The other day, while looking for an old post, I stumbled across this one.

It seems a lifetime ago, where I spent my weekends drinking my life away with my in-laws and their friends, staying up until 4am playing Wii.

I guess it was 2 lifetimes ago...Sam and Charlie's.

This weekend, we came to the lake, went out to dinner, and, since we had a sitter, decided to continue the party by going to the pub.

The pub is a little bar on the corner, about a 1/4 mile from the cottage, and Karoyke Joe is there on Friday nights. I sing "The Devil Went Down to Georgia." Since I'd already had 3 or 4 beers by the time I got there, and I had missed Joe so, I drank one more Bud Light and decided it was time to resume my stand at the mike.

And sing I did. Here is the problem with me when I go up to sing that song. I get really nervous. So I drink as much as possible during the fiddle parts. I usually down almost an entire beer in the splan of what, 3 minutes?

Which does not usually bode well for the rest of the evening. There was more singing, and dancing, and lots and lots of laughter. We actually had a really good time.

We closed the place down. We got home. We got in the hot tub, I took care of Workaholic. (Let's just say he was in the bathroom, and didn't feel so hot. I didn't take care of him in any other way, you perves!) And then I went to bed.

And then I woke up. And I remembered why parents of young children don't do this. I had a headache (and we were all out of Excedrine!) and I was just. so. tired. All I did was laze around and taken care of Charlie until she was ready for another nap, at which point I took a nap.

The thing is, I am NOT a good singer. And that is why I generally only sing the one song, I am comfortable with it, and kind of kick ass at it. But other songs? Like Sweet Caroline? And maybe a Bon Jovi song? Not usually my cup o' tea. I have no idea how many other songs I sang. On Sunday, our friends came over and told me that they had decided while I was singing that I have "charisma." Oh boy.

Let's just say that it is a good thing no one was recording the singing at the Pub on Friday night. I will say that having "charisma" is really. hard. work. Especially if you have to down 10 Bud Lights to get it.

A Video is Better Than Nothing

Here is Sampson while trying to go to sleep, if you turn up your volume, you can hear his squeaky-purr and him licking his tail. Yes, he fits right into a house where the dog would rather dig for rocks in the lake than swim or retrieve, the dad sleeps on the floor of the bathroom (by choice) and the daughter will sleep until 3pm. Welcome home Sampson.

Yes...I am Old

***Warning…if you don’t like vulgarity or profane language and general ranting…then move on folks!***

Last Saturday, Workaholic and I decided to go to the Purdue/Michigan State men’s basketball game. Rephrase, I decided that Workaholic needed to go. Rephrase, Dr. Nadene decided that Workaholic needed to go. It had been more than 10 years since he attended a game in Mackey Arena, and this was a BIG game. ESPN College GameDay was there, Michigan State was ranked 17 in the nation. BIG GAME.

I won’t tell you the guilt I received after telling him that Dr. Nadene demanded his attendance. I will say that there was text after text of, “Can I stay home” and “I need to work in order to get paid.” I finally told him we’d get a sitter so he could work and I would go by myself. After that was sent, he came home.

There was also a mad rush to get said sitter. I called my go-to favorite, who was still sleeping. At noon. And her mom’s phone was dead. So I posted on facebook and sent texts galore trying to find someone. Then I got a returned phone call and WHEW! we got our sitter.

So we get to the game, after a delicious dinner of country fried steak and mashed potatoes and wonderfully bland gravy, and the place is a-rockin’. Music is playing, fans are randomly cheering and chanting, and the Paint Crew is excited and ready to rattle the Spartans. We get to our seats, and in front of us are sitting “The Newlyweds.”

I call them this because I am fairly certain that they just graduated in May, got married last summer, and this is their first basketball game NOT in the student section. The guy, who was sitting in front of me, was tall and wide. Not like, Big and Tall kind of tall and wide, but tall and wide enough to completely block my view of the court when he was standing. Which he did. Often. His new wife kept telling him to sit down, and he would say, and I quote, “I don’t have to sit down, I can stand the whole game if I want to.” Umm…yeah, maybe if you are in the student section. But not here in the alumni section where people are over the age of 30 and actually want to WATCH the game.

