Have I mentioned how much I love the class bear?

No?

I love the class bear.

Having three competitive children that are all the same age and expect life to be fair makes me love it even more.

They do not care that ONE child has been assigned to care for the damn bear for the weekend.  No, they all want equal time with the bear.

Also, I diagnosed them on the internet with ADHD.  They can’t remember what a spoon is used for let alone where they left the bear.

At one point today, “Buddy” had been AWOL for an hour or so.  Princess had kidnapped him and hidden him but had forgotten where, although she wouldn’t admit to the federal crime and blamed it all on Felpsy.  Boog who was in charge of the bear could care less.  He was still upset that Daddy didn’t want Buddy to go to McDonald’s – because the bear has to go with us EVER Y WHERE.

So, eventually the bear was spotted in the closet.  Hiding behind all the clothes.

He winked at me when I quietly closed the door on him and told my kids that THEY would forever be remember at the “Save us Jesus Preschool” as the kids who lost the bear.

(unfortunately, I stole the name of the preschool from her, but damn, it’s funny, right?   AND how bad ass does Boog look, if you take out the bear?)

Several hours pass and we hit up the party store.  Greeted of course by the (why the hell are you bothering my txting with showing up at my job) employee mumbling something about “welcome to Party Universe blah blah blah”  Boog of course tells her we are here to get decorations for his brother’s birthday, that he was five yesterday just like us and now he’s not, asks her if she likes Sushi and then asks her if she has kids.

Yes.  He.  Did.

No.  She didn’t.

“Well then why couldn’t she get to work on time?”  he asked me.

Crap.

“Oh look, streamers.”

We got our Star Wars paraphernalia and headed to Target.

Boog shot off in the direction of the toys at 100 mph while Little Miss Sunshine strolled at the breakneck speed of a Hoveround.  We past the make up aisle and the girl asked me why they didn’t make a lipstick that lasted longer than a “Spongebob” (our standard measure of time for 15 minutes) while commiserating with her I heard the walkies  going on about a lost boy and “does he know his mommy’s name”.  Urging the girl to walk a little faster, figuring I was said mommy, we round the corner to find Boog standing in a hazmat zone having puked the length of the Lego aisle.

“He’s mine, thanks.” (you totally know that puke is not my domain inside a Target store right?  I am the mayor after all.)  And I hurried out of there with my ill child, at the breakneck speed of a Hoveround.  All while dodging two calls from CPS and the therapist, plus the knowing eyes of those with walkies judging me for not being more active in vomit clean up.

“Hey, I saw that look.  I’m the mayor around these parts, I totally have no power over you.”

Other than that it was a gorgeous day here in north Mexico.  Mid 70s and if Tech Support had the time to windsurf anymore, it would have been a great day to do so.  I feel the outdoor pool is within our grasp here shortly, (pending results of the skin cancer biopsy and a ton of SPF).

We ate cupcakes decorated like dogs and petit fours.   After of course a dinner of pork tenderloin and spinach.  (Felpsy’s choice)

Then we hunted for presents.  I would excuse my not wrapping birthday gifts as the “green” alternative buy you know that’s a bunch of bull.  But I don’t wrap birthday presents.  We scavenger hunt for them.  This year I let the twins give their own clues as to where they had hidden their gifts.  There was wailing and gnashing of teeth.  Finally it was revealed that they were “on my bed”.   When it got to be my turn I told him mine was hidden “not on top of my bed” to which a major fit was thrown.   “Fine it’s under my bed.”  Happiness.

Then a big fight where someone may or may not have ended up with a gaping head wound.

Blood.  Tears.  Timeouts. Chocolate.  Awesomeness.

It’s about five year old boys and walkie talkies.

Hilarity.

Boog received a pair of walkies for his birthday.  So excited was he that he threw me one and ran off.

“Mom can you hear me?”  He yelled from the bedroom.

Pressing my button, I instructed him to “push the button and then talk.”

He squawked it and again yelled, “Mom, can you hear me?”

“You have to HOLD the button down.”

I heard him open his channel but he didn’t say anything.

“Now say something.”  I yelled back to him.

He released his button and yelled back something to me.

“Press the button, hold it down, and talk, then let go of the button.”

He brought me his walkie, said “These aren’t any fun,” and walked away.

Today we turn five YEARS.

The Princess

The Booger

Happy Durpay babies.

Your Mommy loves you!

Your Daddy loves you!

Your Mama loves you!

(Yes I know I showed pictures. But Boog is cleverly disguised.  Feel free to report me for showing their pictures so that I CAN SEE A JUDGE)

Also keep us in your prayers that this is the last birthday they celebrate in foster care.

On Thursday the twins had their Christmas program.  They are the oldest kids in the preschool, and you guessed it, they came almost last.  OK yawning.  I know, I love kids, mine.  Yours?  Not so much.  Ironic, I know, half of my children were once someone elses.

