honor

after running in a race this past weekend, i feel like something within me changed. however, it wasn't the actual running aspect that changed me, it was the experience of the whole thing. before you get all judgemental and throw an eye roll my way...let me explain. i'll begin by saying that i believe certain events happen in your life and they become a big part of you. i believe that people cross our paths at different points for a purpose. i am also a person who believes that things don't happen merely by chance, but that it's all part of some greater plan. in other words...everything happens for a reason. (yes, i'm one of "those" people.) too many things have happened in my life that have pointed me in this way of thinking. too many things occurred that couldn't have just happened by chance or coincidence. things that became a part of me. things that became a part of who i am and how i live. the most recent event was this race. as you know from a previous post, a dear friend of mine lost his life fighting for our country in afghanistan. when tragic things like this happen, i always feel like you never think it's going to happen in your life or be part of your story. i would watch the news and see young men and women who lost their lives at war and feel a sense of sadness, but it never really hit close to home. i could never put a face on what was truly happening overseas. until this past june.

captain jason b. jones

a guy from my hometown and a young man known by many lost his life protecting ours. when i received a late night phone call from another friend of ours when it happened, i was overcome by grief and disbelief. as a young boy this guy ran around our house playing with my brother. his parents then recruited me in later years to babysit him and his little sister. i watched him become both an amazing athlete and scholar. later on down the line we became close friends. we had a mutual respect for one another and i have never met a kid with such drive and determination. more importantly, we had a shared sense of humor which made things fun. (and funny.) anyway, when i heard that a group of people would be running a race in his honor, i was drawn to do it. when i met up at the national mall with everyone that morning, i hugged his parents, sister, family, and friends. you couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort. as we set off over the starting line and i got into a groove during mile one, i looked around and realized something. there were thousands (thousands) of people running for the same reason...running in honor of someone they had lost fighting for our country or someone that was currently serving. many had shirts with pictures of their fallen heroes adorning them...and i became overcome with emotion. several times i almost burst out into an ugly cry...and believe me when i tell you i'm not one for tears. on top of this, there were hundreds of service men and women cheering us runners on. they lined the streets of dc and virginia...eager to offer a warm smile, a high five, or a glass of water. (it was awesome.)

i felt encouraged, empowered, and inspired as i rounded into mile three. i happened to be running closely with my brother daisy and he leaned over at that point and said that he had to take a dump. (who does that? takes dumps during a race? daisy.) anyway, i stopped for him as he ran to the porta potty and i waited for a good three minutes before i decided to keep going without him. (get your shit together, daisy. literally.) i tried to take it all in as i moved along the course. also running amongst me were disabled veterans with prosthetic limbs. (i swear to you that two of them passed me. stop laughing.) even some soldiers who used hand bikes the whole way because they had no use of their lower extremities. (unbelievable.) determined individuals that would stop at nothing to finish this race. other runners determined to never forget the loved ones they lost. people proud of our country and proud of the people who protect it. i felt like i was amongst a sea of good people. (because i was.) i'm sure i am not alone in saying i felt our friend with me for some of that run. i know for a fact he was standing next to me laughing his ass off as i was waiting for my little brother to come out of the porta potty. i felt his spirit and his sense of determination with me as i dry heaved at mile 5. i know that all who had his name on their shirt that day felt that way at some point in their 6 mile course. (it was impossible not to.)

as i crossed the finish line, i met up with the rest of the group and we hung out for a bit. then i made my way to find my husband and my own family. as i walked toward warren, i saw that he had his nerdy tourist camera around his neck. (it's huge.) we have had several arguments on family vacations about this camera...mainly because he looks like a complete goof while wearing it. he was snapping pictures of me as i was walking toward him and i could do nothing but laugh. (he's like the portly man paparazzi.) i hugged my girls and felt accomplished...my heart felt full. when we sat down on the grass he pulled out the camera and started to show me some of the pictures he took. he then stopped at one and pointed to it. he said, "do you see that?"

we passed the camera around and everyone had the same reaction, it was somewhere between "woah" and "holy shit."we went home shortly afterwards and fen happened to stop by. she asked about the race and i gave her the cliff notes version of how it went. then i said, "you have to see this picture." it was still on the camera and i scrolled through. i stopped on it and said (pointing), "there is al, nate, pat...shake and cable are in the background..." without missing a beat she pointed to the light and said, "...and there's jason." some people may look at this and just see a random flash of light in a picture, i look at it and see something much more. (like fen.) i choose to believe there is something beyond myself out there. i believe our loved ones look after us long after we are gone. i believe their spirit sticks around. i believe as some of his closest friends laughed, ran, and drank bud light (that happened)...he was there with them in some form. like i said, i also felt him with me at different points in the race. (like at the porta potty.) so again, it wasn't the race that changed me...it was the circumstances, it was the company, it was the camaraderie of everyone running around me. it was an event that will stick with me always. as i laid my head down on sunday night, i was thankful for friendship, family...and my freedom. i was also thankful for my husband and his nerdy tourist camera, because otherwise he wouldn't have captured something so cool. i now have an even deeper respect for the men and woman who sacrifice themselves selflessly by serving our country. jason's life was not given in vain and he will always be remembered. he has become an integral part of my story and just by reading this...he has now become a part of yours. you should feel honored. i know i do.

"always remember, never surrender." -west point motto, class of 2007

backup

so my husband is away again this week. i know typically when you think of "teacher" you don't find it synonymous with "travel." however, he happened to volunteer for two overnight field trips recently. the first one was to new york city (two weeks ago) and the one this week is to the backwoods of northern maryland. (cue banjo music.) let's just call it what it really is...a vacation from his life and parenthood in general. when i say out loud that he has been gone two whole weeks out of the month of october it sounds really tragic, when in reality it really is something wonderful. i don't want to sound like a bad wife or anything, but i am a human being. motherhood and marriage has turned me into someone that really (really) enjoys some alone time. i actually relish the moments i get alone because they are few and far between these days. being alone is something you take for granted when you are alone often. (grass is always greener.) i mean, i've never been one to like being alone...until i was never alone. anyway, to make a long story long...it's nice to come home after a long day (long year) and put the kids to bed an not have to even acknowledge another adult. moreover, as a kindergarten teacher i have had my max limit of stimulation during the day (songs and dances galore), so settling in to some quiet time is my cup of tea. (or glass of wine.)

