I think he bloody paid her....

Himself was away on an overnight trip with his Dad last night. Leaving me to revel in the gloriousness (yes, I'm aware that that isn't a 'real' word. At least according to the obnoxious as hell red line claiming such, beneath it. Don't care.) that is a Cali-king sized bed. All alone.
*looks to the heavens and sighs*

I looked forward to going to bed alllll day.

When the hour finally arrived, I spread myself out over as much of the empty space as I could without dislocating a body part (Himself will be sorry he missed THAT) and hunkered in for a wonderful sleep.

I thoroughly enjoyed that wonderful sleep until about 2 hours later, when I awoke with my head on my pillow and one of our 2 cats attempting to put me into some sort of quazi-UFC headlock. She was wrapped around the top of my head, ON the pillow, with her front legs on either side of my head, and her head resting on top of mine. WTF??

She was unceremoniously given a short flight across the bed and I went back to that wonderful sleep.

Until a couple of hours later... QUAZI-UFC HEADLOCK AGAIN. A slightly longer flight OFF the bed this time.

ONE HOUR LATER... she was ON MY DAMN HEAD. Like on TOP of my head and woke me up because it felt like I was being held under water and drowning... TRANS-CON flight OUT of the room and the airport was CLOSED.

I'm deeply suspicious Himself had something to do with this. Because he had to sleep in a tiny twin sized bed last night at his parent's apartment. So if HE wasn't getting any sleep... god forbid that I should!

Oh wait... that would be how I'D roll...

Never mind....

When knowing enough to be dangerous is grounds for justifiable homicide

My husband is not a carpenter. He is not a contractor. But he knows juuuust enough that he thinks he is. Did I mention that he's also ADD? So he gets all geared up and excited about a renovation project, dives in head first and then OH MY GOD LOOK AT THAT WALL OVER THERE THAT NEEDS TO BE REMOVED! He gets distracted, the tools fall from his hands and, with his eyes glazed over at the excitement of a NEW project... you get the picture.

Our most recent home improvement project is a total gut of our basement bathroom. Which, as they all do, starts off with a set of plans. Generally MY plans. But since his motto is also 'go big or go home', those plans are usually tanked early on as Himself decides that 'while we're in here...' we might as well DO ALL OF THIS TOO! Kill me now.

It took all of a day before I heard, "Let's make the bathroom bigger! Since we're in here..." And then, "Let's knock out this whole back wall to the laundry area so we gain room back there! I can just move the laundry over there... Since we're in here..."

And that's what he did... the washer/dryer got moved. And he took out the entire back wall of the bathroom, now exposing our Water Treatment Centre (what I call the area where the pressure pump, water softener, water heater etc lives) and washer/dryer. He plans to replace the wall once the new shower is in place. *if I was a praying woman.... this would be where I'd start*

He then decided it would be a fabulous idea to install those heat coil things under the new tile floor. Because evidently, our teenagers require a warm floor under their delicate little feet while peeing. The ball and chain has to sit with her cloven hooves resting on a freezing cold bathroom floor upstairs, but hey - as long as his strapping teenage sons have warm feet, life is good.

This bathroom is in the basement. On a cement slab floor. Which means that in order to install this heated flooring system, we needed to dig up the cement where the coils will go. Or something. All I know is the next thing I knew a concrete cutter saw arrived in my house. Himself warned me that it required 'a bit of water' over the blade to keep the dust down. I envisioned a little trickle of water where we needed to cut. No biggie. Let me just grab a Kleenex to wipe that up when you're done.

The next thing I know, he's hooking a bloody GARDEN HOSE up to the saw. Umm? And says, "You're in charge of the shopvac so just start sucking the water up as I cut!" as he revs the saw. WTF???? I grab the shopvac just as the water begins POURING from the hose while the saw is now grinding at full speed, cutting into the concrete and sending a concrete slurry flying ALL OVER MY DAMN BASEMENT! *reminder about the NON EXISTENT BACK WALL* Within seconds, the back spray from the saw had colored my washer/dryer GRAY. Our blue pressure pump? NOT SO BLUE ANYMORE. I'm yelling at him, 'Don't you think we should... you know.. COVER EVERYTHING FIRST, YOU IDIOT?!!!!!" as I'm now up to my ankles in a swirling gray pool of water, working that shopvac like a $2 whore. Oblivious to the complete chaos and destruction around him, like a little kid with a new toy, he was almost giggling with glee. *Vrooom! VROOOOOOM!*

When all was said and done, I kid you not, he emptied that vacuum canister (it's the big, industrial one) no less than 6 times. My basement looked like the morning after Mt. St. Helen's erupted. And the 3'x9' hole he dug out of the concrete floor and exposed the dirt? Overnight it became a 3'x9' open air LITTER BOX for my 2 cats. And with the back wall of the bathroom... gone... it's a free for all in the 'let's shit in the floor!' department. Ooooh someone please just hand me a gallon of arsenic and straw....

