Holy Shizzle - We Got A Hizzle!

Yes! It's true! But I'll get to that in a bit, I have other topics to discuss.

1) My Beebie had a great trip to Texas. I love that she hangs out with my dad and watches Hannah Montana all day. She's still at the age where she thinks it's fun to go to the grocery store. Then my parents flew back with her and stayed in St. Louis for a week. They got to see the house we were looking at, and they liked it too. Enough to help us afford it.

2) Beebie turned 10 last week. That means that I've been doing this Mom thing for a full decade. You'd think I'd have the hang of it by now, but I don't. I still feel clueless. It's all day-to-day.


This picture was taken in our old apartment. I used to bring her into the bathroom with me when I'd take a shower. It always put her to sleep. I remember taking this picture. It was the day I first started calling her Beebie. I was trying to capture on film the way she would raise one eyebrow whenever I'd say in my really silly voice, "Hi, Beebie! Hi, Beeb!" Needless to say, it stuck.

3) I have a date for the Stitch N' Pitch! Shannon! I'm looking forward to hanging out watching my favorite team play my favorite sport in one of the most beautiful ballparks in the country - while knitting. And drinking beer. I'm not going to take a project that I have to concentrate on or one that would be ruined if I spilled beer or nacho cheese on it. I'm thinking dishcloth cotton. I'm making myself some dishcloths for my new kitchen.

4) My stupid eyeball ulcer is STILL not gone. It's been bugging me since mid-June. Have I ever mentioned on here the extent to which eye-related shit freaks me out? I won't eat a grape or a cherry tomato because I can't stop thinking that's what it must feel like to bite into an eyeball. Ugh, I just hate being in the eye doctor's exam room with the cross-section of the eyeball on the wall - or worse, the model on the desk. GAG!!

Ok, so yeah, we bought us a house! And here's the part where I prove to the world that I can, contrary to the opinion of my husband, admit when I was wrong. We bought the house that R found when he upped the high-end price of our search parameters. The one that I liked sold. And I was sad, but it's really ok. This house is much nicer. It cost $10K more, but it's definitely $10K worth of nicer.

Beebie will have to change schools. This is fine with her. Her new school is one of the few in the area where I don't have someone I dread running into. We've got Stella Dallas, of course, (not to be confused with Anti-Stella, who rocks) at the school she went to from 2nd to 4th grade, and Dr. Eyeball (not to be confused with Dr. Creepy French Teacher who is currently treating my creepy eyeball in the absence of Dr. Hottie Smartass) from the school she went to before that.

There were some others I didn't want to run into either, but those are stories for another day. Just to whet your appetite - I didn't want to deal with Shatner, Junior Perv or Shut Up Angel. Somebody please remind me to tell those stories.

So I'm starting at this school with a clean slate. Right now I love everybody and everybody loves me. We'll see how long that lasts. I bet I'll piss somebody off within the first two weeks.

Beeb doesn't know anybody at the new school, but she will get to continue in the Gifted Program, where she will see some of the kids she knows from other schools. Beeb and I were thinking about how nice it would be if she had a good friend like Jack on her first day at a new school. And then of course we started bawling.

Pie will know a few kids from his preschool, including his cool friend Camille whose mom is great but super-duper intense. I can't remember if I've already assigned her a name yet or not. And I think Whiney Pete is going to be there too.

Oh, AND - NO MORE CHURCH NAZI!!!! We're moving out of the parish to a church which has the Cry Room our other church lacked! This great news is nearly outweighed, however, by the lack of Summer PSR (meaning that the kids will have to go one night a week for some Church Learnin' - whatever) AND the fact that we'll now live in the parish that both The Aldi's and Mrs. Aldi's freaky family attend. Maybe we'll start going again just so I can talk about Mrs. A and Aldigirl's horrific Garbage Blanche Haute Couture fashion blunders. That could be fun.

So we don't technically move until October, at which point I'll be able to officially tell Evilite Property Mismanagement to SUCK IT. I'm considering sending them a picture of my lily white ass along with my final rent payment, since I doubt we'll get much of our deposit back.

But more about the new house - it's less than 2 miles from where we live now, perfect! And it's got everything. Two-car garage, level fenced yard, big semi-finished basement (by that I mean linoleum on the floors and painted white walls), a large Master Suite with two walk-in closets and room for a Knitting Nook, a formal dining room, living room, fireplace, kids' bedrooms are large and UPSTAIRS - and they have their own bathroom as well as good-size closets, a patio with a gas grill, and a nice kitchen with custom cabinets AND.... A DISHWASHER!!!! No more Kitchen Sink Jenga!!

It's in a great neighborhood, on a cul-de-sac street. It's really just awesome and I love it. And FIL signed off on it, can ya believe? I guess I can kinda believe it, since it was really the high end of our price range. If he'd seen some of the houses we could actually have afforded, he'd have tried to talk me into moving outside the school district, which I was not willing to do, and we would have had Issues.