now listen, it isn't that i don't enjoy my husband's company. i mean for goddsakes of course i do...i wouldn't have married the man if i didn't. moreover, my parent's just celebrated their 36th wedding anniversary and i can't imagine doing anything for 36 years. (let alone actually liking another person.) however, when you spend all of your time with them, you fall into a routine that works for the both of you. (not just a routine that works for yourself.) therefore, for instance, when i am alone and can watch a bunch of episodes on food network instead of baitcar...i'm pretty pumped. one time i flipped on food network before he walked into the room and he gave me a hairy eyeball when he arrived. i said, "just watch this episode, they are making something really good." he sat down and flailed his arms at the screen and said (and i quote), "now this show would be really great if he just HOPPED out of the screen and served the food he just made to us. seriously i mean...it's such a tease. i can see it, but not smell it or taste it?! so stupid. i don't get why you watch it." this sent me into a tizzy. i was losing it laughing. however, there is something about the food network that i find soothing. plus, i get good tips and tricks about cooking and new recipes as well. (what's not to like?!) i reluctantly changed the channel to a dvr'd episode of dateline, which is a compromise show that we watch together at our house. it falls somewhere between baitcar and bobby flay.

i will say that even though i don't mind the fact that my husband is frolicking about in the woods this week, the kids and i haven't really been off to a good start. first of all, these were the following wake up calls from the kids over the weekend: saturday-5:19am. sunday-5:34am. however, we rolled around to monday and i shit you not it was like i was trying to shake awake two teenagers on summer break at 6:23am. (before the sitters.) both of them stared at me with a stink eye and i have to say...even though i don't like waking them up at that hour... i do get a bit of satisfaction when they aren't all bright eyed and bushy tailed. (hear me out...) for four years, one of both of them has had me up at ungodly hours. not only in the morning, but throughout the night. so pardon me if i like that they look a little pissed when i have to wake them up at the ass crack of dawn. two days prior, even though we did not have to get up for work (or anything!) they started their nonsense way earlier than normal. i really don't understand how kids do this. they don't have clocks in their room, nor a calendar. they don't have watches, nor even know how to tell the time. hell, at that hour the sun wasn't even up! so someone please tell me how they can decipher a saturday or sunday morning from a monday...cause i would really like to know.

alright, so backwoods butch made his way out the door and i gently shook awake laverne and shirley to head out the door to the sitters. the night before when we laid them down to bed i said, "did ella take a crap all weekend? i don't remember wiping her at all..." he said, "no, i think friday was the last one." so she arrived at the sitter that day and proceeded to take two massive dumps. they left such an impression on her caretaker that she felt the need to text me and tell me about these two massive loads. she also asked me what the hell ella ate all weekend. (everything. i think she is going through a growth spurt.) so after her nap ella said, "so i took two big poops at your house, right?" the sitter said, "yes..." she replied, "would you like a third!?" (i don't care who you are...that's funny.) i laughed out loud when i heard she said that. (she is not my child at all.) so later that night we were getting ready for bed and both kids were super tired. i had them in the tub and somewhere between the itsy bitsy spider song and elmo bubble bath...the two of them resorted to a splashfest towards each other. they were fighting for no reason. (so it seemed.) it escalated to the point of me yelling, "that's IT!!" (remember you mom saying that?) so i whisked both of them out of the bath and they were screaming like i was kidnapping them from a shopping mall. ("i swear to you they are my own, officer.") i managed to get both of them dressed in jammies and we walked downstairs to watch their bedtime show. (usually curious george, mickey mouse clubhouse...or that whiny bastard caillou.) it was then that ella turned to me and said, "where's my binky?"

i know. before you get all judgey and act like a total jerk towards me...i know that she is almost 4 and a HALF and that she should no longer be using a pacifier. (i know this.) i will say that we have put off the passing of the paci for quite some time. at this point she is only using it during sleeping situations, but i still know it's not right. she's given us some resistance about getting rid of it and most nights i just don't have the energy to fight with her. she explained to us, very rationally i might add, that she would, "give it up when she turns five. " (oh good...at least you won't have it in kindergarten.) likewise, she told us that she would, "use the potty when she turned four" and a couple weeks after that happened she did, in fact, start using the potty. she needed a little extra incentive for the poop...so i created a sticker chart that led to a (painful) trip to chucky cheese. after that, she was good to go. so when she said that she would, "give it up when she was five" i fully believed her. (the kid is no dummy.) however, i do know that she probably needs a little extra push at this point because her pacifier is like percocet. (addicted.) so monday night (first night without warren) when she said, "where is my binky?" i went to the diaper bag that we send to the sitter's everyday and looked. it wasn't there. i freaked out a little bit, but figured there was one around the house somewhere. in the meantime she turned into a raging toddler psycho and was yelling on the top her lungs that i, "BETTER FIND HER BINKY!!!!!!" (she was acting like i was hanging dora with a shoelace and making her watch.) i started yelling back and telling her to calm (the hell) down!...but she wasn't having it. after a few hail mary's i found one...under the futon. (phew.)

i'm not going to lie...i breathed a sigh of relief over finding that extra binky, because i didn't want to deal with her rath that night or any night this week that warren wasn't here. i wasn't going to endure that pain alone. (oh hell no.) i once read an article entitled, "you know you have a toddler when..." here is an excerpt that both my husband i found hilarious: "you know you have a toddler when you hate your spouse a little. toddlers can destroy your marriage if you let them. the stress of living in an insane asylum with a child who makes you want to fall on your own sword will take a toll on your personal relationship. people with out toddlers of their own will not understand how someone so cute can make you want to be single and living in a studio apartment with only a bottle of jose cuervo to keep you company, but this is the truth. do your best to not let you little cock block tear your love life apart. you don't actually hate your spouse, it just feels like it because you hate your life. remember: you are in a war zone. you need back up." i couldn't have written this better myself. so you can see why i want to share the pain of the "binky fairy" coming?! i'm not doing that shit alone, people. he is also going down it the ship. (sorry!) so anyway, i put both kids down to bed after the binky debacle and was all wound up to watch food network alone in the living room, without anyone to wonder why i am watching it. (wine was also involved.)

