complete and utter disbelief

Chaos does not begin to describe this place. I am turning in a slow circle, my arms outstretched, and people are shouting at me and putting things into my hands. My head is spinning. My mouth is throbbing. There are shooting pains down my neck and back. I want nothing more than to crawl into a bed and cry, but here I stay, turning in circles and trying to communicate through a mouth that will not form the words I need to say. I can think clearly enough but I am slowed by the pain and hampered by the fog. I am shaking with anger. I want to stamp my foot and leave in a rage. I want to thrust my armload back into the smirking faces surrounding me. I want to poke every rolling eye with a sharp dirty stick. But I can't, because I am an example.

This is not even a dream. I can't simply wake up and shake it off. This is, believe it or not, a Girl Scout camping trip. I am not going on this trip, yet here I am, still trying to get the trip started in the right direction. I am surrounded by parents who want nothing more than to drop their daughters off and leave me with a teetering pile of fuzzy slippers, sleeping bags, eggs, milk and crafts so they can get back to their televisions, computers and cold drinks. I am standing in the school parking lot, stoned out of my mind on percocet still begging parents to volunteer to drive 18 girls and assorted supplies 30 minutes down the road so I can go home and rest. I mean, I only have 17 stitches in my head. Who the hell do I think I am, trying to drop off my own child and go home?

I have parents who want to help, but can't because they are actually on their way to work. Then I have the 15 other parents - the ones who make their daughters call me to ask when the meetings are EVERY WEEK. The ones who don't answer the phone and don't check their emails so their daughters show up without presents at the "exchange-a-gift" meeting. (How cool is that? To be the only girl not going home with a present?) The ones who send their daughters to ask me (ME!! I'm not even GOING!) to change their seats because their kids only want to ride in the car with certain people. The ones who stand there with their arms crossed, glaring at me because the pickup time has been changed, due to a chaperon needing to leave early. The ones who make me feel like a bad person because I have no clue what's going on right now. This trip has been a planning nightmare and no one wanted to step up and help me do anything for their daughters. Yet they seem to think they have reason to be mad at me.

And now one hour and 17 minutes after the troop left, I have one mother calling to tell me that she wasn't sure when the trip was supposed to be. And that I need to tell her how to get there. As if this whole trip was news this week and it's my fault she never had a chance to put it on her calendar.

As the sun sets, I honestly hope they have arrived on board. Our troop is the first one in the council to participate in this activity. This trip is supposed to be sooooo cool. I am so depressed that I can't be there. Our troop is staying on board a Liberty Ship from the WWII era, the SS John Brown. They are preparing all their own meals in the galley and sleeping 5 to a bunk belowdecks. They'll learn about compasses and navigaton and different knots and their uses. I have all the plans laid out; what badges they are earning, and some weather stuff to boot. I can't go because of these stupid teeth o'mine. *sigh* As much trouble as it is to plan this stuff, I really could care less about the parents now, because I'm not in this for the parents. They all suck anyway or they would be leading the troop. I hope the girls tell me tales about their night on the ship and beg me to plan it again next year. I will, of course.

I just wish I could do it all without the parents.

break out the bats

Not that anyone needs a reminder that spring is around the corner, but I'm dishing one out anyway. We've had a really mild winter this year. The first snow of the season didn't appear until we were expecting Punxatawney Phil, and that was just a dusting. Even my midwestern bred snow-nose let me down. We didn't get the major snow storm, closing schools for 3-5 days the last week in February that I predicted. Well, we got an ice storm the week before that, but that just wasn't the same. Now we've set our clocks back, laid in bed listening to the mad chirping of twitterpated birds, cleaned off and fired up the grill and played outside 'til our cheeks turned red. Oh, and in our family, certain of us began to sneeze and wheeze uncontrollably. Spring is definitely here.

An All-American family we are, with bats, balls and gloves in all sizes. Even Princess has a wee little pink glove and a teeball bat. On this gorgeous Saturday afternoon, we loaded up the bat-bag, piled the kids and their Gap sweaters into the Family-mobile and headed to the elementary school for some much needed spring training. Hercules and Princess played happily on the school equipment while Bear and the Schmoo practiced various stages of throwing, catching and batting. After a few rusty pitches and swings all around, we finally got into a good rhythm and we were having fun. Which was the point, right?