After a couple of days of smelling cat turds in my basement (SERIOUSLY??!)... I got the boys to drag in some big boards to cover the hole and thus, end the crapalooza.

And in the meantime? Himself has been distracted by some other sparkly project elsewhere. Leaving me with ironically... a hole the size of a GRAVE in my old bathroom floor....

Just sayin'...

Making it ALL about ME.

As it should be... ...WHAT...

Yesterday was my 20th anniversary (see how I made that all about me?), my dh's birthday (not for lack of trying, I've yet to make that about me), and my inlaws anniversary (ew... no desire to go there), I cooked our Thanksgiving turkey last night.

Normally, I do the bird on the Monday, or actual Thanksgiving holiday. Which means all weekend I'm stressing and obsessing about ensuring the house is clean for the inlaws coming over, that I've picked the right side dishes, how will I set the table... and all things OCD-ish. And that means my weekend generally SUCKS. Because the icing on top of my 3 days of stressing (obsessing) is that final day of NOTHING BUT COOKING. Where, by the time the last dish has hit the table, I really want nothing to do with any of it.

After getting the big dinner out of the way last night I realized - I'M AN IDIOT. All these years I've dreaded Thanksgiving w/e simply because of the stress. (I realize several decades of therapy would probably have helped) But today - the Sunday of Thanksgiving w/e - The Dinner is out of the way. It's leftovers for the rest of the w/e and everyone loves those as much as the original dinner. And I get to chill and RELAX. And not even cook! Win-win.

From this moment forward, ALL Thanksgiving dinners will be taking place on the Saturday of the Thanksgiving w/e. FOREVERMORE.

I've also announced that we'll be having our Christmas dinners on Christmas Eve, rather than Christmas Day, as we've always done. Instead of Mom spending all of Christmas Day slaving in the hot kitchen and missing out on all the fun, it'll be leftovers to pick at whenever hungry. SO much nicer!

Why the hell did no one send me the memo about this idea YEARS ago??? I'm hurt. And crushed. And plotting to get each and every one of you, who've been doing this behind my back and not sharing - BACK.

So... what did we learn today?

My 'thing' as it were... is to play with power tools. LOVE the power tools. My husband however, does not love that I love his power tools. So my modus operandi is generally to wait until he's out of town for a few days. And then make my move and hope to god I don't cut off a limb. I've gotten so many projects done this way. There's such satisfaction in knowing that I did it myself. And lived to tell about it!

So this week, my hubby and his father were going out of town together for 3 days. Within seconds of hearing of the plan, I had my own already percolating in my mind. The basement closet. I HATE IT. It's USELESS. It clearly needs to go. And since hubby has been cleaning out a commercial building we own about an hour away from where we live, and bringing mostly CRAP home... I'd found in that, a wooden kind of double locker thing that I wanted to stain and put where the closet currently exists. WHOOO HOOO! A plan!!! I LOOOOOVE a plan. That involves power tools...

As soon as they left the driveway this morning, I was in RENO MODE. lmao I did a grocery run so I wouldn't have to leave the house for anything while I worked. Then came home and got ready.

Matt had his friend Ryan over working on his computer, and within minutes of the first 'BASH, BANG!' sound, the 3 teenage boys were at my side, begging for their turn to bash the closet walls in.

WHOO HOOO! 3 guys over 6' tall ready to do my work for me? HELLOOOOOOO?! Mama's no idiot. I handed them each a hammer, grabbed the camera to document the mayhem, warned them to be careful and we were off!! HOLY CRAP those guys can destroy something FAST! ROFL!

The 'before pic' of what the closet looked like. Totally useless and I've wanted it gone for years.

Can you SMELL the testosterone?? lolol

Annnnnd that's when things took a turn. Annnnnnd we spent over 3 hours in the ER.

Corey friggin took a huge swipe at a strip of corner bead (metal) and his 'enormous strength' bent the strip so it snapped back and sliced his hand. Wide open. About an inch from his surgery scar when he broke the hand last winter. Blood everywhere. 4 sutures later... FOR THE LOVE OF GAWD.

But when we finally dragged our sorry selves back home - look!!! Matt had gotten a huge head start on the cleanup! WITHOUT MY ASKING HIM! It was a HUGE MESS when we tore out of here with blood everywhere and me thinking Corey may have julienned a tendon. So after all that happened, I was really appreciative of this. :-) Maybe there's hope for him after all. lol


Note to self.... when teenage boys ask to help DESTROY SOMETHING. Politely decline. The testosterone surge is impossible to contain. And it's not going to end well. Apparently.

This raising kids ain't for sissies...

So the 16 yr old man-child has had his learner's permit since June... but because his father and I are completely incompetent (and probably unconsciously just stalling), we've never gotten around to getting our insurance amended so that he can legally drive the car.

Until today. When I realized that if he can't drive, he may never leave home. And I was on the horn to our insurance agent to try and figure out a way to get this taken care of. It seems that my husband (who is the legal owner on the papers, and is the only one who can change the insurance) is either never home during their business hours, or is home but forgets to deal with it.