even though i had grand plans of staying up later than the norm (9pm), i went to bed quite early that night. it is quite weird climbing into bed without warren...i mean, he's always there. sleeping next to him is something like sleeping with a hibernating bear. he's warm, he's hairy, and he hardly moves. i do get a little nervous about staying alone, because i don't know what the hell i would do if someone broke in the house or some shit like that. (i watch too much dateline.) so at 12:28pm when the bathroom light flicked on...i was startled awake but remained completely still in the bed. in that moment i was sure that an intruder was in my house and was going to murder my children and i very violently. surely if an intruder would break in, the first thing he would do is flick on the light and take a piss. (logical.) after a minute i heard little footsteps and then the toilet paper, so i knew it was ella. (not an intruder.) i still didn't move because i wanted her to go back to bed after using the bathroom and not start asking me questions. she turned the light back off and it took me a good hour and a half to get back to sleep. i'd say about 2:33am i went back into dream land and about a half hour later i heard, "maaaaammmaaaa! maaaaaamaaaa!" across the hall. (carrie.) kids have the uncanny ability with their timing. i had just gotten back to sleep and she woke me back up. (how do they know!?) i brought her over to my bed for a snuggle and then back to her bed. (see you in a couple hours, sucker!) i didn't sleep well the rest of the night, but managed to oversleep the alarm by 20 minutes. (stellar start to a tuesday.)

i somehow made it out the door not too many minutes late. so that's how tuesday started...and it ended with me upstairs bathing the kids. ella gently laid her blanky and binky on the futon before we went up stairs and we were up there for about a half hour. low and behold when we came back down...i almost screamed. the binky...(the very last binky in the house) was laying on the floor. the entire nipple was chewed off and i looked over to see the dog looking rather sheepish. to be clear...the dog ATE the last binky in the house while i was bathing the kids upstairs. (i can't make this shit up.) after two nights with binky debacles, i took this as a sign that the gig is up with the portable nipples. i had a long talk about it with ella and surprisingly she took it pretty well. (she didn't act like i was hanging dora, anyway.) i knew she would probably wake up in the middle of the night, which she did. so did carrie. (mmmaaaaamaaaa!) butch is out of town so these two are going to bring. the. pain. this week. they both ended up in bed with me. carrie was gently draped over my breasts with her hand against my face and ella was inserted in my anal cavity. (so sweet.) i didn't sleep much at all. so here we are on night three of no warren and i take back whatever i said about wanting some alone time...because truth be told, when you have kids there is never any "real" alone time. (ever.) right before bedtime ella turned to me with the sweetest little voice i've ever heard and said, "i would give ANYTHING for just one. more. night. with my binky. just one more night." (percocet.) pretty sure that means she is going to wake up again.

laverne and shirley

remember if you are a parent (especially of toddlers) that you are in a war zone. you need backup. tonight my backup comes in the form of a box of wine after they go to bed, because butch isn't around to go to battle with me. i'm thinking about hanging a banner on the front door that says, "welcome back...i want to smash your balls with a blunt object." now that i'm thinking of it...pretty sure that would also deter intruders. either way, i may end up on dateline someday soon. don't worry... i'll be sure to dvr that episode so we can watch it later.

twilight

tuesday afternoon i arrived home from work and for the whole evening, i felt like i was in the twilight zone. first of all, my youngest brother (fondly nicknamed daisy, but that's a whole other story) was watching the kids for the day (twilight zoney in itself) and when i arrived back on the scene...both kids were still napping, the house was spotless, and he was folding laundry. (wtf?) i mean, when i leave my husband home with the kids for an extended period of time, usually all hell breaks loose. the kids are either naked or in their pajamas, the house smells (and looks) like a barn, and everything is in complete disarray. it doesn't mean he isn't taking good care of them, it just means he can't multitask. most women are born multitaskers and time managers, so they can get a lot of shit done at one time. most men i know are somewhere on the other end of the spectrum and if you give them a job they get it done in a much different manner. moreover, my brother is in college. (college.) if you ever attended college, you know what your mentality is during that time in your life: it's somewhere between...i'm gonna bong a beer and i really better get my life together. you think that you are really "busy" as well, when really you don't know one thing about what it's like to feel "busy." in fact, my brother leaned back in the lazyboy and said to me, "so i'm really BUSY, like sooooo busy." i said, "busy doing what?" he went on, "well...i have a job, 5 classes and a lab, criminal justice club, fishing club...and ping pong club." (he also wanted everyone to know he has straight A's...score!) ping pong club, people. do you know how awesome it would be if i could be busy playing ping pong, rather than paying bills? (bring on the ping pong.)

now i'm not downplaying how "busy" he (thinks) is, because compared to high school when all you had to worry about was friday night football and homecoming court...college is harder. however, when you compare it to the "real world" it's like apples and oranges. (no comparison.) moral of the story? milk college for all it's worth...the real world sucks. (stepping off of soap box.) anyway, back to the twilight zone...so there he was, folding laundry and i nonchalantly said, "so how did it go today?" he replied, "really well! they were really good and stuff." i'm not going to lie, here...i was a little leery about leaving my little brother with my first and second born. this is not because i don't trust the kid, because i do. it's because my brother has a tendency to find trouble. (it searches him out.) sometimes he doesn't mean for it to happen, but it does. for instance, on monday afternoon i picked him up at my house so that he could surprise the kids at the sitter when i picked them up. (this was his idea, he loves those little ladies!) so he jumped in the car and i said, "so how was your trip down?" he was hesitant and said, "i did something really stupid. probably the stupidest thing i've ever done." when this came out of his mouth i gripped the steering wheel and played it off, but my mind was going a mile a minute. truth be told, my little bro has done a lot of stupid things in his day...being 11 years older than him, i was witness to most of these adventures. therefore when he said the statement i wrote above...i thought, "holy shit this going to be bad." i still stared straight ahead and told him to go on with his story. 

he began, "so i got down here early and wanted to stop for a bite to eat and went to panera bread. i parked the car and got out and a lady approached me." i said, "what did she look like?" (i'm a visual person.) "welllll...she was a black lady, about 275 pounds, wearing overalls, those water type shoes...and she was missing a front tooth." (not judging, painting a picture here.) i said, "ok. so she came up to you?" he said, "yeah...and she asked me for a ride." pardon me, but my first thought was she was a prostitute. in today's world (unless you are in quite a pickle), you don't ask people for rides. mainly because people are crazy and you can't just be all hail to the hitchikers these days. (omg i sound so old.) i said, "a ride? a ride to where?" he went on, "well she said the gas station about 10 minutes away to pay a cab driver, but she was talking about her handicapped son and how he is sick and stuff...i felt really bad for her." at this point i was thinking, "PLEASE say you didn't give this woman a ride." he then he said, "i gave her a ride." i said, "WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?! YOU CAN'T JUST PICK PEOPLE UP AND GIVE THEM RIDES AROUND HERE! WE AREN'T IN OUR HOMETOWN!" here's the thing, (in his defense) we are both from a small town and it really wouldn't be a big deal to give someone a ride if you were there. odds are you know the person or they know someone you know...so if they are going to chop you up into little pieces, someone will find out who it was. however, although my new town isn't a raving metropolis...you don' t just give strangers rides. (that was, in fact, a stupid thing to do.)