As it turns out, FIL really digs this house and has not only offered us a gas dryer but also offered to build shelves in the basement! He is a master carpenter, and these will certainly be top-quality shelves, but I have a little teeny concern that my house will soon become FIL's Ongoing Project. Like I'm gonna let him suck the joy out of our long-awaited homeownership.

Not a chance.


And THIS is just for you, Yorkie:

This is just hilarious to me.

Mingle² - Online Dating

I ganked it from a G-rated blogger.

Is it wrong for me to be a little bit proud?

Where Were YOU at 12:01???

(Muggles, look away. And I don't mean Muggles as in Non-Knitters.)

R and I took the boys to the Harry Potter Book release party at the Books-A-Million store at the Mills Mall. I'd never been to a book release or any kind of midnight release of anything before, and I can't remember the last time I was awake after midnight without it being related to my ongoing insomnia problem. I wasn't sure what kind of freakfest I was in for.

Keep in mind that I'm still kinda dipping my toe in the waters of Geekery... R's an avid reader of fantasy (which I now understand is GREATLY different from Sci-Fi... excuse me) including Stackpole and Salvatore (those are the names I can remember off the top of my head) and he's done some gaming, back in the day. I mean, come on, I did the Pirate Festival and Ren Faire, which I never would have done even just a few years ago. I'm slowly becoming the person I would have made fun of in high school, even though that person was probably only a half-rung below my own loser status.

We talked Pie into dressing up in the Harry Potter costume he wore to the Pevely Flea Market Halloween Party last year, and I kinda came up with a little something Tito could wear too, and off we went. We were immediately greeted at the store entrance by The Sorting Hat. I love the concept of The Sorting Hat. I wish there was a hat like that to help me make decisions. The Sorting Hat put us in Gryffindor House.

I was so impressed by the activities the store had planned and how well the entire operation was run. I thought we'd be bored from 9:00 when the party started to whenever we actually got our book, sometime after midnight. But they kept the kids separated by age (the age 16+ kids were Slytherin) and had managable, age-appropriate activities running the whole night.

They had photo ops, including a background with the sky and the Golden Snitch suspended from the ceiling. You could hop atop a broom and put on Quidditch goggles and pretend you were a Seeker. The broom itself wasn't exactly a Nimbus 2000, but you get the idea.





And they had Azkaban Prison, which I thought was very cleverly done. Doesn't Tito look pitiful?




And kids could get their faces painted by a guy wearing eye makeup. I kinda like when a guy can wear eye makeup and look good - think Johnny Depp, not Transie Day on WPN Wednesday. (Note to self: I need to get back into that.) But anyway, there was a dazzling selection of things you could get Sexy Eyeliner Guy to draw on you, not just a dipshit rainbow or a heart or a smiley face. This guy was an artist. Tito got a Snitch and Pie got a Broom.






They had trivia contests - which Beebie kicked ass at, over the phone from Nana and Pop Pop's - and a "Guess how many Bernie Botts Beans are in this jar" game. But the BEST part of all was the costumes. Sybil Trelauney had a teacup with The Grim drawn inside it, and Madame Hooche had a cool-looking broom.



And the Ministers of Magic Cornelius Fudge and Dolores Umbridge costumes were quite impressive. I was hoping there would be a Dolores.



I was SORELY disappointed that there wasn't a Professor Snape or a Sirius Black in attendance, but in retrospect, it was probably best for everyone that there wasn't, or I'd have made a spectacle of myself, for sure. I was content to swoon over a picture instead, thinking lewd thoughts such as "Oh, Professor... we mustn't...".



Aren't we a hot couple? Like Becks and Posh? Only I doubt Posh would be reading America's Cheapest Family. Can I audition for PennyPincher Posh?Oh, and P.S., The Posh Spice in America show is MAY-JUH. Totally my new favorite show.

Pie finished second overall to Sybil Trelauney, and for his prize, he got a hand-carved wooden wand crafted by the dude who came as Cornelius Fudge...



Which was really cool, but the BEST part was that he got to be SECOND in line, out of the hundreds of people in the store, to get his book! He was so proud!





We had the BEST time. It was totally worth it.

R's already on page 250.

Um, you're not reading my blog out loud to your kids or anything, are you?

Don't you love the ones where I apologize right off the bat?

I know that recently my posts have been a little, I dunno, DARK. I've been talking about deflowering minors and getting all leathered-up and freaky with Professor Snape. And I'd like to apologize to anyone I may have offended, shocked or grossed out. I'm sorry.

I hope you weren't looking forward to reading about my knitting adventures and therefore finding yourself Horrbily Disappointed to find I'd instead written about my wanting to commit statutory rape at Hogwarts and child abuse at Airport Security.

Although, if you do read my blog for the knitting content (and I honestly don't know why you would), I'm sure you've been disappointed even when I did write about knitting. My knitting disappoints me too, I assure you.

Come to think of it, when was the last time I wrote about knitting?

