all those things.  I'll maybe go into more detail, but for the most part, the oldest child isn't in to doing much of that, the middle child would do everything under the sun if our budget allowed, and the youngest is not in school yet, so he doesn't have any friends anyways.  For now, I'm enjoying the current level of busy that we're experiencing, because I know it's going to get so much worse as they get older.  They are the loves of my life, even though they make me crazy.  I've never know something to be so exasperating, frustrating, amazing, incredible, terrifying, overwhelming, terrible and wonderful all at once - until I became a parent.  That old roller coaster cliche from the moving "Parenthood" is so freaking true.

Things I love: my children...my husband...hoodies...jeans...hiking boots...nature...COFFEE!! (elixir of the Gods, aka: the thing that keeps me from killing people!)...diet soda (don't judge!)...music...ellipses...the Oxford comma...chocolate...reading...crafting (didn't say I was good at it, though)...Halloween...friends...my family...movies...beer...rum...wine...Southern Comfort...Jack Daniels Tennessee Honey Whiskey...America...my grandparents...my aunts & uncles & cousins...being an aunt...this list is not in any order of specific preference of things I love - if it were, coffee would be at the top :) ... I love a lot of things.  I don't hate much - mostly ignorance and stupidity (both of which I also display occasionally!).  I hate snot.  It's the one bodily fluid that I can't handle.  I can deal with puke (it's gross, but I can deal with it).  I can deal with pee and poop.  But my daughter has a nasty habit of getting the walrus look post-sneeze, and it makes me gag.  I don't get it either, but ugh.  Just thinking about it makes me queasy.  I hate getting my eyes checked (I have a horrible and irrational eye phobia - not of eyes, but of something happening to my eyes - and I have a mini panic attack when they have to shoot the air puff into my eye - I cry and it takes like 4 or 5 attempts to get it done.  Pretty sure my chart there reads "C-R-A-Z-Y" in big bold letters).  I really, really hate cancer and Alzheimer's disease/dementia.  Both of these things suck and take too many people away from us.  I really, really hate that.  I also hate spiders.  With a passion.  They should pretty much all die.  Unless they eat mosquitoes, in which case they can hang around, outside, and hopefully not be those big ass furry spiders that live in places I will never, ever visit.  And I also truly believe turkeys deserve to die, so PETA will probably protest this blog if it ever gets well-known.

I'm off-topic again.  That will happen.  Frequently.

I have no real mission with this.  Just giving it a shot to see what happens.  Thanks for visiting!