Not your average suburban mom. I’m more your typical, normal, commonplace, everyday, garden-variety suburban mom. With a thesaurus.

Sunday, June 30, 2013

Brain Dump and the Apocalypse

Approximately five times a day Brian does something both hilarious and inappropriate and then smirks, "Put *that* in your blog."  This is maddening and is one of the few things that makes me wish I blogged anonymously.  Because then? All bets are off, Babe.

I tried on nine pairs of shorts at Plato's Closet yesterday.  Plato's Closet is a used clothing store for teens and 34 year old SAHM's who have lost 100 pounds who want to update their wardrobe for cheap.  As my weight has dropped I find I'm more interested in fashion, and Plato's Closet allows me to try new styles without a big monetary commitment.  My newest discovery is that among the young adult crowd, the most popular accessory to go with shorts is your vagina.  I'm thinking of opening my own used clothing store where all the shorts are still hip without exposing you to too much of mine.  I'll call it "Not Too Hip".  I'm sure it'll take off.  That mess is marketing gold.

I went on a bike ride this morning on my new baby:

Selfie because everyone was still asleep.

Sarah helped me get it for my birthday and it is such an improvement on my old ride. (Which is a mountain bike that I still love for trail riding.  This is a road bike and is sooooo much lighter and a significantly smoother ride.  For those that speak cycling it has hybrid tires because I'm clumsy.)

Even though I chose those handlebars my left hand still started to tingle around mile ten (because the pressure plus my tendinitis can make my hands go numb), and when I waved to a car to give them the right of way it was like I had turned into a mannequin.  Or Miss America.  Either way my wave was awesomely stiff and I stared at my hand in wonderment as I tried to make a fist and giggled when I realized I probably looked really high to the average bystander.

The real reason for this post is that all you lovelies that follow me on Google Reader are about to LOSE ME FOREVER.  It's like the apocalypse for bloggers.  But you can follow me another way.  I've chosen Bloglovin' to keep track of all the blogs I follow.  You can do that, too.  You can also follow me on Facebook.  I update my Sublurban Mama status every time I post, so you can still keep up with all the vital life information I dole out regularly.  You're welcome.

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Thursday, June 27, 2013

How to Survive a Nice Dinner Out with Four Children (Alternate title: CAN'T WE BE CLASSY JUST ONE FREAKING TIME?!)

Here is the scenario: A gorgeous mother of four darling children is celebrating her thirty-fourth birthday.  Dad is a skilled short-order cook, but is currently unable to commit to the preparation and presentation of a proper birthday meal. The decision is made to dine at a restaurant to commemorate this historic event.  It will happen something like this.

1. Mom will have a hella hard week.  Probably she is exhausted because it's the second official week of summer and her kids are driving her absolutely bananas with their excitement, constant flutter of Summer Bucket List activity, and general non-stop bickering. She will be asked where she wants to eat eleventy billion times by a well-meaning husband, and finally realize that all she really wants is for someone else to make a decision and take the initiative so she doesn't have to.  This lasts until she disagrees with the decisions and initiatives taken, and realizes that all along she really, really, really wanted to eat at her (formerly unbeknownst) favorite Italian place in the whole entire world.

Interior of the actual restaurant, courtesy of
the Internets.
2. All day Mom will look forward to a nice dinner out.  She will be singing the Happy Dinner Out song that goes something like this: *insert joyful dance* Don't have to cook toniiiiiiight! *twirl* Don't have to clean uuuuuuuppppp! *leap* Someone else has to refill ALL THE DRINKS! *jazz hands*

3. Mom knows that this restaurant is very popular, and does not want to wait 45 minutes for a table with four children. She has several minor anxiety attacks about getting there at the exact right moment to avoid any kind of wait.  In the parking lot she will sprint from the car (leaving hubby behind to get the kids inside alone)(because it's her birthday and she's allowed to) only to wind up behind another party of six who got the last indoor table available for at least twenty minutes. No biggie; sure, they can totally eat outside. (Total disclosure: maybe Mom accepts this change of plans with a touch of passive aggressive disappointment showing on her face.)(Because apparently the hostess has a magic power that will spontaneously open up a full restaurant if Mom looks a little upset with the seating arrangement.)