(Now, don’t get me wrong. I like to stand and jump up and down just as much if not more than the next person. But I do it at the appropriate time. Which is not at a free throw. Or just before a layup. And if I know that I am blocking the people behind me, I sit down after the excitement, rather than keep standing while the team is simply dribbling down the court and NO ONE else in the entire section is standing.)

Speaking of inappropriate blocking of people behind you, Mrs. Newlywed had a sign. It was this little State Farm sponsored sign that they had given out in the morning to wave during the Game Day show on ESPN. OK chica. You went to the show. Big deal…I have two kids and a real job and a house and live 2 ½ hours (for all intensive purposes) away. I did not go through what it took me to get to this game to SEE THE BACK OF YOUR FUCKING SIGN!!!

Speaking of seeing the backs of things, I saw entirely too much kissy-kissy smoochy-smoochy, butt-grabbing, inappropriate crotch touching during the game. Hey assholes…GO GET A FUCKING ROOM!! These two actually STOOD UP during the Kiss-Cam portion of the game and tried to get on the Jumbotron. Which I couldn’t see because lard ass was standing in front of me the whole time and was blocking not only the court, but also the Jumbotron. You know, that huge things that hangs from the ceiling? Yeah, couldn’t see it.

What made things worse was how crowded and packed in we were. You see, rarely does a game truly “sell-out”. All of the tickets might be sold, but there are always people who can’t make it to the game, even though they are holding tickets. This game? Was a true sell-out. (Minus the two tickets of my sister's...she couldn't go because her kids were sick.) So for the majority of the first half, not only was I staring at a big back and “State Farm”, I was also sitting sideways on the front half of my bleacher seat with my knees in Mr. Newlywed’s back. Could it have had to do with all the jumping up he did? No, surely not. Their butts fit comfortably on their bleachers, whereas somewhere down the line on ours, someone was getting more than their fair share.

All in all, the assholes only ruined the first half of the game for me. And yes, I did pretty much miss a few of the plays in the last couple of minutes, but at that point, everyone was jumping up and down. Workaholic missed the whole game because he switched places with me after I proclaimed (loudly) “I CAN’T EVEN SEE THE FUCKING JUMBOTRON!!” Good thing he doesn’t really care about sports.

Moral of the story? When you go to a game, especially one where people in the stands CARE about what is going on down on the court, be considerate. Understand who is around you and deal with the fact that you are no longer a college student. You are not the first class to ever graduate and have to come back, and trust us…the rest of us survived. And we have given way more money than you have. SO SIT YOUR ASS DOWN. Or at least go get a room.

Introducing...Sampson!!

Before Christmas, Sam was sitting at our bar in the kitchen and Workaholic asked her, "Hey Sam, what do you want for Christmas?" And she answered, clear as can be, "Puppy!" We just looked at each other.

As it turns out, all she wanted was the puppy coloring book.

But that two sentence conversation got the wheels turning.

And a couple of weeks later, after spending some time at his cousin's house, Workaholic says, "Maybe we should get a cat."

Oh. My. God. This is coming from the man who does not like cats. At all. He thinks all they do is attack you and pee in your house. And we are talking NOT in the litter box. He and his father have re-done many houses, and whenever there have been feline occupants, they claim that they can smell the cat pee in the carpet when they pull it up. So I sort of blew him off, this is just another one of his hair-brained ideas that he will forget about in a week.

Except he kept bringing it up. And he asked his cousin, who has a Bengel cat, where she got it. At that point, I said that if we get a cat, it will not be some exotic crossbreed, but it will be a RESCUE. You know, so one less cat will die. And then he started looking on petfinder.

Are you kidding me? He isn't forgetting! And he is talking about where to put a litter box, and will we take it to Michigan this summer???

Fast forward to 2 weeks ago. A nice woman from Last Chance Rescue came over and brought Sampson!! He is about 5 months old (apparently it isn't kitten season, so 8 week olds are a little hard to come by) and super playful. He has been in a foster home with a family that had at least one other cat and dog. He is fully vetted, litter-trained, and cute. AND, he comes when called. (Workaholic likes to say that we ordered a cat on the internet and had it delivered to the house.)