So, our morning started out with the Princess wanting to wear her program outfit.  Which was “Sunday best”, not suitable for a day at school with arts and crafts, so “no”.  Well, you’d think I’d told Paris her purse-a-poodle had to stay outside.  DRAMA.

She got to school where her teacher explained the same thing I had, that the program was not until night time.  Which appeased her two hour fit.  Why do kids believe anything that their teachers say?  I used to drive my mom crazy with “Mr. Martin said….”

Speaking of “Sunday best” we attend a church where the dress code is “dressed”.  Anything goes.  Really.  So, how much time and energy do you think I’ve put into dressing up the boys?  Less time than it took me to write this sentence.  So…..

I had to go shopping, and boy did Mommy score on some “Sunday best” ness for Boog.  I will be taking applications for his future wife.  Just email me.

Buying cuteness, was not enough, I would also wash it, and as button ups tend to do, the button holed side of the shirt got all wrinkly.  Meaning I had to iron.  I don’t.  But since The teacher thinks I’m a horrible foster parent, I decided to prove her wrong.  I might even use starch.  Nothing motivates me more than spite.  Boog was going to look good, because looking good is proof positive of good parenting.  I don’t care how many times the f-word was used in the process of getting him so darned handsome.

Of course the whole ironing process brought about many questions.  “what’s that? What’s it  do?  Why are you doing that?”  Blah blah blah, leave me alone, I’m trying to prove that I can fake it with the best of them.  Felpsy questioned as to it’s particular brand of hotness.  I said. VERY, don’t touch.  After completing the ironing, I unplugged the iron, wrapped the cord around it and set it on the counter.  Not a nanosecond after turning my back, Felpsy was headed straight for it.  That boy cannot fight the impulse to do the exact opposite of what he is told.

“Suit up babies.”

And we were off.  Everyone looking all Sunday best and what not.

Radical asked if he could play his DS during the program.  No, but Mommy can text.  (He has much better parents than I did.)

Turned out that DS playing would have been less rude.

Shortly after sitting down, I thought we had made a huge mistake.  Like sitting directly on top of a dead body type of mistake.  There was a foul and unpleasant odor.

Turns out the boys were having a farting contest.

I LOVE boys.

Kids did their cute thing.  Princess asked us about 10,000 times “Did you LOVE it?”  Yes, baby we loved it.

We were instructed to gather our kids after their performance and have them sit with us until the end of the program.  There were two classes after the twins’.  We made it through one.  Because upon hearing about the awesome farting contest he’d missed, Boog decided he wanted in.  But having been warned to NOT have a farting contest, Felpsy had to make up new rules that resembled nothing like a farting contest.  It involved sitting on each others hands so that noise would be unnecessary.  Did I mention how much I LOVE boys.

Despite their behavior we had to eat, and since it was the twins’ celebration they got to choose.  We went to “Pa Playa”  which is not the name of the restaurant.  But my Hispanic kids have been living with us too long.  Proven later when Felpys got a smidge of jalepeno juice in his mouth.  He thinks Medium Pace is too spicy.  This was about to kill him, until he found a new obsession.  I pointed out the jalepenos and told him that was the source of his discomfort.  He then touched it.  I then told him not to touch his eyes or nose or mouth until he washed his hands.  Guess who went straight for his eyeball?

We had a fine dinner.  And neither of twins ate theirs.  We then waited for the check.  And waited.  And waited.    I hate waiting.  I then sent Tech Support and the kids out to the car hoping that they would see an empty table and come running.  Before he left me he said “You will be paying right?”  Like suddenly I became a check skipper after 13 years.  Then I realized that he was probably verbally reinforcing to both of us that it was my responsibility to make sure it was taken care of .  Because as I mentioned earlier, I am easily distracted.

I paid.  I tipped.  I left.  Finally.

We drove around looking at Christmas lights, and came home and fought about going to bed.  I’m ready to just pile them three deep and hope for the best.  It’s exhausting.  I eventually win, but only until I go to sleep, they then quickly get themselves into the positions that they were fighting for all along.  So is it really a win?

The one advantage of not putting them into a pile is that when I put them in their own bed they feel they have to sneak to a community sleeping arrangement, therefore they are quiet.  If they start in a pile, there is usually a farting contest or an “I can say ‘weiner’ more times than you can say it before Mom comes in here and shows us her crazy face.”

One of these days I will feel nostalgic for this time,

and this is just a guess, but bail money will probably be involved somehow.

Today it was the aquarium.

Not by my choice.

Several weeks ago, the twins and I were at the grocery store.  The greeter handed them a coloring contest sheet and told them if they won the contest they’d get tickets to the aquarium.  Princess immediately declared herself the winner, even though she never actually entered the contest.

And for weeks has been asking when she got to go to the aquarium.