so anyway, he said he took her there and she told him her whole life story. (she was a farmer who cleans houses or something like that. that's what she said.) during her story, she was rifling around in a nike bag looking for something. my little brother thought it was a gun, so he thought it was a good idea to mention that he was in the police academy. (even thought he's not.) he thinks this is why she didn't pull a weapon on him. (oh good.) they made it to the destination and she handed the cab driver something (my guess is drugs)..then she got back in his car. she asked him for a ride somewhere else. he mentioned that he had to get back to see his nieces and ended up dropping her off at subway. (the restaurant.) she said she needed 6 dollars (for a footlong, maybe?) and my brother gave it to her. (she then left.) ok...so that's the end of the story. it could've ended so badly, but it didn't. however, i'm pretty sure it scared the shit out of him...cause he realized the clear and present danger here. i mean, he ended at subway with a sandwich but he could've ended up behind bars, in the backseat with a nike bag over his head, or on a backroad somewhere wtih a big, black woman making him her bitch. so like i said, when i arrived home the day that he watched the girls and everything was hunky dory (no trouble whatsoever)...i felt like i was entering a spaceship and speeding into the light. (the twilight.) he assured me that everything had gone fine, though, and the kids were happy when they woke up from their naps...so i just went with it. (well done, daisy!) after i got home, he quickly excused himself to go to the local gym for a workout and also said, "i now know why you run." (to escape, yes.) so he left and my kids went into full, "i'm going to punish you for going to work mode."

first they decided to play the game memory and began by fighting over one card. (the apple one.) that game has no less then 32 cards...but they were fighting over ONE OF THEM. (i wigged out.) i have no idea why kids do this. i actually had to take the apple card away from them, which sent both into a tailspin and minor tantrum. (for the love of...) then i got busy (adult busy, not college kid busy), making dinner and carrie was hiding behind the lazy boy in the living room. i spotted her and said, "carrie! are you pooping!" (she said, "YES!") "do you want to go on the potty!?" (she said, "NO!") so she stood there and shit her shorts while i made stuffed peppers. then i heard, "MOOMMMMEEEEE I'M DOOOOOONNEEE!" from upstairs. pretty sure ella wasn't up there making dessert so i said, "did you poop, too!?" she yelled down, "yep! i need you to wipe me please!" i just want to be clear that both kids WAITED until i got home from work to drop a deuce. all day i was praying that they would poop for their uncle and cause some problems, but karma was ready to bite me in the left breast as soon as i was in their presence. another kick in the baby maker was the fact that carrie slept until 8:30 that morning for my brother...EIGHT THIRTY! the day before (a glorious monday morning) she was up at 5:24am and was trying to reinsert herself in my vagina as i was trying to get ready for work. i really don't know how kids can pull these scams and shit off, but they are very good at it. (experts.)

so shortly after my bro came back from the gym, i had dinner on the table. we sat down family style, as we do every night and started talking. then there was a knock at the door. he jumped up to answer it and i was like, "just wait." i always look out the window first, because if it's somebody selling something i usually just smile and wave at them...and walk away. (whatever.) i don't know how door to door salesmen even exist anymore, cause anything you really want or need is at your fingertips with technology these days. (sounding old again.) if someone has to knock on your door to sell you something, you probably don't need it. (just sayin.) anyway, it was the UPS guy and i thought, "no way is he delivering weird beer again...that just happended." so i opened the door to find a box from proflowers. my brother eyeballed me and said, "ummm..are those from butch?" i said, "i hope so." so i opened the box and amongst the flowers the envelope said, "someone is thinking about you!" (seriously, twilight zone.) i don't know the last time warren has sent me flowers via mail. first of all, they are way expensive to send that way. (so i hope he had a coupon.) secondly, he never ever has sent them, "just because"...so i was really startled. i went out to the kitchen and put them in a vase and wondered if i was part of the truman show or some shit. like were there hidden cameras throughout my house to catch my reactions? first my college age brother who cleaned my house and was folding laundry and now "just because" flowers from my husband? (surely this is some type of show.)

so i spent tuesday in the twilight zone and all i could do was buckle up and enjoy the ride...kinda like the lady in the overalls. reality is that i'm trapped in the real world wondering how the hell i even got here, when i really want to be in the middle of a college campus somewhere yelling, "bring on the beer and ping pong!" as the nationwide insurance commercial states...life comes at you fast. just make sure you carefully choose the people that are coming along for the ride, because i'm pretty sure a toothless stranger standing outside of panera bread wearing water shoes shouldn't make the cut. 

postal

so i would say about a coupla years ago, my parents started gifting my husband the "beer of the month" club for christmas and his birthday. it's genius really, because he loves weird beer and this company sets up to deliver a variety twelve pack of weird beer to our doorstep every month. (lets you try weird beer until your little heart is content.) he loves it because he isn't getting, like...socks or something stupid. my parents love it because all they have to do is click a mouse and warren is set for both his birthday and the birth of jesus. (i told you, it's genius.) so anyway, the first couple deliveries went off without a hitch...cause we were home. then we had an instance where we weren't home and the UPS guy left us a little love note letting us know that we would have to sign for the package and show ID, because we had to be 21 to receive alcohol via his delivery truck. just so happened we weren't home during his second attempt, or his third...so they then sent the package to a post office mecca where undeliverable packages go to die. it turns out this place was closer to where i work, rather than where warren works...so i was designated as the beer fairy to pick up his godforsaken package. it wasn't like a huge deal or anything, but it was (in fact) a pain in the dick. i had to leave work early to get there so that i could also get to the sitter to get my kids on time. it wasn't in the best of neighborhoods either, and i really didn't want to get jumped over a box of beer. that being said, it wasn't what one would call an ideal situation.