Out of nowhere, Fergus decided he needs to run home. Now. There are no public bathrooms on the school playground. So with one eye on the wee ones and one eye on the ball, we keep playing until the return of the dad. We play. And play some more. And lots more after that. Kids are beginning to whine about things like drinks and home. It's my turn at bat again. A crunching sound and large movement catch my attention in the direction of the parking lot. I missed my pitch, but it's a minivan-HUZZAH! I turn back to face the Bear, who's waiting for Schmoo to throw the ball back. I glance over my shoulder at our would-be catcher, just in time to realize that the ball is already in motion.

The thunk wasn't as loud as I expected, but pain, oohhhhh, the pain. I am flat on my back screaming to the kids to tell daddy to bring a plastic trash bag and fill it with snow to make me an ice pack, while rolling the metal bat towards me with my foot in the hopes that it is cold from laying on the ground. Only to find out there is no snow left in the schoolyard. Well, there is in my yard!!! Fergus limps me into the car and hands me an ice-cold can of green tea from the trunk. Oh, how goood that feels on the swelling, throbbing lump that is now my eye! The Bear called shotgun, the Littles all piled into the back seat and I stretched across the middle, reassuring my little Johnny Bench that I wasn't mad at him. I told them that I was glad I was the first to get beaned in the eye so that they could see that it hurt, yes, but it was no big deal and it would heal, and hopefully they won't be turned off the sport out of fear.

It didn't look too bad the first day or so, but then the bright Mardi Gras colors came out to play. The swooshing greens and purples colored my eye and cheek so nicely, I thought I'd paint the other side to make it look like a butterfly. I got so many looks; Fergus got so many more!! I had people telling me they could direct me to the battered women's shelters, I was given tips online about domestic violence hotlines, but the ones that got under my skin the most were the ones who shook their heads and "tsk-ed" at me. If one were polite enough to ask why I'm proudly sporting my very first shiner, one would know that it doesn't require a "tsk."

Now we just hope the bruise fades completely before I have my wisdom teeth out in two weeks.....the surgeon predicts severe bruising for those with fair skin....like mine....

concussion watch

please excuse my spelling and grammar. i'm typing one-handed and i realy don't care to go back & proof. you'll see why.

spring is in the air! we bundled up into sweayers, packed the kids into the car and headed to the school for some much-needed run-around-in-the-fresh-air time. the 2 liltles played on the playgrond while the 2 bigs plyed baseball with dh & i. customary to our fly-by-the-seat behavior, about 30 minutes into the fun Tad had to go take a dump. i asked him to bring back snack & drinks. one of the littles took a turn, and a couple more at-bats for the three of us, and i was thinking, "c'mon, man. hurry it up. we're getting a little thristy here." seconds after speaking that thought, i raised my bat, ready for the picth. out of the coerner of mueye, dh comes pulling into the parking lot. i glanced back at my 7 YO Schmoo, just intime for the world to go black. he got me right in the eye.

since we were not alone in tha p;ayfround, i bit back my swearoing and managed to gulp, "dadyy just got here, tell him to put some snow in a plastic trash bag from the car and bring it here." it seemed like forever! meanwhile i rolled one of the metal bats towards me, hoping it was cold to put on my eye. when he finally reached me, dh reported thte there wasno snow available. i remembereda pack of canned green tea in the trunk and we hobbled me to the van, and i put the wonderful ice-cold tea on my head. o bliss!!! my Bear gathered up bats & balls. Schmoo gathered up mitts and siblings (as bset he could) and they were all really quiet on the short 2 minute ride home from the school. i told them all that i was glad i was the first person in the fam to get beaned in the eye. thay way they could see that it would hurt and look ugly for a while, byt it was OK and they would't be afraid tp lay again. my Lartian was scared that i was going to die. sweet baby!

when we arrived home, i discovered what took Tad so lonog to get back to the school (and was really glad he got back when he did.) he tripped going up the stps to our house and pulled something major in his back. he can hardlt walk. he is currently soaking in the tub while i try really hard not to fall asleep. what the hell?? i can never out-do him! it is going to take my actual death to get a minute to lie down to myslef! so iguess we're ordering out tonight, or should the Bear get her first lesson in cooking....we reallt can't afford to eat out again thi week. we're on astrict budget b/c we have a big vacation the the ILs coming up. ahhhh! i must be really wicked cuz dammit, i really need some rest!