Our first night with him went very well. He didn't hide from Sam, or the Fonz, or Workaholic. He definitely wanted to be in the same room as us. When we turned off all the lights and went upstairs, he started to follow us, and then apparently changed his mind. A few minutes later, Workaholic saw him doing circles in the living room, meowing, like, "Hey! Where did everybody go?" One little whistle, he looked up, and sprinted up the stairs to join us.

Sam wouldn't go to bed, she kept saying, "Sampson, what're you doin'?" And, "Cat! Cat!!" Then she'd run up to him, stop and scrunch up her shoulders and giggle, and then run around in circles as he got the zoomies around our bedroom. Then it would be, "Where's the toy?" (Sampson's foster mom sent his favorite toy, along with a nice letter telling us about him.) Or, "Where'd he go?"

This cat has just fit right into our house, right into our lifestyle. And I don't think he has gone to the bathroom (other than the taco meat incident) anywhere except in or near his litterbox. I say near because I let it get pretty dirty and he went on the mat right outside it. He showed me!

To say that Samantha loves this cat is an understatement. The poor dear lets her carry him all over the house, all day. He occasionally gets a break from her by watching TV and batting at the moving people on the screen. He totally entertains himself, and sleeps in between Workaholic and me at night...that is, after I bring him in from Sam's room. She generally calls him CAT or KATKE, occasionally the word Sampson will come out of her mouth. Charlie and him get along really well too, he even lets her share *his* activity mat. (the one that was hers before he came along)

He tries so hard to snuggle up to Fonz, and I must say that Fonz is getting much better about tolerating him. He actually let Sampson rub his face with his back the other day without walking away in bitter disgust!

All in all, except for the litterbox situation, I have to say that it is nice having a kitten around. He is entertaining and I really enjoy being able to have him warm my lap when watching TV or working on the computer. I'd show a picture, but he won't stop moving enough for me to get a good one. That and the fact that he is black makes it impossible to see him when he is sleeping. I'll keep trying though.

Daddy's In Charge

There is one thing you have to understand about my job. I am an accountant, but not a CPA. So I have a week a month where I am busy closing out the previous month, and then one month of just hell. You are goinggoinggoing, non stop it seems. And when the year end deadline approaches, no one is ever done and you are just slamming to get everything accomplished.

My deadline was yesterday at 5pm.

When I got home around 8pm (because we blew the deadline by a few hours) I was tired, sick, and ready to crash. My sweet, sweet Workaholic made me dinner (Charlie was already in bed) and granted me permission to do what I really wanted...to go to bed.

So that is exactly what I did...I went upstairs, washed my face, brushed my teeth, took some NyQuil D (LOVE it!) and went to bed. A short while later, daddy had to bring Sam in to see that indeed, mommy was asleep. She whispered, "Nite mommy, I love you." Aww....

I am wondering if that was the last time he saw her for the evening.

You know that stereotype where the kids go wild when daddy is in charge? Yeah....

When I got up this morning, refreshed from my 11 hour sleep, this is what greeted me....

Living room? Trashed.

Kitchen? Trashed.

Basement? Trashed.

The living room was typical, toys EVERYWHERE, except perhaps for the contents of my purse were also on the floor. How did she get to my purse?

The kitchen...ah, the kitchen. The taco meat was still in the skillet on the stove. (Did I mention we got a cat? More on that later.) The garbage was pulled out of its cabinet and overflowing. The countertops were completely covered with dishes and paper towels and other various crap.

The basement had days worth of toys strewn everywhere, which really wasn't anything new, except the contents of the bar refrigerator had been emptied into Sam's shopping cart.

So I get up, and go down to the kitchen, and just sigh. It was at this point that Workaholic tells me, "Oh yeah, Sam's room smells like shit. The cat got locked in there and pooped (had diarrhea) under her dresser. She must've gotten into something."

First of all, the cat is a he. His name is Sampson. But that is another post. Second, I wonder what it was he got into? Perhaps that taco meat left out all night on the stove??

But the best part? All of this was done because Workaholic fell asleep on the couch. He let Sam nap until 8pm, and then just couldn't hang. So SHE stayed up until 1am, and he was randomly woken as she whacked him on the chest and giggled.

I gotta say...its all OK. They had a great night together, no real destruction was done, and he completely cleaned everything up in the morning.

Way to live up to the stereotype sweetheart. I guess they DO exist for a reason.