I've been on that yarn diet, remember? Oh wait, I wrote about being distracted by the knitted garments in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. I was more than distracted. It was like, oooh, that's SO cute! I wonder if those are bobbles or buttons? I wonder what kind of yarn that is - it looks like, wait, is that a tweed?

So I'll move on the disclaimer:

If the concept of oral sex - among two happily married people, and no pictures this time, I swear - is too much for you, then this probably isn't a post you're going to want to read, so just click on the X right now and I'll see you next time. No hard feelings.

Everyone who's still here just started reading a little faster.

Ok, I have to set it up a little bit. We spent Sunday evening looking at houses. I'm getting ridiculously sick of looking at houses. I'm so stressed out over it, I seriously feel like I'm going to puke at any given moment. The finanacing part is really freaking me out. The fact that R upped the price range in our search is upsetting me now, too. It was bad enough that he was looking at the other school districts, but I dealt with that and I laid the smack down and I think he knows that's a non-negotiable. I'm not sure he told his dad, though, which is fine, I'll tell him myself if it comes to that.

But R raised the high end of the price range in our search a little bit, and as a result we found this fantastic house that we both love but I doubt very much we can afford it. It's a great house, but I almost wish we had never seen it. And of course he told his dad about it and how fantastic it is when he called to invite him to come with us on Saturday to look at the house that I like the best. I wanted him to see it and either sign off on it or tell me why we shouldn't buy it so I can get it out of my head and make room for a new frontrunner.

So R and I spent several hours discussing financial matters, which is probably my least favorite thing in the world to talk about. Ugh. I'm starting to think we can't afford a house at all. My brain is about to explode. I hate this. So to lighten the mood, I put on the DVD I rented of Kathy Griffin - My Life On the D-List.

I love Kathy. And I'm not going to say I'm as funny as she is, but if she had three kids and learned to knit, she'd be me. She and I tell stories in much the same way, only hers are about Renee Zellweger and mine are about Ray Brafondler. Plus, her husband Matt is her R, and I think that's adorable.

Ok, so whenever I watch Kathy, I suddenly become Kathy, in my mind. (Like who didn't have a buddy who thought they were as funny as Chandler after every Friends episode?) I get snappier and more biting in my remarks and I feel like I could conquer the world.

Except now, I can't sleep. It's like midnight and I can't sleep. I've got a lot on my mind. I've got the house thing, the money thing, my parents are coming on Saturday and I've got to get the house cleaned up only I don't have Beeb to help me and R can't help either because he doesn't have his usual mid-week day off because for some inexplicable reason he's off on Saturday this week which is going to completely throw me off, I've got to remember to take my meds the week before my mom gets here or I'm gonna flip out, and I never did find out if Luna Lovegood's lovely blue capelet had buttons or bobbles. My brain is FRIED.

Oh, and we went to dinner at Red Robin, which is still kinda swirling around and making me feel nauseous too. It was good, I just hadn't had red meat in a while and it was just wreaking havoc on my digestive system.

So what do I do when I can't sleep? I keep other people awake with me because I want to talk about stuff. Like really weird stuff. So R and I talked about Pope Benedict and The One True Church (the rest of us are just wasting our time with church and youth group and mission trips because we're going to hell anyway), my RCIA experience, whether or not priests should be openly gay and the split it's causing in the Episcopal Church (the church I grew up in), and I love how he and I agree on the stuff that we don't even talk about.

So here's the part where the squeamish should look away. The conversation continued thusly:

ME: Dammit, R, I can't sleep. I hate it when I can't sleep. And I'm afraid to take an Ambien because I don't know what it's going to do to me. UGH! I'm so pissed!!

R: Well, you could give me some (insert cuckoo clock sound effect), that'll make you tired.

You have to appreciate how out of character it is for R to say something like that to me, even in jest. And yeah, I see the irony that I won't say the word, but believe it or not, I am kinda prudish. I'm a lady, and don't you forget it or I'll kick yer fuckin teeth in.

ME: No, honey, here's what'll happen - it'll make YOU tired. And I'll be up all night with a sore jaw.

Pause.

STILL ME, sitting up: Aiiiiiight, fine, let's go...

And, no shit, this is what R said -

R: Oh, I was just kidding...

I froze. And then I looked at him like he had just told me something completely unfathomable, like that he'd camped out for two days to score us front-row seats for the Clay Aiken concert. Shocked and horrified and in complete disbelief.
WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU? HAVE WE MET??

ME: WHAT???? Are you serious? Here I am ready and somewhat willing and you're KIDDING? (laughing) I can NOT even believe you just said that...

I'm thinking he started to see the error of his ways before I even got all the way through the wh of the word what.

R: Well, I didn't think you were serious, I thought YOU were kidding!!

Do I kid about shit like that? Uh, NO. Ok, sometimes I am kindof a dick tease, I guess, but I wasn't kidding this time.

ME: Oh my GOD!!! You don't even deserve it now!