Queen's English II

Everyone knows you need a passport and special documents and airport tax fees when you visit merry “oulde” England, but how about an English dictionary? Most of the differences in our two versions of English (basic American and the Queen’s) are minor, but some of them are so dramatic, hilarious and even hostile, I had to document them, for humour’s sake. That’s the British spelling, by the way. Besides the dreamy accent in Hollywood, most differences wouldn’t even be noticed until you actually set foot on the white cliffs of Dover, or the nearest Tesco. All of the examples I set out here have actually happened to me, or have happened to a fellow ex-pat in my presence, so I will not hear of any cries of “Foul! That’s only an urban legend!” I give you: An Introduction to the Queen’s English, part II, Food.

We learned a lot in our first 24 hours in England. Exhausted from jet-lag and the general stress of not only moving, but moving over a giant body of water away from everything we knew had taken its toll on me and all I wanted was a bed. Once loaded into the hotel, we were informed that our breakfast and dinners would be provided in the dining room daily. Breakfast was served from 7:00 until 9:00 am and dinner was served 12 hours later. Oh, and tea was available at 4:00. Excuse me? Dinner at 7 pm? That’s when we are putting on pajamas and tucking our 16 month-old daughter into bed. We usually eat at five, on the nose. Needless to say, we accidentally fell asleep too early that night and missed dinner altogether. Bria woke at 11:00 pm (right at dinner time in America) and started fussing for some food. I walked down to the bar, which had not closed yet, and asked Les if he could make a sandwich. He was astounded that I asked for ham and cheese…on the same sandwich. I was astounded when he brought out a sandwich the size of Liechtenstein, complete with 6 layers of ham and…..shredded cheese. It was a tasty, if difficult sandwich to eat. There was cheese all over the floor of the room, and we both fell back to sleep before we finished it.

Some of the common things we found in stores and restaurants threw us for a loop. Baked beans (cold, right out of the can) on toast and broiled whole tomatoes for breakfast. “Bubble and squeak” is actually a breakfast dish with leftover boiled cabbage fried with mashed potatoes. We never did find a restaurant that could scramble eggs, including the ones that stated “eggs, any way you like them” on the menu. We taught the chef at the hotel we stayed in for two months how to make American- style pancakes by buying a box of Aunt Jemima at the commissary and bringing it back. They were still extremely thin and tasted suspiciously like French crépes.

Pizza can come with toppings such as tuna and sweet corn or prawns. There is a frozen variety called Heinz Baked Bean pizza; that’s right – baked beans and cheese. “Mr. Brain’s Pork Faggots” and “Monkey Nuts” are some kind of potato chip-like snack. “Tidgy Puds” are like tater tots. We learned of a new kind of sandwich. The British can’t understand “the American love affair” with peanut butter, so you very rarely see a PBJ in the classroom, but we fell in love with their cream cheese and jam sandwich. (It tastes better with jam or preserves, not jelly.) Wagons go from village-to-village on designated nights (ours were Wed & Thurs) selling hot, fresh fish & chips and German food like schnitzel and brats. That was cool, but the fish were fried whole, eyes and all, and served wrapped in newspapers. “Steamed spotted dick” is a sponge cake with golden raisins and thick cream (like sweetened condensed milk), served hot. As a matter of fact, most desserts were available with hot cream available on the top if you wanted it. I tried it, then passed on the cream for the next three years. There was also a strange dessert, of which I can’t remember the name, but it was a meringue “nest” with fruit and cream on top. The nest had the consistency of Lucky Charms ™ marshmallows without sugar.

It was difficult to get used to shopping for some things. I carried a list of metric conversions and I had a Fahrenheit-Celsius chart on my oven. Canned corn and soups, breakfast cereals and breads can all be transferred to different brands and sizes, although there are a lot of brand names like Campbells and Kelloggs. That isn’t an issue. But then along comes the baking aisle. You’ll never find baking soda. It took me forever to realize that “Bicarbonate of Soda” was the same thing, since I’ve never sat down and read the ingredients list of common household baking goods. Birthday cake frosting is almost exclusively marzipan; a sweetened sheet of colored shortening that you unroll, cut and lay across the top of a cake. I stuck to making my own from butter and confectioner’s sugar (which is our powdered sugar). But just try to find chocolate chips.