I asked to speak to a woman I know and who's son has been one of my son's friends since they were in kindergarten. I knew if anyone could help me, it would be her. Our conversation went something like this:

Me - Hi J! We REALLY need to get the insurance changed on the Escape or Matt will never be driving. What can we do? Do I need Bill to sign something over to me? What...?

J - *lowers voice* "How well can you forge his signature?"

Me - HA HA! "Pretty good! Can I do that?"

J - As long as he's okay with it, and I know he is because we've spoken about it. So sure! I'll get the paperwork done and you just need to pop down here this afternoon and 'sign' everything!

(can I get a WHOOO-AH! for living in a BFE small town?!)

So I did. And now the 'L' (learners) magnet is stuck to the back of my car and the kid is chomping at the bit to get behind the wheel. We're heading out shortly. I'm slightly nauseous.

My 14 yr old son has said his goodbyes. And wants to know where any important papers might be. And what can he eat for dinner in case, you know... we don't make it back. Actually, he's just amended that to wanting me to make dinner BEFORE we head out for a drive. Such a sensitive child. And so MALE. GAWD.

One kid is gonna kill me and the other one is gonna make me glad he did.

Exploring other cultures.

Greetings from Clampett Mountain! Our water supply kacked on Friday, leaving us waterless. Or, as my kids are calling it - Amish. We're on a well, with a pump that sends the well water up the hill to a large holding tank, which then gravity feeds to our house. In the basement is another pump to provide adequate water pressure to all the taps/showers in the house. After it's been routed thru a 'bladder tank' of some sort (hey, it's all Greek to me) and then a softener and filtration system to rid the water of all the iron and other crap that the well water contains. It's more complicated to get water to our upstairs ensuite bathroom toilet than it is to get the space shuttle launched.

The boys seem to be enjoying this Amish life, getting a huge kick out of getting to pee in the bush. I tried it once, ended up with a stick up my pooper (I kid you not, I'm still tender...), and immediately announced that the GIRL IN THE HOUSE will not be partaking of the bush action. The Amish are nuts. I've since discovered that a rather excellent way of dealing with this is to pee into a ziploc baggie much like one would when giving a urine specimen, then pouring the contents into the bush and disposing of the baggie. Thus saving my tender butt AND the extra creek water to pour/flush the toilet. The Amish must buy a lot of baggies. Oversharing? It's how I roll.

Last night, just so we could experience full immersion into the Amish way of life, our power went out for 2 hours. Suddenly, when ripped from the company of the 'friends' that live in their computers, the boys lost their appreciation for All Things Amish. And were all up in my face about "WHY?? WHY ARE WE BEING PUNISHED?? DID WE KILL TINY KITTENS IN A PREVIOUS LIFE?? WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY???!!!!"

Watching them stumble around without all the conveniences of their usual daily lives was fascinating. It was like watching a baby elephant learn to walk. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AXe0064jY7M&feature=fvst But unlike the mother elephant, who so sweetly and protectively helps guide her little guy into his new world, I much prefer the 'sit back and laugh my ass off' principle of parenting. It was better than any Reality TV that's on right now!

Understanding the intricacies of the male teenage brain.

Equal to, yet not limited to, the size of the lobe in the female brain that controls the desire to SHOP, lays the lobe in the male teenage brain that controls GAMING. Specifically computer gaming.

The main difference however, is that well hidden in the female brain is a tiny, yet powerful area that allows the female to retain enough common sense and intelligence during frenzied activity in the Shopping Lobe, to multitask. We can be trying on 7 different pairs of shoes at one time with one eye, while simultaneously checking out both the bag AND jewelry areas of the store with the other eye. As if that's not impressive enough, while all this is going on, we're also figuring out how much this is all going to cost, where we'll hide everything, and how we can divvy up the final bill and spread it over several credit cards and/or accounts. It's an art. Hold your applause.

Fortunately for Mom's, teenage boys don't possess any of these skills (yet... oh who am I kidding?! Few grown men possess these either!) and trying to slip one by us just isn't going to happen. Their Gaming Lobe is so huge that the only other functioning areas left in their brains are the Eat Lobe, the Sleep Lobe, and the Sex Lobe. Not necessarily in that order. There's no room for common sense. And even less room for covering their tracks. They'd make lousy wild animals.

Which explains why, when I tell him that his computer needs to be off at midnight (and I check to make sure it is), and he's told VERY CLEARLY that the computer is to REMAIN OFF all night... I'm going to know if he snuck it back on the very second I went to bed.

Note to teenage son - if you get back up and go back on your computer, remember that I am female, hear me roar! And when I go into your room in the morning and find the speaker light ON (after I turned it off last night), and your microphone moved from the SPECIFIC POSITION I PLACED IT SO I'D KNOW IF YOU WERE BACK ON IT... you're totally busted. And don't bother trying that again because the modem has just become my new roomie at night.

The moral of this story is DON'T MESS WITH A WOMAN.

Learn it. Remember it. And never, EVER forget it. Or you'll never survive when you hit the real world.