R: Ok! Sorry! Fine! Yes! Please!

ME, seductively moving into position, maintaining eye contact, biting my bottom lip and using the sexiest voice I can muster: You know I'm gonna blog about this, right?

R: I thought your blog was (gasp) supposed to be about (soft moan) knitting and kids and stuff.

ME: Well, the other day I wrote about wanting to take Daniel Radcliffe's virginity and also implied that I wanted to get freaky with Severus Snape and I posted that pic of me in the Dominatrix outfit.

R: With the fishnets?

ME: Yeah.

R: Sweeeeeet.

Decorum prevents me from continuing the story.
See, bitches, I told y'all I was a lady.

Must...Not...Kill...Child...

Ok, you know how you love your children,

BUT...?

That's where I'm at right now. I've calmed down a bit, but it's still pretty fresh in my mind.

Let's go back to yesterday. Well, really, back a little farther. I am constantly having to remind Beebie to put her dirty clothes down the laundry chute. CONSTANTLY. I probably tell her at least once a day, and she rolls her eyes and acts all put out by the fact that I'm trying to make sure the child has clean clothes to wear. Yes, I'm such a bitch.

Her bedroom is directly across the hall from the aforementioned laundry chute. She could probably lean out her bedroom door and stretch her arm out and put her dirty clothes down the chute without even leaving her room.

Every time I ask her if all of her dirty clothes are in the basement she sighs loudly and says Yesssssss, mutherrrrr... in a totally rude and disrespectful tone. And yet, somehow, when I do the laundry, there's almost nothing of hers in the basket. How can this be?

Because she uses her bedroom floor as a staging area. And when I put the clean clothes on her bed to put away, she puts them on the floor, on top of the dirty clothes that she was supposed to put down the chute, and so they're sitting there all together in the same pile, waiting for me to get so pissed off I scream at a volume loud enough to motivate her to do what I've been asking her nicely to do all along.

So she puts ALL of the clothes away in her dresser, even the dirty ones, and then when we have about five seconds before we have to be somewhere, she comes out of her bedroom dressed and ready to go in a t-shirt with a ketchup stain so large and obvious you wonder if perhaps she may have been shot in the chest without her knowledge.

Beeb, go change your shirt! Hurry!

(tounge-clicking sigh) I DON'T HAVE ANYTHING CLEAN!!!!

What do you MEAN you don't have anything clean?!!!?? You told me you put all your dirty stuff down the chute and I washed everything that was down there!

Excuse me for wanting to convey to the world the fact that you have a mother who takes care of you, not one who squirts you with ketchup before she sends you out the door. Like it or not, kid, YOU'RE MY MOTHERHOOD RESUME.

Cut to yesterday, when we were getting stuff ready for Beeb to go on her trip to Nana and PopPop's this morning. The day before, she and I had spent an hour and a half and $50 at Limited Too looking for clothes she could take. She decided to wear her favorite new outfit yesterday, to get her hair cut.

After the haircut, we went home so she could change out of her shirt. She, of course, put on another of her new shirts. Fine. Whatever, just get the hairy one off or you'll get all itchy. She spent the afternoon packing her suitcase and carry-on. We discussed the things she'd need to pack - deodorant, pajamas, underwear, etc., and because she went last year I figured she was a big enough kid to pack her own shit.

Beeb, figure out what clothes you want to take, and if they're dirty, put them down the chute now because I'm only going to have time to do one load, okay???

(tounge-click, sigh, growl) FINE!!

Geez, sorry... I guess I'll stop bugging you and go do your laundry, then.

So I did the laundry, and this morning, about five minutes before we were supposed to leave, she walks into my bedroom...

in the shirt that she got her hair cut in.

Beeb, did I wash that?

Well, no, but I didn't wear it the whole day...

But you got your HAIR CUT in it, honey! Why do you think I told you to take it off when we got back from Fantastic Sam's??? I TOLD you to put ALL your dirty stuff down the chute, Beeb!

It's not just that she didn't do what I said; it's that she didn't do what I said, TOLD ME SHE DID DO WHAT I SAID, and then, when confronted, came up with some stupid reason why she didn't HAVE to do what I said.

Seriously, why do I say anything at all? Why the fuck am I on this planet? Nobody ever listens to me.

My God, why can't people just DO what I tell them???? Life would be SO much simpler!!

Countdown to departure time, T minus 2 minutes.

Beeb, did you pack a book? I told her yesterday to pack a book.

I'm taking my MP3 player.

Oh, is that what they're calling books now?
Did you pack a BOOK?

No...

PACK A BOOK. It was all I could do not to insert the word "fucking" in that sentence.

We still hadn't left the house yet. I still have all that find-a-parking-space, ticket-counter-line, security-line, find-the-gate, get-in-the-pre-board-line stress ahead of me. And that shit's stressful even when everything goes flawlessly.

But you know that nothing in my life goes flawlessly, right? If it did, I'd have nothing to blog about, and my life would be empty and meaningless.