so the next couple of deliveries after that occurred without any problems, because we happened to be home. then some months after that we had a similar situation of getting more love notes telling us they were going to send our package to the pain in the dick building where i would have to pick it up. however, the day of the third attempt i happened to be in the shower and i heard a knock at the door. normally if one of our friends is popping over, they never knock. they just blow in the door and our dog two paw punches them in the private parts. (this really happens.) so anyway, i was elbows deep in shampoo when i heard this knock. i realized that it could be the beer guy on his final attempt to deliver the weird beer. (shiiiiiiiiittttt.) so i quickly shut off the shower, grabbed a towel and ran down the steps wrapped up like i was in a head and shoulders commercial. i pulled the door open and said, "sorry! i was in the shower, but didn't want to miss you and then have you send this beer back to the weird building i had to go to a few months ago!" (i was speaking in exclamation points.) he looked startled...and then smiled. he stuck out his hand as if he was going to shake my hand. he did this because...he was going to shake my hand. i reluctantly held up my towel with my left hand and reached out with my right to shake his hand. (thank god there wasn't a slight breeze or everyone on my street would've seen my beaver.) he said, "hi, my name is ned and i actually live across the street from you. just so happens this is also my UPS route." holy hell. i'm meeting my neighbor for the first time...and i'm wearing a goddamn towel!? (this is not good.) i replied with, "well this is awkward, but nice to meet you, ned." he smiled, held out his handy dandy pad and said, "sign here."

then i went on talking...i mean, i was feeling ballsy at this point because i was standing there straight out of the shower, wrapped in a towel like it was no big deal. so i said, "since this is your route and you are our neighbor, is there any way you could just sign for the beer and leave it on the porch whether we are home or not? i would really appreciate it. it's such a pain in the dick to go to that creepy warehouse." he laughed his head off and said, "sure i can do that...no big deal." so for about a year, this is what would happen. if we weren't home, ned would just sign my name, he'd leave the weird beer 12 pack...and all was well in the world. i'd wave at him if i saw him later on in the street, but that was about it. so flash forward to this week and again we started on monday with the little UPS love note stating that they could not deliver the package to our address without a 21 year old signature. (wtf, ned!?) so we got one monday, one tuesday, and then i realized something...ned had moved. he moved about a month ago. therefore, ned was no longer our delivery guy. (noooo!) i decided to take matters into my own hands. i knew damn well that if that delivery guy showed up on wednesday and it was his "third attempt" he would leave a little letter telling me to head straight to the warehouse to sign for the weird beer. the last thing i needed this week was another pain in the private parts. (trust me.) i've been busier than a ballsack in a brothel and i don't know my head from my asshole at this point. running around like a chicken with my head cut off is a severe understatement...so this is what i did:

i was making my morning coffee wednesday and i thought, "well i can't accidentally answer the door in a towel and make friends with ned's stand in...so what other options do i have?" writing is one of my strong suits (shocking, i know)...so i thought i would compose a little love letter of my own to the man in brown. i whipped out a piece of looseleaf and went to town...this is what i came up with:

dear UPS guy,
i am aware you have tried to deliver a package here the past two days. today i'm asking you to please leave it if you can. i assure you i am not under 21 and the only people that live in this house that are under 21 are a 2 and a 4 year old (hence all the strollers and shit you see on the porch)...they are, though, the reason we drink in the first place. please leave the beer.
warm regards,
the woman of the house (age 32)

i could've mentioned how my 2 year old was up since 4:34am that morning, cause she wanted to get a jump start on her day. i could've mentioned that i had to take a dump with an audience the night before, because butch has now taken up "lifting" once a week and my kids barged in the bathroom. i could've said so many other things in that letter...including that i didn't want another pain in the dick this week and going to that warehouse would be number 234 in the dick pain count. (i didn't say all of this, but i could've.) instead i taped it to the door, strapped the 2 and the 4 year old i call my offspring into the car and headed off to drop them at the sitter and go onto work. the day went by (as it usually does) in a blur and i totally forgot about the note. i actually didn't think about it one time, until i was on my way home and my mother called me. we were talking about other stuff and then i said, "by the way! the delivery guy wouldn't leave the beer on the porch so i left him a note!" i then told her the contents of this note and she laughed like a loon. laugh away, mother, because lo and behold...as i pulled into the driveway i realized something glorious had happened. at first i just noticed my looseleaf flapping in the breeze, but then i looked down and saw quickly that he...LEFT THE BEER. (my note worked...here's to small victories.) here's a visual:

winner, winner, weird beer for dinner. all is well in the world...and i don't know what is going to happen next month, but this month? i win. however, if i have to go back to that warehouse someone is going to have hell to pay. i may take "going postal" to a whole new level. the headlines would read, "deranged mother of two toddlers goes apeshit at post office mecca over a box of beer." so if you see that in the news next month...you will already know it was me. one more thing...if you are looking for a genius gift for a loved one this upcoming christmas: remember that nothing says, "happy birthday, jesus" better than a box of weird beer. just please don't call me to write a love letter the man in brown when they give you a song and dance upon delivery, because i certainly don't need another pain in the dick to add to my plate.

phases

it's been about a week and i think i'm ready to discuss last weekend's events. (i think.) let me start by saying last saturday at 10am i was one bloody mary deep, floating around a lake in a kayak (in my pajamas, mind you) with a beer between my legs...this saturday at 10am i was at a pumpkin patch slash petting zoo birthday party with my two kids. i was feeding a goat. so you see, sometimes parenting is about perspective. would i rather be paddling around a (quiet) lake in the early morning hours...rather than smelling goat shit? sure. however, watching my two children have fun makes the goat shit option almost more appealing. (almost.) moreover, when you do actually get a break from the madness...you go through a coupla phases. (at least i do.) the first phase is what i call the freedom phase. it happens when you actually drive away towards your destination and your children are safely clothed in the care of someone else. you have a moment (at least butch and i did) of acting like mel gibson in braveheart. we rolled down the windows of the car, turned the music up and i swear on the tip of both of our tongues was, "they can take our lives, but they'll never take...OUR FREEDOM!!!" ok, so it's not that dramatic, but almost. when you don't have to provide 24 hour care (for the whole weekend) for the people you call your offspring...it's pretty awesome. (at first.) my dad was in charge of the kids when we left and they were both sleeping. he asked me what the chances were of carrie waking up with shit in her pants. (i told him pretty high.) he told me he was going to hose her down if that happened. i knew that wasn't true, but i would be lying if i said i wasn't praying for poop. (please!)