4.  Outside the seating is fully shaded, but two round tables have been shoved "together" to make a table of six.  This is awkward, but the five year old will both distract Mom from her disappointment at the seating and announce the families' presence to all the other patrons with her observation of the statuary.  "MAMA!  WHY IS THAT STATUE NAKED? I CAN SEE IT'S TUSH!"

5. Once settled, the two year old will take one look at those reading the menu and declare "chicken" four thousand times in a row.  Mom doesn't mind the first two thousand, because with his speech problems, the word chicken is the result of $10,000 worth of therapy months of hard work. Once the two year old is assured that Mom and Dad and his three sisters and everyone in a twenty foot radius fully understands that he wants CHICKEN, he will move on with his next request: APPLESAUCE.

6.  Everyone will choose salad as their starter (because it is hot and you are eating outside and soup just won't do today) and four out of five will choose the House Ranch which is apparently like the nectar of the gods.  The kiddos will think nothing of dipping their fingers in the dressing and licking it off because why chance that some of that salad dressing might be tainted by the taste of lettuce?

7. While waiting for the main course a musician will begin setting up shop five feet from the table.  The children will all be fascinated, which is awesome, because the homemade bread is taking it's sweet time to journey from the kitchen to the bellies.  As the musician (a middle-aged man) is setting up a synthesizer, microphone, and a mandolin he will smile and wave at the kiddos repeatedly, leaving them delighted and Mom wondering if he ever babysits on the side.  And also if that's a creepy and dangerous thing to consider.

The five year old cannot wait for the music to begin, and spends time wondering what songs this man might deliver.  Will it be *she starts singing*

Here we go back, this is the moment
Tonight is the night, we’ll fight 'til it’s over
So we put our hands up like the ceiling can’t hold us
Like the ceiling can’t hold us 

"Because that is totally mom's jam!" While hubby gives Mom the stank eye for exposing the children to great music, Mom argues in song,

Raise those hands, this is our my party
We came here to live life like nobody was watching.

8. It's a good thing nobody is watching because if they were they would see bizniss get real when the food is delivered.  Hubby will regale the kids with his reenactment of the mouse chef from Ratatouille as he tastes his dish. The two year old will freak the heck out every.single.time. a breeze blows and the sunshade billows toward the table at which he is sitting.  He is probably convinced the wall is moving and is going to kill his Mama.  The eight year old food allergy kid will unwrap her foil covered hot dog and everyone will giggle when they see she wrapped it tighter than Fort Knox because apparently everyone at a classy Italian joint is going to be tempted to steal a Hebrew National fresh from the microwave and she is just protecting her property

9. The real magic will happen when all the girlies have to use the facilities.  One might think they have experienced all the trauma that can occur with taking little ones to a public restroom, and have taken precautions with the following rules:

     1. Do not talk about Mom's underpants.
     2. Do not ask if Mom is "doing a 1 or a 2".
     3. Do not comment on the sounds or smells coming from other stalls.
     4. Do not peak under the stall to "visit" our neighbor.

But having those rules in place will do nothing to prepare one for a comment from the child squished in a tiny stall with Mom who might have just discovered a new way to describe certain parental southern landscaping. 

Oh, and Happy Birthday. 

Monday, June 24, 2013

Case of the Mondays: Livin' on a PRAAAAAYER

Because I'm such a super hardcore athlete (remember when I won the X-Games?) my weekends are frequently filled with trail rides, extreme suburban runs, lifting, and swim practices where I pretend sharks are chasing me.  So it should come to no surprise that this happened ...

... while I was trying on clothes at Kohls.

Today is truly a Monday.  In every sense of the word.  I plan to survive it by incorporating as many dance breaks as possible.  Like this sweet couple here.

Happy Monday er'body.

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Wednesday, June 19, 2013

Stanfield and Gerrard in 2016 and Celebrating a National Holiday

Firstly, welcome all you beautiful new faces! I'd like to thank the Academy, namely Holly and Jake, for the prestigious award for my Letter to My 21 Year Old Self contributed to their link up.  It has been cuh-razy cool to see so many new readers.  Two days after Holly mentioned the winners in her blog and my blog traffic is still way up.  After seeing that kind of action I want to officially register my nomination: Stanfield and Gerrard in 2016.