The Paier Saga

In our house, one of the most treasured items is a pacifier. Otherwise known as a paier (Pie-er).

Sam was addicted to her paier from the start...we couldn't leave the hospital because she was so upset about being in the carseat until we shoved a pacifier in her mouth, and voila! The girl was happy.

It was actually pretty easy to break Sam of her addiction before Charlie was born...out of sight, out of mind. One night, I forgot it downstairs and got Sam ready for bed and read her books. Then I laid her in the crib and told her I would be back with the pacifier in a minute. When she didn't cry, I didn't give it to her...and that was that.

But then Charlie came into the picture. It had only been a couple of months since we had hidden all of the paiers, and she fell off the bandwagon in a New York minute. It didn't take long for her to start stealing them from Charlie, and it wasn't long after that when she learned that stealing from Charlie is not a good idea.

But here is the thing. Charlie is not some pacifier-addicted infant. She likes (needs) them when she goes to sleep, and that is only because I forced it on her. Other than that, she really could care less. She sucks for a second, and then it falls out of her mouth into her waiting sister's grubby little hands.

So we try as much as possible to keep them out of Sam's sight. They are in Charlie's crib, but out of Sam's reach. (or so we thought) We take them when we go out, so Sam knows that the diaper bag is usually a treasure-trove of paiers, so I try to keep the diaper bag high on a counter. I know it has to be hard for her, and when she is tired it is the worst. And let's be honest, I am the most inconsistent mother in the world. When we are traveling or out somewhere, if she needs that damn pacifier to keep her from throwing a huge fit, then she'll get the damn pacifier. And then she usually goes to bed with it, and the next day is meltdown after meltdown. Workaholic, however, has much less tolerance for poor Sam's addiction.

Tonight, Sam found a pacifier somewhere in the house. I swear she hides them and pulls them out when she thinks no one is looking. She even tries to pretend like she is giving her baby the pacifier and then sneaks it into her mouth, watching us out of the corner of her eye. If she sees us see her with it, she whips it out and smiles really big. We are in trouble in 10 years.

So, I am working late in the basement office, and this is what I hear.

Workaholic: "Sam, what is that in your mouth?"
Sam: "Mhff"
Workaholic: "I can't understand you with that pacifier in your mouth."
Sam: (takes pacifier out) "Hi Daddy!"
Workaholic: "Let's go upstairs and read some books."
Sam: "NO!"
(sudden and loud crying of a heartbroken (or injured) toddler)

I then get a guest in my office.

me: "What's the matter Sam?"
Sam: "AAAHHHH!"
me: "Sam, stop crying. What's wrong?"
Sam: "What happened???" (imagine a dramatic teenager sobbing)
me: "I don't know, why don't you tell me why you are crying?"
Sam: (big fat tears are rolling now) "Paier!!!"
me: "What about the paier?"
Sam: "What happened to paier??!?" (I swear her voice even cracked)
me: "I think daddy took it. Babies need paiers, like Charlie. Little 2 year old girls don't need paiers."
Sam: "But WHY???!!!!?" (cue the soap opera audition)

And she then decided that she was getting nowhere with me and go to seek out Daddy, the Holder of the Paier. Attention span of a gnat, that one. No idea where she gets it.

Two

My Dear Sam,

It has been two whole years since I gave birth to you. I'm not going to lie, it doesn't seem like yesterday.But there are things that I won't ever forget.

I can clearly remember seeing that you were a girl (and announcing it to everyone in the room), and I can picture your daddy working on his cell phone while I was in labor (this would be AFTER my epidural, but before you were born.). I remember your grandmas coming into the room to meet you and crying, and watching as daddy called Papa O because he was in Florida and telling him you were a red-headed little girl. And I can still see your uncles standing over you in your car seat in the living room on your first day home. They just towered over you!

Your first night home was rough, but apparently you were just cold. And then daddy said that you were being "irrational" a few days later when you wouldn't stop screaming. We took lots of pictures, because that was all we could do. That, and laugh. You looked really cute when you screamed.

At 7 1/2 weeks, you started sleeping through the night, and haven't stopped since. Grandma didn't like that we put you in a straightjacket to sleep, but hey...it worked!

I took the first of what became many pictures of you with beer. Lately, your favorite thing has been to ask K what she is drinking. And you go through the list...Milk? Water? Juice? Beer?