I had a “discussion” in a fairly large Tesco one day. I was baking cookies and I needed 2 cups of chocolate chips. I finally found them, with the help of two employees. They were on the top shelf in a tiny little box. They had three 47-gram packages of mini milk chocolate chips, which was a little less than one cup. I inquired if they might have more in the back and the manager answered, “What? Three packages of chocolate chips isn’t enough? You grow everything big back there in Texas. What exactly are you making, anyway?” At this point, I’d taken a few snide comments about “you lot across the pond” and was really trying to be polite when I just snapped. “Well, I am planning on making more than one cookie. Back in Texas,” I held up a loaf of bread, “I can buy a package of chocolate chips this size, so yeah, I was looking for more than a cupful.” I put the chips back up on the highest shelf, went home and prepared a grocery list for the two-hour drive to the commissary the next day.

A few things that I truly miss about England are the produce, the fresh breads, and the cheeses. They import most of their produce (well, except the Queen’s Pink Lady apples at Sandringham…those are some gooooood apples!) and it is of the best quality I have ever tasted in my life. The breads, even in the supermarkets, were of higher quality than any of the stores here in the states. And they have a bigger variety of cheese than ANY store I have seen here, ever. DH used to love to take hot bread and a hunk of cheese and an apple for lunch. DD remembers that for lunch too, and I have to go to a specialty store to find their fave cheeses, although Babybels are getting easier to find and they’ll both take that as a substitute. I also miss the Thompson’s chocolatier. Those people be lovin’ some chocolates!

i love my kid.

well, i love all of them, but my oldest gets to stay up "late" and we hang out together. tonight's fun: we taped our mouths shut with scotch tape because we were bored.

i really should get a picture of this.

it started out the she put a piece over her upper lip and it looked really wierd, watching her talk and the tape wrinkled up when she said a "p" or "b" word. wicked. then i taped my whole mouth shut and the giggles ensued. have you ever tried to laugh with your mouth taped shut????

then, a naughty 4 year old gets out of bed and we can't stop laughing.....with our mouths taped shut!!

i swear, neither me nor my ten year old have been drinking....

did i miss it?

Wait a minute....wasn't this supposed to be getting easier??

I've been popping out babies for a while now, and I swear everyone was telling me it was "going to get easier" as the kids got older. So why the hell do I find myself needing to go to bed by 10:00 again? And why am I desperately resisting a nap in those calm quiet hours when I have no kids in the house? I am chasing my tail to try to keep up with all their homework. I have so many papers I need to sign for different teachers for different reasons every single night; after all the papers shuffled back and forth, my kids end up losing recess time anyway because I put the papers in the wrong folders and they weren't turned in on time.

From my perspective, things aren't getting easier. I no longer have to change diapers, but I have to wipe down public toilet seats and send everyone through a bio-chamber in restaurants. I don't have to nurse anyone, but I have to find meals that at least 2 people like to eat that can be made in bulk in less than an hour and easily frozen afterwards for quick dinners and Fergus' lunches. I don't have to physically dress my kids anymore, but they can't seem to get the clothes that extra 6-12 inches INTO the clothes basket. Nor can they turn them right-side out. At least when I was dressing them, their clothes were washed the right way out! No one is teething (except me - yay for wisdom teeth), but just try to pin Hercules down and brush his teeth at night. Go on. I double dog dare you right off the bat. And why, exactly, is it so hard to hang up the jacket that is thrown on the floor UNDERNEATH the jacket hooks? No, it did not fall. I watched you throw it there!

I find myself longing for the days of footie pajamas (boy were those easy to wash) and rocking chairs. At least I got to sit down on a regular basis back then! Well, now that I think about it, by the time Princess was born I was nursing her while alternately fixing dinner, changing diapers and vaccuuming. So I wasn't sitting down then, either.

I guess I'll keep running. At least it gives me an excuse to not join a gym. I'd rather run circles around my family, than run on a machine in a room full of other sweaty people. *yawn* It's almost my bedtime, so I guess I'll go get ready for tomorrow. But first, I think I'll go have a night-cap. Can't do that while preggo and/or nursing!