(I went back and forth about this and feel good about my decision to list Jake as VP.  This was mostly because I'm pretty sure the first thing Jake would do in office is star in his own reality tv show - a snarky Big Brother-like (no, the other Big Brother) take over of Cabinet Meetings, where major governmental decisions are decided by Minute-to-Win-It style gaming - because who *wouldn't* do that? - whereas Holly would be using her superpower nice girl skills to usher in world peace except for the nasty ladies at Blissdom, they aren't invited to world peace   unless they apologized and then I'm sure Holly would forgive them and even buy them a Miller Lite because that's how nice girls role.)

In other national news, thirty-four years ago today, a baby girl was born. She weighed 7#11 oz, which would foretell of her love for 24 hour access to snack food.  Her mother would want to name her Jayma Pauline (not only a feminization of both the first names of the grandfathers, but also a step closer to a future residing in a trailer park) but in a rare exhibition of rationality her father would declare her name to be Kelly Suzanne.

Yep.  I'm 34 years old today.  Because of that I'm phoning it in today.  I'm sleeping in a little later, staying in my jammies a little longer, and maybe, just maybe, I'll "White Trash Wednesday"-it up and return the pop bottles, using the deposit money for a People magazine and an Iced Capp*. Don't get too jealous, y'all.

(*this just became the most midwestern blog ever.  For all you outside of Michigan, soda is really called pop.  When people in Michigan return their pop cans to the store they receive ten cents a piece for them.  It is a sticky and disgusting job, and I usually put it off until I have at least three garbage bags worth to return. So today should be fun.)

I also fully plan on my food diary looking something like this:

Because ... cake.

If you haven't gotten me a gift yet, it's totally not too late to follow me on Bloglovin or Facebook.  You could also follow me via Google Friend Connect, but that is going away in a couple weeks, so let's make you and me a permanent thing right now.

Follow me on Facebook here.

Follow me on Bloglovin by clicking this fancy button:

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Thanks, y'all; you shouldn't have! (But I totally love it, so thanks so much!)

Monday, June 17, 2013

A Case of the Mondays: I love it when you call me Big Poppa

Eve, Hosanna, and Brian (2006)

Happy Father's Day to the Best Father I could dream for my kids. *Kanye takes over my blog* "Yo Kelly, I’m really happy for you…Imma let you finish. But Kim has one of the best baby daddies of all time! One of the best baby daddies of ALL TIME!"

We had a great day yesterday, and it couldn't have ended any better than me overhearing this conversation between Brian and the oldest of the three girls he has given me.

Eve to Brian: Hey Papa, in about two years I'll be able to have babies! *Proceeds to tell him about menstruation*

Happy Father's Day, honey.

Friday, June 14, 2013

Dear Kelly Sue

Today I am linking up with Jake and Holly to share my letter to my 21-year old self. When I was 21, I was still in college, working towards a degree in music education.  I was getting married, and then trying to start a family.  It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity ... who knew a Tale of Two Cities was all about my twenty first year? Chuck D., that's who.

Dear Kel,

It's totally like this.  It's like you all
get hit by chicken.  Literally.  In the
1. You are going to spend every Friday this year with your future mother-in-law learning to cook. This will be an amazing experience that begins a lifelong friendship.  You will also gain some much needed culinary skills and even condescend to touching raw meat without rubber gloves once. These edible masterpieces will be fed to your fiancee and two of his buddies.  However, the day that you run into one of the few grocery stores in the downtown area of Detroit and can not believe your luck at finding ten pounds of chicken for two dollars - walk the heck away.  Do not pass go.  Do not collect two hundred dollars (even though it could buy one thousand pounds of that chicken).  That chicken will be consumed and the experience will still be talked about about twelve years later. Totally not worth it, dude.

(Actually, though, it's a hilarious story, and one of my favorite cooking anecdotes.  So go ahead and buy the chicken, just feed it to Brian and the rest of the guys.  David ends up marrying Lauren, and she will become your bestie, so he has to forgive you.  Shaun marries Rachel (not Sister Wife Rachel, but Rachel that Looks Like Meg Ryan) and you will help organize their house, so whatever hard feelings will pass.)

2.  You want to get in shape for your wedding.  I get it.  But that water aerobics class you registered for is for senior citizens.  Don't keep showing up because you don't want to admit you obviously didn't read the course catalog thoroughly like the instructor initially hinted.  Let it go, and instead, maybe think about giving up Taco Bell.  Just a thought. 