We leave the house as planned, at 6:30, make a stop at the ATM and the gas station and get to the airport at 7:05. Her flight left at 8:35. Plenty of time. We were in good shape. We got a fantastic parking space, miraculously (remember this detail), and after we sailed through the ticket counter line and the line where you drop off your checked baggage, I figured the planets had aligned and the morning's drama was behind us.

And then, we got in the security gate line.

It was a long line, but moving rather quickly. Beeb and I were talking about the things that she was going to do with my parents, and then the TSA dude started bellowing the new rules for carrying on liquids and whatnot, so I turned to Beeb and asked her,

Do you have any liquid in your backpack?

Nope!

Great, then just take your shoes off and put your bag in the box and we'll get to the gate in plenty of time. It was about 7:45 at that point.

You know it's bad when you don't see your bag, and several uniformed people are staring and pointing at a small TV screen.
It can't be good.

They pulled THIS out of Beeb's bag.



I gave that child a look that, I hope, conveyed Please don't think I'm above kicking your ten-year-old ass right here in front of all these people.

LIQUID. Is there LIQUID, was the question.

Like Nana and PopPop CARE what you smell like!

Oh, and the other funny part is that this body spray apparently met the loose definition she'd had in mind when I asked her if she had packed DEODORANT.

Gaddammit, Beeb... I whispered, my fists clenched so tight my knuckles were white.

Since I wasn't going to be getting on the plane, they offered me the opportunity to take the contraband American Girl body spray to my car. So I did. I could have let them throw it away, and if I hadn't had a rock star parking space, I probably would have, but what can I say - I'm NICE.

I left her in a chair outside the Security Gate (which, under the circumstances, I figured was safer than her staying with me) and walked back to my car, cursing my child under my breath the whole way there and back.

The security line grew while I was gone. FUCK.

At 8:15 I finally got through the line for the second time, picked Beeb up, and very sternly (and completely unnecessarily) said, DON'T EVER DO THAT AGAIN.

I was SEETHING. I was trembling and about to cry, I was so pissed.

We found the gate, got in the preboard line and I had a chance to calm down a bit. I gave Beeb a few last-minute instructions, such as "call PopPop when you land, and call me when PopPop picks you up" kind of stuff.

And I think we parted okay. I gave her a hug and kiss and told her I loved her and to have a good time.

I'm happy to report that she has arrived safely, and we've talked, and it's cool.

And I miss her already.

Here's a question for you -

If you could commit a crime and never get caught,
what would it be?

I heard it asked on the Tyra Banks show once - Tyra asked it of Queen Latifah, whose answer was Tax Evasion. And I thought about what my answer would be.

I'll admit, the odd homicidal thought entered my mind. There are some people I know that I'd be really happy to never deal with again. I could probably name ten off the top of my head. But today, I decided what crime I would commit if I knew I'd never get busted for it.

Assuming it hasn't been done already, I would deflower Daniel Radcliffe. He's still a minor for a few more days.

Note: I would have gotten away with the crime of watching the Tyra Banks show, had I not just confessed.

Today was Beeb's birthday party. We had it early because on Friday she goes to Texas for a week and we didn't want to have to wait to see it. I took Beeb and three of her friends to see the 9:30am showing of Harry Potter and the Order of the Penis - errr - Phoenix.

In addition to my clever invitations that I mentioned a couple of posts ago, I purchased a Big Ass Bag of jelly beans and separated them out into bags that I then decorated with the words Bernie Botts Every Flavor Beans. I think the girls will be glad I didn't get the ones with flavors like vomit, ear wax, and dirt.

I also purchased frog-shaped candy molds and chocolate to melt so we could make our own Chocolate Frogs. That was fun. So we got good treats and I got Harry Potter glasses for all of the girls too. I ROCK at theme parties.

During the movie, I found myself distracted by the number of knitted items worn by the characters. I was particularly fond of Luna Lovegood's blue capelety thing, except I couldn't tell if it was knitted or crocheted. Beeb and R both thought it was absolutely creepy that I noticed all the sweaters and hats and all.

I was also distracted by Sirius Black's incredible sexiness. Not many men could pull off that look, with the long curls and the wine-colored cloak. So romantic, I think I may have swooned.

And something about Severus Snape is wickedly sexy too. It may be his voice. I'd love to hear him speak the words:

Sarah, dearest, I've always loved you.

Fancy a shag?

Yippie-ka-yay-muthahfuck.

and, of course,

Darling, do you think you have enough yarn?

And I wouldn't mind being on the receiving end of his discipline.

Ok, that was totally TMI. I'm sorry.



Definitely, definitely TMI.


HAPPY BIRTHDAY AUNTIE JIMBO!!!!!

Oh, there were fireworks, all right.

Remind me to double-bag the ol' Snatchola more often.

Shall I lay the groundwork for you? The Aldikids had stayed out at Chez Inlaw the night before because Mr. and Mrs. Aldi were attending the wedding of one of Mrs. Aldi's cousins out of town.