Because she won that contest.

I didn’t have the heart to tell her.  Turns out taking her to the aquarium is easier than breaking her heart.

So, off we went.

We bought a season pass.  It was double the price of today’s admission.  So I figure the three of us will want to go sometime in the next year.

Maybe.

We saw dolphins.  We saw an alligator.  We saw a shark.  After that we just ran through the place going

“ooooh”

and

“aaaah”

and it didn’t matter, because we have a pass and can come back anytime we want to, and get free parking.  For a whole year.  (Plus it’s more like 13 months because it expires the last day of the month a year after we buy it and I bought it at the beginning of the month)

We saw otters.  We saw turtles.

We touched many sting ray.  We let the sting ray swim over our hands.  We used a two finger touch to touch their backs as they swam by.  We spent way too much time at the touch pool.

We saw the wild bird recovery program.

We saw a weird cat thing, and an ant eater.

And bought really expensive water.

We had fun.

God, for some reason, has seen fit to bless me with some morning children.  I have one child whose job it is to tell the roosters to crow.  Unfortunately, he cannot do this without his helper friends and rouses them too.  It’s not bad enough that he’s merely awake in the pre-dawn hours, but he also has to be in a good and playful mood.

Annoying is what it is.

During the summer this worked to our advantage.  Not having to be anywhere at anytime we’d lay in bed a little longer than usual.  Yes, this includes Daddy Awesome.  He works about 10 feet from where he sleeps and he’s the boss of him, so sleeping in is allowed.  Well, at the crack of dawn, Boog, our bright and shiny boy would wake up.  I schooled him a bit about waking mommy up.  I need presents.  So, every morning he would make some sort of gift for me and leave it on my nightstand.  Daddy Awesome likes Monster in the morning.  So, Boog would get for him his Monster.  Of course there was a breakdown in communication somewhere and Boog would always ask Daddy Awesome if he wanted his “beer”.    Then Boog would notice my feet hanging out the end of the bed and rub them for me.

So, let me paint this picture a little more clearly, in building my defense.  Our little orphan child, whom we’ve bestowed the name Boog, would get up before dawn to make me a gift, appeasing the crazy woman I was sure to be.  Then he was in charge of bringing Daddy a “beer” and then rubbing my feet until I woke up.

If that isn’t a Dr. Phil moment in the making….

Well, since school has started there is no time for lounging.  Daddy is up first because he now has a time line, being getting the elementary kids to school by 7:50.  And he walks them.  We live like eight blocks from the school.  Although when we first arrived in the City by the Sea, we lived a mere three blocks from school.  Our neighbor asked us to join the carpool.

Three blocks from school.

Not a fake carpool where we had one adult walking all the kids to school, an actual get in the car, drive to the neighbors house, pick up the kids there, do that a couple more times and then drive THREE BLOCKS.

Anyway, since Daddy Awesome has to leave the house by 7:30 he has to make sure there is nothing on fire work wise before doing so.  That means no time for lounging.  So when Boog wakes up, he’s without a purpose.  When Boog is without something to do, he usually starts something.  He wakes up the sleepy heads, the anxiety riddled sleepy heads who need structure and routine.

And that’s how the fight started.

There I am, without a gift or a foot rub, without a shower or a Coke, trying to keep the restless natives rested.  It ain’t pretty.

Last week, in addition to the fighting, and anxiety, Dagan and the boyfriend were here.  He’s a morning tv watcher.  Morning Nascar tv watcher.

“I’m pretty sure that race ain’t live.  Record it and watch it later.”

So, new rules.

1. Stay in your room until someone comes to get you.
2. No tv.
3. No noise making toys.
4. No talking.
5. No hovering.
6. No pacing through the kitchen.

Get up, get dressed, sit down, eat, brush your teeth.  Once your teeth are brushed you can talk, but only if it’s important.

By then the caffeine should have made it’s first lap.

So, what consumed my time today?

I had to clean for the housekeeper, who will here after and forever more be referred to as the housekeeper .  I didn’t want another lecture.  No, not really, but I did clean out the kids’ closet.  You’ll be proud to know that I only found one 18 month shirt in the bunch.  (Yes, they are four, shut up.)

Also, it was the first day of school.  I made it through the summer without committing a felony.  Can I get a hallelujah?  I even walked the middle boys to school with Daddy Awesome.  Of course we left the littles with proper supervision (two marginally awake college students).

Dagan is home from college.  Brought a boy.  A boy boy, who talks in his sleep.  It is also her birthday.  Boog was beside himself with the decorating.  While we were out, Dagan coerced me into buying a pin~ata, lied by saying she wanted to take it home with her for a decoration.  Liar, liar, pants on fire.  We ended up busting it up in the driveway – and yes, we got it on video, hoping for an “incident” – no one got whacked in the groin, but it plays like a bad episode of Cops.  I lol’d not once but twice.  Anyway, that baby girl o’mine is nineteen freakin’ years old.  No, I’m not old enough to have a nineteen year old…I don’t care what you heard.