3.  This link will change your life.  Within two weeks of this discovery you will consume approximately 20 pounds of watermelon. You're welcome.

4. The internet does not go away.  Right now you are a little pissed that certain professors insist on emailing assignments because that means you had to actually obtain an email address and check it everyday.  But pretty soon everyone will have email on the phones that they carry in their pockets all the time.  (Remember when Eboni got a cell phone and you thought it was awesome to be able to call someone from the middle of Wayne State's bookstore but when she let you use it she had to keep telling you to quit yelling? That will never go away. Mostly because you are a loud person.) 

5.  It's not too late to try and meet Jack White.  (Although, because of your lackluster internet skills, it may be a bit of a challenge still.) Do your best, because he lives right by you and in a few years he is going to blow the heck up.  Figuratively, I mean.  Try to get in now and maybe you can take Meg's place in the White Stripes. Or be a roadie* for them.  Whatever.

* I still think, in a parallel universe, you would be a really good roadie.  You are super organized, and like putting everything back in it's place.  You also like walkie-talkies, so, win-win. 

6.  You are going to spend a lot of this year stressing about babies.  You will gain 50 pounds on fertility drugs and become really discouraged because you are working out at the YMCA an hour and a half every morning.  Keep doing this because without that treadmill time you might gain 75.  And when that elderly man on oxygen walks 5 mph on the treadmill next to your 3.5 mph, chin up, Buttercup, them's the shakes.  I don't even know what that means, but since we share a brain, I trust that you get it.  Eventually there will be babies.  Four of them, so far.

(Also, quit thinking you're busy.  You're not.  Not even close.  Yeah, it's tough to go to school full time and have a job; and it's also hard to run your own house for the first time, but you know how you think it's insanely excessive that you have to sweep the kitchen like, twice a week?  As soon as those little darlings show up you'll be sweeping after every meal. Usually more than that.  And don't even get me started on playdoh.)(Also, Moon Sand is the devil. Just file that away for later.)

7.  You are not going to get cast on the Real World.  The open audition is promising, especially when you leave the line and pretend to be a journalist, walking up to interview others who just want their chance to get drunk on tv become MTV Famous in a time when not that many people were.  Those you interview will think you are an undercover producer and you will do nothing to discourage these thoughts.  But you will blow your cover when the local radio DJ calls you aside for some on-air time and you flip the heck out and lose all your cool points with a wussy "WOOOOOO!" (You will never learn to "WOOOO!" but you will learn to convincingly fake it.)

I think I've covered all the important points.  Keep on, Sister.

33 year old Kelly

Wednesday, June 12, 2013

This book may scream "Soccer Mom" but it reads "ROCK STAR PRINCESS"

One of my biggest secret fears is that one day I will be at the gym, doing cardio and listening to my iPod, when a stranger will come up to me mid-workout, pull my sweaty ear buds from my ears, and before I can scream, "NOOOOO!" will stick them in their own ears in order to hear what I am jamming to.  And I will be outed for all the bad music I thoroughly enjoy.

This fear is so ingrained that if a person meanders too closely to my machine I actually reach up and shut down my iPod if the song is embarrassing enough. (I would just skip it but chances are I'm really excited that Julianne Hough is finally singing the medley Sister Christian/Just Like Paradise/Nothin' But a Good Time (from the hit musical Rock of Ages starring Tom Cruise) because I keep my music on random and it's not every day that you get great hits like that.)(Keeping it on shuffle allows me to pretend God is a DJ because I don't keep God in a box, y'all.)

On the outside, while I'm all,

Scorching reservoir?!?! I die.
in the private world kept safe by my ear buds there is a slight chance* I am rocking out to Bad English singing When I See You Smile.  (*there is a 100% chance.  It is totally happening.) (That's how I can face the world.) (Oo-oh)

Sometimes I wanna give up, I wanna give in,
I wanna quit the fight; but then I see you Baby
And everything's alright.
Everything's alright.

Or conversely, I'm being white girl ghetto with Cypress Hill and I Ain't Goin' Out Like That.