after a friday night of campfires and fun filled events, all participants of chet's place weekend extravaganza woke up ready to indulge in the hair of the dog the next day. (hence, the bloody mary's aforementioned.) there were 7 long time friends (i'm talking, since kindergarten some of them), and 3 of their significant others. (10 assholes, total.) i often wonder how some of us have remained friends for so long, but as one of my compadre's puts it...no one else can stand us. (true.) i am lucky to have married "one of the group," because lord knows i would hold my breath if i had to bring a person of interest into the melee. at one point one of these 'outsiders' turned to me and said (over a game of shuffleboard, beers in hand), "so is this what we are going to do all weekend?!" well...if you are referring to drinking, laughing, games and nonsense...yes. (sorry to disappoint.) growing up in a small town, we are all no stranger to simply enjoying each other's company. give us a campfire, a case of beer and each other...and we are good to go. however, if you happen to throw in a rocking chair...the boys will perform stunts late night, such as sitting (and rocking) in the chair over a live fire. (impressive.) the next cabin over was another group of friends, that were exactly like us...but about 20 years older. (fun, fun people.) they joined us for most of our "activities." however, after one night of mayhem, i moved into phase two of operation no kids for the weekend. phase two includes me actually starting to miss my children. when i woke up that morning my inner mel gibson was no longer yelling, i rolled over and said to butch, "i kinda miss them." he said, "i'm sorry, but i can't share that sentiment just yet." (ok then.)

saturday included throwing our group out into the general population. by general population i mean attending an event called "frontier days" at a local bar. this bar was so far out of the way that we all just hopped in the back of a pickup truck and took several dirt roads to get there. (yeehaw.) when we arrived, it felt like we went back in time a few (hundred) years. there were bands, flags, and hillbillies a plenty. (it was glorious.) the beer was cheap, the bands were bangin', and the ambiance was beautiful. now when we arrived, please keep in mind that we had been boozin' since the early morning bloody mary's. most of us were dressed in flannel and boots...except for my husband who thought a penn state jersey was much more appropriate. let's just say he really "stood out"...people started referring to him as the "penn state guy" and when he started busting (several) moves on the dancefloor (grass), he drew some (a lot of) attention. i'm not sure where some of these moves came from, as i have known him since 6th grade (and attended several dances with him) and have never seen them. my guess is the beer and lake breeze had a lot to do with it, but he looked like a drunk puppet...with god pulling the strings. his arms and legs were flailing about in an unnatural fashion and he seemed to have no control over his extremities. people thought this was hilarious. (as did i.) i guess he can check "dancing like a drunk puppet to country music" off of his bucket list. (score!)

chet's place.

right before we all climbed back in the pickup truck to come back to the cabin, butch spotted a mechanical bull nearby. (oh boy.) the guy was just setting up and warren wandered over and asked him for a ride. the operator had a waiver he had to sign. now remember, motor skills were compromised at this point. one of our group members was nearby and witnessed him grab the waiver, put a large check mark over the fine print and then "sign" (using that loosely) his name. on the line where he was supposed to put the date, he wrote..."TODAY." then turned and laughed like a hyena. pretty sure if he broke his back or something on that ride, the waiver would not hold up in court. that's probably a good thing, as he was in no shape to be riding a goddamn bull. (mechanical or otherwise) i was not witness to the ride, but i'm sure it was shortlived and painful to watch. he also threw his phone in the grass nearby in an attempt to not break it. (more about that later.) as most of us waited in the back of the pickup, we wondered what the hell was taking the rest of the group so long. i had no idea that my husband choosing to ride a mechanical bull was holding everyone up. however, when he hopped into the truck and told us the story...i was not surprised in the least. truth be told, none of us really remember the ride back to the cabin down that long dirt road. at that point, we were feeling no pain. i do remember, however, that i was moving into phase three of operation no kids for the weekend. phase three is where your heart starts to ache and shitty diapers don't seem so bad. (i call this the wtf phase.)

sunday morning i woke up and i shit you not, i felt like i had been through a war. instead of fighting with weapons, i was under an attack with alcohol. now i know, it is no secret that i enjoy a cocktail or five every now and again. i happen to enjoy a glass (bottle) of wine during girls night with fen or a bunch of beers accompanied by a wings and a football game. i mean, i'm no stranger to the sauce. i will say, though...i am not good as i once was. (thank you, toby keith.) when i tell you that my internal organs (namely my liver and kidneys) were screaming that morning, i am being serious. (it was not good.) warren was complaining of his whole body hurting (bull riding was a bad idea), and also mentioned that he may have "lost" his phone. phase four was setting in and i just wanted to get the hell home to my kids. we left pretty early in the morning and the ride back to reality was daunting. my parents mentioned via phone that they had purchased tickets to a fall festival at a local tree farm. since we weren't around all weekend, we felt that we should go. as fen put it, "your parents are sadists! why would they get those tickets knowing you are nursing a major hangover?!" (i don't know.) so before packing up the car to head back to our home state...we had to deal with slides, train rides, and a ball pit. i was happy to be back with my kids, but organ failure was eminent and i really didn't want to die. moreover, the three hour car ride that followed is three hours of my life i would like back. both kids wanted to punish us for leaving them for the weekend (naturally), so neither of them slept. they took turns crying, laughing, yelling, and fighting. (fun!) in the middle of all this, butch turned to me and said, "....and you missed them." (i did!)

anyway, i guess the moral of the story is this (and always boils down to this): the experience of parenting is a far cry from what i thought it would be. i believe that when you have your first child, you lose a part of yourself, but as your children grow and become more independent you slowly get that part of yourself back. (like pieces of a puzzle coming back together.) some of those pieces were resurrected at chet's place, because breaks from parenting madness are very necessary. however, hightailing it to the woods for a weekend bender more than once a year is not recommended ever. (my organs agree.) kids can have you quoting braveheart...and make your heart ache all in one weekend. parenting is not for the fainthearted. this all being said, i very much prefer floating on a quiet pond with a beverage between my legs rather than feeding a goat on a saturday morning. however, hearing ella and carrie laugh their heads off as the smelly creature licked their hands was pretty awesome. pretty sure the fact that parenting can almost make you prefer farm animals to lazy mornings kayaking around a lake is pretty powerful stuff. although i still could've done without the smell of goat shit, because that's not good for anyone involved.