Oh, to have been a fly on the wall at THAT fuckin freakfest soiree.

But I digress. On the drive out, I mentioned to R that I'd talk about the house hunt, but if they started to ask questions about the financing, I was going to very politely but bluntly say that I just didn't feel comfortable discussing our finances. I gave R a heads-up so he'd have time to decide whether he was going to back me up or not.

We were hoping that the Lexi would be there as well, so as to deflect some of the delightful one-sided conversations FIL has with whoever is in close proximity. We pulled in to the Chez Inlaw driveway and were instantly relieved to see one of the Lexi's Lexi. That meant that Mr. Lexus, who is married to R's sister, would be there. He and I have bonded over the years as we share a mutual disdain for FIL. We've both had to prove that we were indeed good enough to marry into FIL's family.

We had a great dinner of BBQ pulled pork. I'll confess right here and now that I always chuckle childishly to myself a little at the words "pulled pork". It kinda sounds like "choked chicken" or "spanked monkey". Like, remember that episode of Seinfeld where George's mother catches him with a Glamour magazine pulling his pork, treating his body like it was an amusement park? Classic.

Anyway, sometime after dinner, while Beeb was in the bathroom and Tito and Pie were still eating at the table, Aldigirl and the Lexiboys were goofing around in the finished basement/lower level of the house, and I didn't see it happen, but apparently the 12-year-old Lexiboy (aka 1 Gig) was sitting in a recliner when Aldigirl laid down on the floor flat on her back and kicked the recliner over - full force - with 1 Gig in it, flipping it backwards onto the floor.

Ooooh Dear God, the shit storm. I assume it happened in front of FIL, because he laid into her instantly. I could hear him yelling upstairs, telling her that she was disrespectful to him and to his home, she could have hurt 1 Gig (she didn't), could have broken the chair (didn't), could have gotten hurt herself, yadda yadda... telling her that she was out of control and her parents were going to hear about it... if they weren't out of town he would call and tell them to come pick her up right now... on and on and on and ON. She's 8, by the way.

I'm not in any way defending what she did, she deserved to be in trouble, but I felt really bad for her. She had no one to turn to. Her parents weren't there. I wanted to tell her it was okay, but it WASN'T okay. I was just going to stay out of it as much as possible.

And then, I saw Aldigirl walk into the main-floor laundry room (where I was trying to stay out of it) and FIL followed her, all the way up from the basement. He looked at me and said, "Do you know what your niece just did?? Do you know what she did??? She kicked over the recliner with 1 Gig in it. Can you believe that? She's out of control and disrespectful. And she's not even apologizing, she's not even sorry, she's just walking away..."

Seriously. I had nothing to do with the situation, he was just trying to humiliate her in front of me. He was repeating all the shit he'd just said (which, of course, everyone in the house had already heard), and it really pissed me off. What was I supposed to do? I can understand him doing that if she was my kid, but I was in no way involved. He'd never done that to me before - cornered me and brought me in to something that he had no reason or right to - and I decided that if he ever does that to me again, I'm going to tell him straight to his face to leave me out of it.

Aldigirl was trying to get away from him, and I didn't blame her. She's learned, as we all have, that the best way to deal with his wrath is to just shut your mouth and endure the lecture for as long as it takes, making minimal eye contact, and then when you sense a break in the tirade, just get out.

R and I had a long talk about this on the way home. I thought it was so shitty of FIL to make sure he had a chance to kick her while she was down, in front of me. It was just so unnecessary. I almost felt like he did it to see what I would do, if I would defend her or take his side.

I really did want to hug her, but honestly, I was afraid to. The poor kid had been out there for a day and a half with only MIL and FIL and her 2-year-old brother to play with. I equated it to a puppy who'd been locked in a bathroom all day, and then when five kids come over to play, that puppy's gonna piddle on the floor. It's inevitable, it's their nature, yeah, ya gotta clean it up, but c'mon - show a little compassion.

She's really not a bad kid, she's just obnoxious and she has extremely lenient parents who don't really appear to have a discipline plan other than just avoiding the word "NO" as much as possible. Redirecting works when they're really little, but Aldigirl needs to understand consequences, and she's old enough to take responsibility for her choices. I have no doubt whatsoever that when FIL talks to the Aldis about the incident, they'll say, in the monotonous Eeyore voice, "Well, we'll taaaaaaalk to her..." Great. Hope that works for ya.

I just kept thinking Thank God it wasn't my kid.

Oh, and there were fireworks in the sky a few hours later, too. We staked out our spot on the hillside by the lake. At one point, R took the girls back to the house to go to the bathroom, and while R was gone, surprisingly, FIL spoke to me.

"So, Sarah - how goes the house hunting?"

Oh, it's ON.

It's going fine. We're still looking.

(Condescending chuckle) Well, THAT sounds like a very non-committal answer...

Ok, what do ya wanna know?

Have you seen anything you liked?