"Let's kick it ese
Commin' out tha slums, it's da hoodlums 
I'm pullin' my gat out on all you bums 
So bring it on when you wanna come fight this 
Outlaw, I'll kick ya like Billy Ray Cypress Hill"

My video face is much more angst-y,
Amy Lee.
Other times, while I'm looking 110% committed to my speedwork on the treadmill, I'm really on stage at American Idol tearing it up with my performance of either Evanescence's Call Me When You're Sober or Tracy Bonham's Mother Mother. Occasionally I catch myself looking too hardcore in the mirrors opposite my person, but honestly, it's hard to mask the legendary internal performances that are routinely taking place.  Because? I am that good.

If it's a premenstrual introspective day, I let Anna Nalick sing Breathe (but only until I get in my car and then I own that mess), or the Bangels sing Eternal Flame.  Debbie Gibson also takes a turn with Lost in Your Eyes.  O-Town's All or Nothing just kills me because those are some heartbroken boys who are only asking for some exclusivity in their relationships.  Is that *really* too much to ask?!

"Don't make me promises
Baby you never did know how to keep them well
I've had the rest of you, now I want the best of you,
it's time for show and tell"
Just look at those faces.  How could you, Baby?

I have gotten a bit caught up in the music and accidently air drummed to the following songs while on the treadmill, elliptical, or stationary bike:

Green Day - Longview (I got thrown out of a Green Day concert when I was fifteen.  No joke.  I found myself with my friend Matt standing outside Cobo Hall in Detroit wondering how we were going to get home because all of our friends - and rides home - were still inside the venue because they didn't try to run for the main floor/mosh pit from their balcony seats, get caught by security, and literally thrown out onto the streets.)(P.S. Mom, I will deny this ever happened if you try to talk to me about it.  I am still your favorite angel of a child.)

My Chemical Romance - Welcome to the Black Parade  (I had a four run streak where I pretended to be the drummer for My Chemical Romance the entire run.)

Rage Against the Machine - Killing in the Name (I won't do what you tell me.)

Needtobreathe - the live recording of Prisoner (Actually way more intense than the  studio version.)

Harvey Danger* - Flagpole Sitta (Lyric I loved until I found out they were being ironic hipsters back in 1997 and really making fun of me - "I wanna publish zines, and rage against machines, I wanna pierce my tongue it doesn't hurt it feels fine.")

<3  RIP
Nirvana - Smells Like Teen Spirit (How can you not air drum to this?)(Maybe you're just in a denial, a denial, a denial, a denial, a denial ... )

Beastie Boys - Sabotage (also I forgot where I was and did the dog bark out loud in Sure Shot while on the treadmill)(That's worth about 40,000 Awesome Points if you're keeping score.)

P.O.D. - Boom (here comes the boys from the south)(I saw P.O.D. play in a church gym circa '98-ish.)(A church gym, y'all.)

The Breeders - Cannonball (actually this was accidental air guitar)

*Do you remember Harvey Danger?  They were kinda a big deal in 1997.  And by "big deal" I mean they were on TRL once.  I totally met them in a very "Needtobreathe type moment" where I knocked on their tour bus door outside of St. Andrew's Hall in Detroit and they let me and my friend Megan come inside the bus and interview them for my zine.  Because it was 1998 and I had a zine.  Which was kind of like a blog.  That I typed on a typewriter and printed at Kinko's and distributed at actual record stores.  Because I was DIY and this was before computers were a thing.  Because I'm old.*

I have a ton of music I would like to write about, but I am listening to my iPod as I write this and House of Pain's Jump Around is now blasting in my ear.  I find that I have to sign off and go dance because that song is pretty much a command to move.

Thanks, Babe. It's not all fun and games being a blogger.

Happy Hump Day, y'all.

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Monday, June 10, 2013

Case of the Mondays: Fresh. Or not so much.

Esther, after using the latrines at the trail head before our hike. "They don't smell that bad, guys.  They kind of smell like Mama's deodorant."


Friday, June 7, 2013

Still not potty trained because we are focusing on other important things

The other day Ezra looked at me and said, "Mama, watch."  He reached up and took something out of his mouth and placed it in his pants pocket.  Because I am a good mother, I played along.  "What'cha got, Bud?" I asked as I peered down at his "hidden" prize.  He gleefully opened his pocket while simultaneously burping the loudest little two year old burp, effectively making it seem like it was his pants pocket that did the burping.