jumanji

let me start by saying that there are very few things (thus far) that my husband and i disagree on when it comes to parenting. we pretty much have the same philosophy when it comes to child rearing, which makes things pretty easy when it comes to our kids. i will say, though, if there are any arguments...that i win most battles in regards to these topics. i think he kinda trusts my judgement when it comes to children, mostly because a. i have been around kids my whole life and b. i teach young children everyday. anyways, i want to tell you about a recent disagreement that just happened this past week. most nights our routine goes as follows: i start making dinner around 4pm, we eat around 5pm, kids get a bath around 6pm (which butch does while i clean up dinner), they go to bed around 7:30pm. if you dropped by our house around these times, this is pretty basically what you would see most nights. (minus a few gliches here and there.)  monday was no different...except it was. when i came downstairs after folding some laundry, the kids were watching a bedtime show. however, when i walked into the living room it wasn't caillou, curious george, or one of the other many favorites that are played each evening. when i walked in the room, robin williams (may he rest in peace) was dancing across the screen in jungle garb. i realized quickly that the movie that was on was...jumanji.

the kids were engulfed in it and i just kinda gave butch a look like, "wtf?!" he shrugged his shoulders and said, "i DVR'd it a while ago for them. i think they like it." now i know jumanji is only rated PG. according to my search on the goog it states this: "PG stands for parental guidance. this means a film is suitable for general viewing, but some scenes may be unsuitable for young children. a PG film should not unsettle a child aged around eight or older. parents should consider whether the content may upset younger children." ok, with that in mind...there were some scary scenes happening, but i will say i was kinda relieved to not see that bald whiny bastard caillou on the screen. (i hate that kid.) actually, i loved the movie jumanji and we recently introduced the goonies to our kids with no adverse affects on them...so i snuggled in on the couch and we watched. carrie was in between my legs trying recreate the birth scene, and ella was gently wrapped around my neck. (like a noose.) first there were the crazy mosquitoes that attack the characters in the car. ella yelped, "woah! those 'SKITOS are huge. glad we don't have them in our backyard!" carrie pointed and grunted. then came the over sized spiders. ella squawked, "oh! the 'BITERS are huge, too!" (i will NEVER correct ella on the proper pronunciation of mosquitos or spiders...because it's too cute.) carrie was pointing, but didn't seem too scared. they were also laughing at parts and enjoying others...so we continued watching. i looked over at butch and said, "i really hope they don't have any "b-a-d d-r-e-a-m-s" (i spelled it.) because of this. he looked up from the laptop, waved his hand and said, "oh, they won't." (famous last words.)

when we finished up the movie and we went upstairs for teeth brushing and bedtime stories, i was really hoping he was right. we have been on one hell of a streak with nighttime sleep habits. i mean, minus the week that i went back to work they have been sleeping straight through. it's nice to feel like a normal human and not a zombie. when people tell you that you will never sleep the same way again after you have a kid, BELIEVE THEM. (i promise they are not bullshitting you.) we read goodnight moon for the umpteenth time and they both laid down without issues. i read a few chapters in my book and then laid down myself. i would say at approximately 2:43am, i was awoken out of a very deep sleep by what i can only describe as whimpering. i actually thought it was the dog at first. i listened for a little bit and wondered why the one next to me NEVER hears anything at all during the night. i swear a goddamn bulldozer could back in the bedroom and he'd still be rolling over and scratching his balls like nothing happened. i wake up for a whimper and he wakes up for...nothing. i sat up as the whimper turned into a cry and then i had to decipher who was making the noise. i surely didn't want to go into the wrong room and wake the other one up, so i waited. i was half asleep (and salty), but i made my way across the hall. i realized it was ella that was up, and now she was saying something...(over and over) between cries.

i tiptoed into her room, careful not to step on any lego or lincoln log bombs. (those sons of bitches HURT.) i made it to her bed unscathed and she was pulling at her ears. she said slash cried (and i quote), "the BUGS are crawling INTO my EARS!!" (OH MY GOD.) i had a moment. now remember...i was functioning with no contacts, one eye open, and was still half asleep. i whisper gasped, "WHAT!?" she repeated a little louder, "the BUGS ARE CRAWLING into my EARS!!" (SWEET MOTHER OF CHRIST!) i reached down and started running my hands on the side of her head, fully expecting to find some sort of critter. my heart started pounding and i started sweating, because i went from 0-60 and thought we would have to take her to the ER...because bugs were going to eat her brain. (i know, i'm nuts. it was the middle of the night.) i flipped on the light and said, "ELLA! i don't see any bugs!" she said (still crying), "well they are there!!" i went on, "do you have an earache??" (surely that had to be it?) she replied, "no. it's the bugs, mommy!" i was really starting to wig out, when i had a thought. certainly she had to be having a b-a-d d-r-e-a-m. (GODDAMN JUMANJI!) it was in this moment of realization that i wanted to run back over to our bedroom to my sleeping husband and double fist pound each of his testicles...i might also add cock shot for good measure. i know i agreed to the PG movie, but it was his idea in the first place...so surely it was solely his fault. (shut up.) i laid ella back down, assured her there were no 'skitos or 'biters climbing into her ears and thank god she went back to sleep.

fast forward to the moment where i was just drifting back into dreamland...and i heard more cries. this time it was carrie. (CRIPES!) sleeping beauty lay motionless next to me (of course) and did not bat one eyelash in the commotion. i flew out of bed this time and went over to my 2 year old's room. she is still in a crib, but was standing up when i entered. i said, "what's wrong?" she just cried...and then said..."juice." i shit you not, when she started the first syllable of the word, "ju..." i thought she was going to say "jumanji." i will also add that if she had said, "jumanji" and not "juice" my husbands man parts would be out of order at this very moment...because i would've physically assaulted him. because carrie isn't really talking much, i'm not sure if she just woke up thirsty for "juice." or had a b-a-d jumanji dream. either way, she was awake in the middle of the night for the first time in forever. (i blamed butch.) when i finally got her back to sleep it was approximately 4:23am. therefore, i had 67 more minutes to sleep before the alarm went off for the day. (super!) somehow, i drifted off and woke up like a spitting cobra at 5:30am. (venomous.) warren was in the shower and i walked into the bathroom. he caught one glimpse of me as he was coming out of the shower and said, "ummm...were they up last night? you look awful." here's a little tip to the men of the world, if you aren't sure whether your children were up in the middle of the night and your wife looks like hell....DON'T ASK. (just don't.) i just glared at him and said, "guess who had BAD. DREAMS?!...BOTH. of. them!!" (i wasn't sure about carrie, but wanted to make a point.)