Yes, we've seen several that we liked. We haven't signed anything yet.

ANOTHER non-committal answer!

Well, then I'm not gonna talk about it.

And that was that. Not another word. He dropped it.

Do NOT screw with a chick sportin' two pairs of panties and an eyeball ulcer. Especially when it's 100 degrees outside. DO NOT.

And let me tell you, kids - it was the most empowered I've felt in a really long time. Better than helping R fix the brakes empowering. It was AWESOME. Of course, we'll have to wait and see if FIL gives R a hard time about me being secretive or whatever, but fuck him. At least I've drawn my line in the sand and I hope I've made clear that I would appreciate a little respect for our privacy. My life is not an open book.

Except to the people who read my blog. You lucky bastards.

Sedalia, BABY!!!

This year the great city of Sedalia, Missouri had the dubious honor of being the Wacky Destination for our now-annual 4th of July Adventure Day. Last year, you may recall, we went to Sikeston, Missouri and had lunch at Lambert's, then we trekked over to Metropolis, Illinois and even tried to find Monkey's Eyebrow, Kentucky. This year, it was all about Sedalia.

Why Sedalia, you ask? Mostly because of Rachele's wistfully nostalgic post about the Wheel-Inn Drive In, soon to be part of Americana History. Well, we're into driving ridiculous distances for a good meal, so we went.

Really, we didn't go just for the Wheel-Inn. We also went to see Katy Station for Tito, my little train nut. It was a quite impressive building which is now a museum and a station along the famous MKT bike trail. We were bummed that it was closed for Independence Day, but we saw enough of it to know that a return trip is warranted.







So from there, we went to Bothwell Lodge State Historic Site. I was kinda hoping it would be more like Ha Ha Tonka, but it was worth a peek. They offered hour-long tours for $6.50. I had neither the cash nor the attention span for that. But it was cool-lookin' from the outside!




Next, we went to The Wheel-Inn. And we saw Paris Hilton!



(Ok, not really.)

Here are the apes at the Wheel-Inn. The window art behind Beebie's head refers to the Wheel-Inn's famous burger. The specialty of the house is the GuberBurger, which is a burger with lettuce, tomato, mayo, and peanut butter on it. Yes, I tried it. Yes, it was actually really good.









And then we went to the Art Museum, which was closed, but I thought this sculpture outside of it was pretty cool.




So that's pretty much our trip to Sedalia.

If that's not enough excitement for you, let me bring you up to date on some of the other recent happenings at Chez K. Be warned, I skip around and it's all kinda random and the topics are only minimally related. Screw it, I'm too tired to make it coherent.

Pie had the BEST time at his camp. He got to go ice skating, and he loved it.



They also did kayaking, yoga, tennis, swimming, bicycling, crafts, cooking - all kinds of stuff. I'm so glad I agreed to let him go. It was great for him.

Beeb went to PSR that week too (aka Insanity Week, remember?) and we were supposed to go to the mass on the last day. Pie asked me if we had to go and sit there and "watch church like at Easter". I said, well, it will be kids doing most of the talking, and Beeb will be singing in the choir. And Pie said, "Ok, but is the one guy in the dress who repeats himself going to be there?" I assumed he meant the priest.


Beeb's 10th birthday party is approaching. Here's the invitation I came up with. I put a Hogwarts Coat of Arms on Ivory resume paper:

The Board of Governors at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Cordially requests your presence at a celebration in honour of
Beebie Karma's Tenth Birthday
(Ms. Karma, as you may know, is a Distant Cousin of Hermione Granger’s).

Come by Knight Bus , Flying Car, Floo Network or Nimbus 2000
to *insert address of the movie theater*
(Slightly SouthEast of The Leaky Cauldron).

We will be attending the 9:30AM showing of
Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.
Pick up at 1:00PM at nearby Ice Cream Shop.

RSVP via Owlpost to Associate Headmistress Cerulean Karmus.
Muggles know her as Sarah Karma, but her powers eclipse those of mere mortals.

I think I'll change my name to Cerulean. That's hot, in a Magician's Assistant kind of way. It's a little classier and more mysterious than a stripper name. I mean, isn't it?

I couldn't believe how hard it was to find Harry Potter party stuff. I had found a whole bunch of stuff several months ago in a clearance bin. I got plates, napkins, a banner, and Harry Potter glasses, but they didn't have invitations. So yesterday I went searching and found the very last packet of thank-you notes in the entire city, and to make invitations out of them, I got an Exacto-knife and cut away the part that said Thank You. I think they look fantastic.

Tito thinks the movie is called Harry Potter and the Order of the Penis, by the way. I can't get that out of my head, and I personally think it's way too funny for me to correct him. I'm sure it's already an official porn title by now, like when they come up with some pervy derivative of a famous movie, like Edward Penishands or Shaving Ryan's Privates or whatever. Now WHY can't I get a job like that - coming up with pervy derivatives of famous movie titles? I'd be awesome at that gig.