I think I teared up in pride.  I'm pretty sure he's gifted.

Wednesday, June 5, 2013

The Best Resource Since Web MD

Those who suffer from regular migraines know that they are much more than "really bad headaches" and have a management plan already in place.  They follow preventative measures, surely, but even those are not guaranteed to succeed.  Migraine sufferers can sense the early stages of the throbbing sensation and aim to curb it before it becomes debilitating.

For those that have had exactly three migraines in their entire life and have no set plan, I offer some suggestions for dealing with that pesky little headache that blurs your vision has you just wanting to die puke already.

The first thing you will want to do is deny you have a migraine. You will go about your regular day reasoning, Hey, you're a homeschooler, the children need their education.  Math will be especially awesome when you have to focus on converting millimeters to centimeters and cannot see the decimal point because it won't stand still.

Next, you will admit you have a bit of a headache and search for some Excedrin to take the edge off the pain.  You will also remember that dehydration causes slight headaches and you had a decent trail ride the evening prior; so you'll just down a few liters of agua and know you'll totally be fine.

After school is done - where you've done a stellar job and only had to take scissors away from the two year old one time and also maybe need to scrape twenty-two princess stickers off the kitchen table because Ezra was quiet during Eve's math lesson because he was busy redecorating - you will notice the children are a bit loud.  In fact, they are so loud that maybe they are causing the stress that is surely the cause of this tiny headache that is making you a bit dizzy.  The correct response to this diagnosis is that you need some "me" time.  The kiddos are happily playing Library (this is where they get out every book, cd, dvd, and stuffed animal they own and display them around the living room) so you head outside to mow the lawn.

The noise from the lawn mower is actually considerably less than the noise from your children and the mower totally isn't demanding mac and cheese for lunch again and so initially this is a good move on your part.  It's only about a minute in when the sun has intensified a thousand percent that you question the merit of this plan.  But by then you are committed.  Giving your two year old a mohawk was perfectly acceptable; giving the lawn a mohawk just confesses to the entire neighborhood that you are lackadaisical about your lawn maintenance.  In fact, the outside of your home reflects the state of the inside, so if you leave your lawn all willy-nilly, people will probably assume you are a hoarder.  Like a real life "A&E Hoarders" hoarder; one with dead squirrels buried in the mountains of decaying takeout cartons that fill your living room.  A tiny little headache is not going to let the neighbors think you harbor deceased vermin in your domicile.

Ten minutes into this chore, you will hate your neighbors.  Who are they, anyway, to assume you are a hoarder?  And seriously, while Don and Kelly to the left always edged their lawn, Eric and Stephanie to the right never did.  Which made it totally cool that you could slack in that department.  You loved Eric and Stephanie.  But then Eric had to go and get "seasonal allergies so bad he could no longer mow the lawn himself" and hire a service who consider edging the lawn something you do every time you stop by for a quick trim, which only highlights the fact that you do not edge your own lawn with nearly enough frequency for it to seem like you do it at all.  So now, here you are, mowing your lawn in a zigzag because you can't walk straight pissed off because the stakes have been raised because of pollen.  Forget you, Pollen.

Lunch time means you will figure maybe you are just hungry.  It's merely a hunger headache that is causing the lights to get so bright your eyes are reduced to slits even indoors.  The kids totally win and get mac-n-cheese because for the love of God why are they being so loud?!  You will have a Weight Watchers frozen meal and tell yourself it's healthy because it is calorie controlled and includes spinach.  Spinach is good for your eyes, right?  Or is that carrots?  Either way it's a vegetable, so, there's that.

After lunch you will cuddle some kids on the couch while your eight year old reads a storybook because there is no way you can handle that mess.  You will decide that scrunching your face up - eyes tightly shut, nose like a rabbit sniffing, and mouth puckered - is the best method of pain management currently available, and you will sit like that for the duration of story hour.

At nap time you will finally admit you have a migraine.  You will take a shower and pray to throw up, and after that, lie quietly on the couch until the kiddos come creeping out.  This is where your genius will truly reveal itself.