Everyone fell in love with you. You charmed the pants off of anyone who looked into your big beautiful eyes, with your super long eyelashes. There was the night that you were "A baby, in a bar!" You entertained an entire table of adults by playing "Soo big!" with them for a half hour straight. We took the first of many boat rides, and you finally learned to let the boat rock you to sleep.

The first time we fed you baby food, for some reason I decided peas would be a good start. Daddy kept shoveling it in, and you were making these gagging noises, and gagging faces, and he kept shoveling it in and shoveling it in, and the next thing we knew, you projectile puked all over the place. We laughed some more.

For a while there, you sure liked to give people the bird. Not sure why, but it made us chuckle. You'd get this glint in your eyes, smile a crooked smile, and your timing was impeccable. And the first time we put you in a swimming pool, you loved it, but started crying as soon as I brought out the camera. Go figure.

You are such a good daughter, but you really do know what you want. You already want to pick out your clothes in the morning (always your "meow" shirt) and your pajamas at night. (MOUSE!) And you are smart too! One time, daddy decided not to keep a very close eye on you and you tumbled down the stairs. But you learned pretty quick not to go too near the top! We made you tough, and good thing too, as you wipe out and hit your head almost every day, to this day.

Your super intelligence is evident every. single day. The other day, daddy came out of the bathroom to tell me that you had tried to put in a tampon. He was able to show me exactly how it is done, at least the way I do it. You take such good care of your babies, rocking them, swaddling them, shush-patting them, feeding them, giving them a pacifier...just like how I do with Charlie. Whenever someone sneezes, you are quick to say "Bless you!" You love to "work" on one of our phones or laptops, and to see you wandering around the living room, baby in one hand, bottle in the other, and phone perched on your shoulder as you are jabbering away to whoever it is you talk to would make even the Grinch crack a smile.

Your love your little sister more than just about anything. It is scary how much she looks like you...the world had better watch out when the two of you are on the loose! You are so funny...you love to make us laugh. Even when you flat out fall down on your face because you tripped over your feet, you don't cry...you look to see if we are smiling. Your smile and your laugh are contagious, it is hard to be upset or sad when you are around. I wish I could better convey just how awesome you are...and how much your daddy and I love you. It has been the best two years of our lives since you were born.

I love you, little girl. Whole bunches and bunches and bunches. Happy Birthday!

It's a New Year?

I always have a little trouble converting to a new year. Sure, sure, I was there at midnight when we were all, "Happy New Year!" and kissed and shit. But it doesn't really mean much to me until I go to write a check and then I'm like, "Holy crap...where did 2010 go?!" This is the year I am NOT going to have a baby!

I'm also not really into resolutions. Mainly because I am not much of a goal person, I may make them, but don't usually achieve them. So what is the point of making them if you are just going to break them? Ann Curry on the Today Show though made what seemed like a really simple resolution...wake up every morning with a thought of thanks. Basically, be grateful for what ya got. It is now January 4th, and I have failed so far on this one. But I've decided to keep trying. And if I don't do it in the morning, maybe at night. When I'm a bit more coherant. Instead of thinking, "WHY??? WHY DO I HAVE TO GET OUT OF BED...EVER???"

I think resolutions can be a great idea...like my friend Pamela is doing a Couch to 5K thing. Which would be cool, except I hate running. Or exercising. And the only time I have to exercise (other than right at this moment) is when I would normally be sleeping. And that, my friends, just isn't going to happen. But it would be pretty cool for me to be able to say that I ran a 5K. My dad used to do them all the time, and I know at least one of my sisters has done them. But her thighs are smaller than mine.

Another resolution that I would make if I believed in them is to blog more. Especially about my kids. I'd like to try to make this place a diary of sorts for remembering stuff that I forget. Like right now, Sam has a three inch tall, plastic Elmo figurine, and she has wrapped a little piece of cloth around it, is holding it to her shoulder and going, "Shh, shh, shhhh"...she is putting Elmo to sleep. And then she ran out of the room, into Charlie's room, and back into our room screaming, "Mommy! Charlie awake!!" When I tell her to go tell daddy, she runs around to the other side of the bed and screams, "Daddy!! Charlie awake!!" And when he pretends to be asleep, she starts yelling his name instead of daddy. Which is just so. friggin'. cute. Another thing that is cute? Charlie is wearing an outfit right now that Sam was walking in. (3-6 month jeans and a Purdue T-shirt) Charlie is big for her age, and Sam is little.