Tito is now four and a half. He'd been reminding us for the week or so leading up to it that his half-birthday was coming up. I seriously think he was expecting clowns and a damn petting zoo or something. So instead, I came up with an idea for a party that I knew he would hate, just to see if his desire for a party would outweigh his disdain for a particular vegetable.

We're having a Green Bean party. He hates green beans. We're going green party utensils, I'm knitting green bean shaped beanbags for the games, we're singing green bean carols (that was Pie's idea, brilliant), and for a cake we're going to do a sheet cake with a Twinkie on top, covered in green icing to look like a green bean. Tito gets really pissed off whenever we talk about the green bean party. He wants nothing to do with it. It'll be postponed until I can get the knitting part done. I set it down somewhere and now I can't find it.


Last Saturday was a free child care night at a church near us. I signed the kids up. I mean, it could have been at the First Evangelical Church of the High Priest of Satan and I'd probably still have signed them up. Ok, not really, but hello - free child care!! R and I hadn't gone to dinner together in probably over a year, because child care costs easily add about $40-$50 to the evening's tab. You bet your ASS I signed up for free child care.

So, the day before the event, my cool friend Anti-Stella called me:

Hey, did you call a church about free child care?
Yeah...
Well, that's actually at my church... (NOTE: For a second, I thought she meant that she signed up first and she was actually telling me that the Apes couldn't come) and I'm running it!
Wow! Cool!
By the way, when you called, did you ask about security and whether or not there would be a nurse on site, stuff like that?
Um, no...(thinking maybe I should have)
Yeah, I didn't think that sounded like your kind of question at all.

She was right. All I needed to hear was FREE CHILD CARE, and when I'm supposed to drop them off and pick them up. I love Anti-Stella, and not just for the fact that she didn't think I was a crappy mom for not asking those questions that a normal parent who actually cared about their kid might have asked. I thought the whole conversation was just hilarious, but my mom, when I told her about it, most emphatically did not.

R and I went to P.F. Chang's and had an absolutely lovely dinner, then we checked out the Lush store at the Galleria, and I got two of their shampoo bars, a big chunk of conditioner, smelly soap, facial scrubby cleanser, a mask and a massage bar. I can't remember all the fancyshit names of it, though.


Oh, and I forgot - last week R got that righteous AutoTeamaker from Teavana, AND on Sunday I got a darling little cast iron teapot for $10 because I talked the estate sale people down from $25!! And I'm sure that means absolutely nothing to anyone but me, but he and I were totally effin giddy over our new tea stuff.

Remember when I had the swollen uvula and I drank an assload of peppermint tea? And remember how prone I am to strange ailments and bizarre accidents, like the time I accidentally sprayed hairspray on my Southern Coiffe? Who can forget? Well, about two weeks ago I went to Urgent Care with my left eye a bright shade of pink. They gave me eyedrops for Pinkeye and sent me home.

After a week, it was better, so I put my contacts in and my eye freaked out and turned redder than before. So I went to my eye doctor. Only my regular hottie smartass eye doctor wasn't there. The doctor I saw reminded me of the creepy professor I had when I went to French Immersion Camp at Indiana State University for two weeks in 11th grade. (Go ahead and laugh, I was a geek.)

Turns out I have a corneal ulcer. AN ULCER. IN MY EYE.

Apparently, there's no room for any more stress anywhere else in my body, so it had to manifest itself in my EYEBALL - how completely wrong is that? When I look reeeeally closely, I can see it. It looks like a tiny white speck on my otherwise stunning blue/green/grey iris. I'll see if I can get a picture.

So anyway, French Professor eye doctor gave me some different drops and I have to go back on Tuesday. I wonder if Dr. Hottie Smartass will be there. I tend to relate well to smartass hotties. The world is so unkind to us.

Oh, I almost forgot! I owe you a picture of my faboo Larue hat. Check it out. I think it actually makes my ass look smaller.




And it also makes free Grant's Farm Beer yummier.



And, finally, tomorrow night we're going to watch fireworks at Chez Inlaw. Remember what happened last year? Tito got lost after the fireworks and scared the living crap out of me. I'm going to cuff him to my wrist this time, unless he acts like a jerk, in which case if he got lost I'd be like, "Tito who??".

It'll be the first time I've talked to FIL since the phone call (detailed in my last post) that left me in tears. I actually hope he asks about the house hunt. I'd certainly love to get my two cents in and see if he tries to change my mind. He's in for a fight, because I refuse to back down.

It's all about the Power Panties, y'all.

Perhaps I'll wear my Wonder Woman panties over them, just for emphasis. Yes, that's it - I'll double-bag my snatch, just in case I should suddenly sprout a pair of actual cajones down there (which, quite frankly, wouldn't surprise me, given my history of strange medical emergencies) instead of just the metaphorical ones I call upon when I have to do brave stuff.

I've got pure concentrated stress coming out my EYE, for feck's sake, people. Seriously.