You will convince the five year old to play Sports Medicine.  She will be the trainer responsible for gently massaging every muscle in your body from the neck down.  The ten year old will be a Scalp Masseuse.  You won't even know if this is a thing, but if you say it with enough authority it totally becomes a thing.  She will gently rub your scalp as you stress the importance of whispering in the presence of a client.  How this morphs into a game of Examine the Pregnancy Stretch Marks and Assign Possession to Each Child, you have no idea.  But soon the five year old and ten year old are appraising both the color and depth of each mark and declaring whose era of pregnancy to which they belong.  As you lift your head in disbelief to witness this game, you engage your abdominal muscles, which raises your entire abdominal area because you are a hardcore athlete with only a smallish layer of chub resting on top of your rock hard abs, causing the five year old to shriek in delight, "It's like bread dough!  It's rising like bread dough!" and sink her hands lovingly into the flesh while kneading away.

As awesome as that is, you will sigh in relief when the neighborhood kids return home from school, and your brood bolts outside to play with them.  This signals not only the start of a quiet house but also that reinforcements, in the form of your spouse, are coming home to take over soon.

When the spouse comes home, retreat to your bedroom, draw the shades, get into bed, and dream about a McDonald's hot fudge sundae.

(Disclaimer: The information found on this site is provided as a resource for viewers and is NOT intended as medical recommendations or professional advice ... but I'm pretty sure a real life doctor would recommend the exact same thing.)

Monday, June 3, 2013

Case of the Mondays: Rudest Post Ever

If you are wondering about Friday's lack of post, it is for one simple reason.  I spent all day Friday thinking it was Saturday. Which made the discovery of the correct day both horrifying and awesome upon realization of all that I'd missed, and the knowledge that I had an extra full day of weekend ahead of me.

Friday seemed like Saturday because Brian took the day off work, so Thursday night I stayed up late.  On Friday we traveled caravan style with our babysitting-swapping neighbors down to Toledo to have some crazy adventures in a completely G-rated way.

Our first destination was the Imagination Station.  Imagination Station is a hands-on science museum we love for its giant play space for the under six years old crowd.  While the older kids are exploring the two floors of awesome exhibits and experiments, the younger ones are also busy for hours, playing grocery store, emergency room/maternity ward (while Stacy was literally nursing her real baby Anastasia, I pretend gave birth to an African American baby boy, and two Caucasian girls)(it was a busy day for me), firemen, house, or in the water works area.

The day was fun, but it became spectacular when we hit the Grossology exhibit on our way out.  We thought we would do a quick walk-thru, but when faced with a human skin climbing wall, a GI slide, and an opportunity to shoot "pollen" balls at a giant nose to make it sneeze, well, we had to spend more time than planned.

Ezra loved the sliding down an esophagus into a stomach and crawling through intestines. Hosanna enjoyed Gas Attack, a pinball game that teaches which foods cause the most gas in your body, using pigs and piles of poop.  Eve was really good at the life size game of Operation, and Esther loved pretending she was a meteorologist, but instead of pointing out severe weather on the green screen, she swatted at urine clouds.  Who says homeschooling raises weird kids?

I forgot my camera so I stole this picture
from the internets.  That kid is a complete
stranger, but the cylinder he is listening to
produces really deep and slow "vapors".
The highlight for me was the Toot Machine. The musician in me was challenged to make a variety of pitched flatulence sounds, while the prepubescent youth in me was tickled at the hilarity of farts.  I wrote a short symphony using only gas sounds (and, as all you scientists may already know, gas sounds are dependent on how fast the gas is released and also on how tight the sphincter muscles are clenched)(so if you are a "squeaker" you probably need to chill out a bit).

We continued our day out by eating at a local sports bar (Fricker's) and heading over to Fifth Third Field to watch the Toledo Mudhen's play some minor league baseball. It was an annual church outing for us; this year 140 of us went.  The game ended with some fireworks and only two of our children melted down on the ride home.  Success!

So in honor of my Imagination Station Gaseous Masterpiece, I'm leaving you with this video. I may or may not have giggled my way through hours of youtube too many minutes to count of fart videos because I use my time wisely.  Brian didn't scold me at all by saying, "Real mature Kel; are you going to do that all night?" while he was busy playing Internet Bingo. Um, Yes, Pot, I am.  Love, Kettle.

So 1.  I'm sorry.  This will probably only be funny if you are a preteen boy.  Which is totally my demographic.  and 2. If you are a preteen boy - You're welcome.

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