So those are my resolutions. Consider the Couch to 5K program. Blog more. And be thankful. What are your resolutions?

A Trip to the Mall

I love three day weekends. They are awesome. The first two days of my weekend, I did approximately 65,000 loads of laundry, vacuumed my house, went to Target and ran a couple of other errands, and stayed up until midnight on New Years' Eve. Which shocked me that I made it that far. (I think a fantastic meal helped.) (Mom...I ate SPINACH! And LIKED it!)

Today, my girls decided that they were really tired and slept in. Like, Sam got up at 11:30...and only then because she heard me in the shower. After a while of wandering around the house and picking up after her, I decided that sucked and we should get out. Ever since I pulled her from daycare, I have mommy guilt for because she doesn't get to play with other kids very much. So I thought, "Hey, we could go to the mall! They have a play area there! And it's free!"

I should've known how this trip was going to go when I couldn't get Sam to put on her shoes or socks, or pants. (She has a thing against pants, it is a rare day that she has them on the whole time. Shoes and socks too, for that matter.) So that was tantrum #1. After being put on the step a couple of times for time out, she relented and got excited about seeing "the kids." Poor Charlie, meanwhile, was patient for a time in her car seat, but then she got a little annoyed and started yelling at me. So goes life. Fortunately, movement settles her, and she was fine once we headed to the car.

Life was uneventful during the car ride until I heard from the back seat, "Mom, Charlie fell." Umm....OK.


We made it to the mall and Sam decided that she wanted to sit in the back of the double stroller. Which would be fine except 1) Charlie is too little for the front, especially considering by this point she was asleep, and 2) I had NO intentions of waking her. So that was a good 5 minute tantrum (#2), which I am convinced ended only because she got cold.

Once in the mall, Sam was good...lots to see, lots to take in. We don't venture out like that too often, and she was happy just checking everyone out. (Of course mom can't just wander around the mall without buying anything, I found little Pillow Pets, and just had to buy one of each. I am hoping one can replace my little pillow, or serve as an appropriate substitute.) So I decide to attempt the play area.

I guess everyone else in the free world had the same idea that I did, because there were a TON of kids there. Not so many that Sam was being knocked down, but enough for her to stand back and think, "Wait a minute, I'm not so sure about all this." Somewhere along the way, she picked up my purse (another one of her fetishes) and began her rummaging process. It took about 3 seconds for her to find "medicine"...aka gum. When I told her that under no circumstances (my exact words) could she gave any of that delicious gum (hey, it was Trident layers, have you had the strawberry one?) tantrum #3 started. The security guard actually asked me if she had gotten hurt, and was glad that I was just denying her the yummy "medicine". Good thing she wasn't hurt, as I was just watching her flail and scream instead of trying to comfort her.

After that one ended, we headed towards the exit. I thought maybe I'd swing into Children's Place just for the heck of it. She was so cute, I tried to get video of her "shopping", my purse slung over her shoulder, browsing through the racks of clothes at her level. I wonder if she was really looking, or going through the motions as she sees me do? And if she really was looking, what would she do if she saw something she liked? Would that be tantrum #4?

As it turned out, tantrum #4 started when she got into my purse again and wanted gum. Again I said no, and she really put her heart into this one. I was THAT MOM with THAT KID who was screaming and trying to throw herself out of my arms as I pushed the stroller with one hand and tried not to drop her with the other. I would've put her back in the stroller, but before I could get her strapped in, she slid right out and down onto the floor. I know the passer-bys were impressed with her speed. And luckily for me, Charlie slept though the whole thing.

Yes, I realize that the whole incident could have been avoided had I just taken the damn gum out of my purse. Or not let her have the purse (wait, no, that would have just started the tantrum sooner). I managed to get her to calm down by implementing a little dog whisperer trick...make her walk. Force her to walk, and focus on holding my hand, holding the purse, and keep up. We made it home with little to no more incidents, save for another, "Mom, Charlie fell!" This has GOT to get easier.