he started laughing. laughing loudly. i was not laughing and the thought of spending the day with a bunch of fresh out of the summer kindergartners on no sleep. if i was going to survive i needed large amounts of coffee and was hoping i could push aside my spitting cobra routine. he laughed himself right out of the bathroom as i washed my face and applied makeup to the luggage under my eyes. (bags. huge ones.) we usually don't talk much in the morning, but as we made breakfast...the silence was kinda deafening. i needed someone other than myself to blame for the PG movie debacle, and he was the easiest target. so i didn't talk to him. at all. actually, had i tried to talk...making sentences at that moment might have been a struggle...so i said nothing. right before he was getting ready to leave my husband snuck up behind me and said something in a loud whisper, right into my left ear. it was (and i quote), "JUMANJI." i didn't crack at my cobra act, but he continued to whisper it in a super annoying voice from the kitchen, through the dining room, and out the front door..."JUMANJI, JUMANJI, JUMANJI..." (he thought he was really funny.) so i guess i learned my lesson when it comes to "content that may not be suitable for young children." or maybe it was just some random coincidence that ella would have a dream about bugs going into her brain and carrie would wake up the same night thirsty for some juice. (i don't know.) i do know, though, that i wish i had some real live oversized 'skitos or 'biters to put in our bed one night as a little surprise. quite certain they would actually startle my husband awake...who would be screaming and scratching much more than his ballsack in that moment. (payback.) hey, a girl can dream...and do believe that wouldn't be a bad one.

hide

so i have written a shit ton of posts about poop. (pardon my pun.) when you have little people running around your house, though, a bowel movement isn't just a bodily function anymore...it's an event. for the past 4 years, i've been up to my elbows in crap. my four year old was recently potty trained, but i still can't escape the wiping aspect. one time i let her "do it herself" and it looked like she had a crime scene in her underpants when she got undressed for bathtime that night. (no thanks.) it's either clean it up now, or clean it up later. (you can't win.) recently, my two year old has come into what i call the, "hide and go shit my pants" part of toddlerhood. it comes when kids realize what they are doing isn't exactly right and want privacy, but aren't quite ready to ride the porcelain throne. usually if it gets quiet around the house, i will look around for carrie and find her one of the many places her sister used to hide in order to do a number two. these places include (but are not limited to), the princess tent, behind the recliner, in a walk in closet upstairs, under her crib, and my most recent discovery was made while i was making dinner. i yelled upstairs to ella, "have you seen your sister!?" she yelled down in a sing songy voice, "noooo mommmmeee!!!" so i called for carrie again and became a little concerned when i didn't see her materialize before my eyes. imagine my surprise when i went into the pantry for a can of black beans and saw her in there looking very much caught. my pantry now doubles as a porta potty. (just perfect.)

pantry poop.

i also love how ella now needs to announce throughout the house that she is dropping a deuce. i often hear, "i'mmmmmm poooopppinnnggg!!!" being sung slash said out of the bathroom. yesterday i caught carrie in the bathroom with ella...and they were taking simultaneous shits. (sweet jesus.) i feel at this point in the game i am a connoisseur of crap. wanna know what really gets my goat? when i walk into the bathroom for something when ella is in there and she'll say (with a dead straight face), "i want some privacy." exxxccuuusssee me!? privacy! ha! i haven't had that since you were born little lady. you used to stare at me showering from your bouncy seat because i couldn't leave you alone for 2 minutes. i actually can't even be in the bathroom without you or your sister knocking on the damn door! you want privacy!? me too. ok...so i didn't say all that, i just walked out and shut the door...but i really, really wanted to. i will say it's funny, though, to see your kid sitting on the toilet. it's almost as if you potty trained your cat. sometimes in the morning if she is going to the bathroom and the door is open to our bedroom, i get startled to see her sitting here. like she's not supposed to be able to do that herself or something. (maybe that's just me.) anyways, i actually wouldn't be that surprised if i saw the cat sitting there...stranger things have happened in my world. carrie is like a crime scene investigator when ella is in bathroom. she walks around taking in all the details...and waiting to see if her sister is going to give her the grand privilege of flushing. this is a big deal in my house...the flushing that is. sometimes i feel like i'm on a game show called, "who gets to flush the feces!?" because they make such a big deal about it.

as a mother of two young ones, you already know that i have a doctorate in dirty diapers. (as documented by this post.) pretty sure i could change one with one eye closed and one arm behind my back. (pretty sure i have.) however, i often wonder if this is going to be just another one of those things that i miss. kids fly through stages so fast and they leave each one a little more independent. if i am suddenly missing shitty diapers one day though...someone please snap me out of it. i recently watched a baby that was not mine. although he (thankfully) didn't take a crap while he was in my care, i had flashbacks of when my two ladies were that little. as i held him, it was actually really hard to remember a time when they were so needy. now that they are more independent, it feels like sooooo long ago that they were drinking out of a bottle, unable to sit up unattended...crying for no apparent reason. (really though, it was just a coupla years ago.) i can't say that i "miss" those stages...but i do wonder why they flew by so fast. when you are in them, it feels like a lifetime is going by each day and then you blink and they are hiding behind the lazy boy and crapping their pants.

lazy boy poop.

i know soon that carrie will graduate from the hide and go shit my pants part of toddlerhood and be in pull ups and pooping on the potty. i also know i still have few more years of wiping asses that are not my own, i've accepted this as just another thing they don't tell you in the parenting books. ("i'm donnnnneeee!" -kids from the bathroom) the princess tent and pantry will soon not double as porta potties, either. there are a lot of things about parenting that are awesome and lots of things about it that are shitty. (like the poop.) i often explain it to people as the best and worst thing we have ever done. (becoming parents that is.) i may complain, but i never forget that fact that i have happy, healthy children. (bowel movements and all.) moreover, i hope to share this post someday with carrie's future prom date...let's just call it a poop payback. hopefully he will find it as hilarious as i do...and i pray (after being slightly embarrassed) she has enough sense to laugh as well, because one thing i've learned from my children is to not take yourself so seriously. so i strive on in the parenting plight and hold my head high. (pinching my nose with one hand.) i tackle each debacle head on and plan to persevere, even though sometimes i want to hide from the little people in my house in the princess tent...with a glass of wine and a bowl of popcorn. at least one would hope i wouldn't be pooping my own pants in there, because then i'm pretty sure we would have a real problem.

princess tent poop.