Clearing out the DVR this morning, I was surprised to find not one, but three new episodes of Jon or Kate plus eight.  Who even knew? But OMG she’s an even bigger bitch.  Now, this is not a validation of HIS behavior, but if you wonder why you are getting a divorce Kate, watch a couple of episodes.   Poor kids, I’m sure those under counter fridges will make up for your parents.  At least I hope so.

Can someone answer me this, why is it that fire ants always bite you twice, making it look like you got bit by some sort of vampire ant the size of your fist?  I’ve always wondered.

We submitted our “child to be known as…” names today to be filed with the court.  Wahoo, the wheels of justice turn ever so slowly, but they appear to still be turning.

While eating out this evening, I was alerted that three new “attorney” type people were following me on Twitter.  Hubby asserted that it’s not likely that one attorney would follow me on Twitter and that it was really porn.  My assertion was that if people listened to me they wouldn’t need an attorney.  Turns out he was right, I’m wondering if Twitter is worth all the porn?  Discuss…..

I also learned that there is a rumor going around high school that Mountain Dew will make you sterile.  Um – it’s a lie.  A lie.  I have three kids conceived with the help of Mountain Dew.

I can’t tell you about that….

I shouldn’t tell you about that….

Earlier this week I was hanging out at Groovy Marlin’s where she had the same brilliant idea as I did.  Shoe organizers that hold everything but shoes.  I’ve been doing this for a long time now, love it, recommend it, (keep the chocolate on the highest row where the kids can’t get it) had I been funnier, I would have commented…”I love this idea, I use it to stash chocolate, books, scarves, hair bands…  Brett Michaels complains a lot, but Dee Snyder fits snug as a bug.”  That would have been funnier than whatever lame thing I wrote.

Oh, it’s birthday week for me.  I will be another year wiser a week from today.  Y’all need to come to my birthday party.

If you have knitting needles bring them, it’s about time I learned.

Tomorrow.

She would have a home.

Tomorrow.

She would have a family.

Tomorrow.

She would have the life that she dreamed of.

This Annie gets it.

Tomorrow.

I will get MY dreams.

Tomorrow.

These kids will be gone.

Tomorrow.

I won’t have to…

Tomorrow.

I will be Annie.

I love you tomorrow.  Where are you?

In the end, the lyrics change.

Tomorrow is only a day away.

Tomorrow.

Dagan turns nineteen.

Tomorrow.

Big Boy will drive himself to school.

Tomorrow.

Radical will enter his final year of elementary school.

Tomorrow.

Felpsy will enter Kindergarten.

Tomorrow.

The twins will begin their final year as babies.

Tomorrow.

Where did you come from?  I knew you were coming, I just wasn’t expecting you.

I have a child who isn’t.  I actually have two.  By this time next year, my role as the primary parent for Radical will have been filled by Daddy Awesome.  Radical will no longer need a Mommy.  He’s looking more to his father to teach him how to be a man.  Those babies they brought in the middle of the night are riding bikes.  Felpsy has made incredible progress from the wild child that they brought us.

It’s all going as it should.

I just wasn’t expecting it.

Tomorrow

they will not need me.

Yet

this morning as another tomorrow arrived, Hubby and I all cuddled up in bed, willing the world to wait awhile longer, I knew this story needed me.  That I needed it.

I am that I am because of this story.

They are that they are.

Tomorrow can wait.

Tomorrow is here.

Sunday, Daddy Awesome took the boys to the water park for a Vacation Bible School kick off party.  Fun times had by all.  Except for the fact that I told him the wrong time and he got there waaaay early, but never fear, Daddy Awesome took the boys to “ride the tooth fairy” as was reported by Booger.  Yes, it might be a questionable choice for boys aged four, five and ten, if it were in fact the tooth fairy and not the ferry.   After the ferry boat ride it was back to the waterpark where the Awesome children wowed and amazed everyone with their high diving skills and their basic water awesomeness.

Meanwhile, back in the City by the Sea.  Myself and the Princess went on a girl date.  Where as I explained here that my daughter found out about my “stripper money” anyway, I’ll spare you the repeat.

Monday began our week of VBS, Hubby and I celebrated by going to a Deli and renting a movie. Boring old married couple, I think not. I’ll save that for a later post. Tuesday it was steak, Wednesday it was my meltdown. Thursday we saw Up, and Friday, with the roofing project complete just laid around and listened to the quiet.

Speaking of the roofing project.  The roofers called me out.  Wondering why us Gringo’s have children who aren’t.  Dang, and I thought I’d put one past Hubby for the past 4.5 years.  Although maybe he put one past me, because Boog and him are quite similar….just saying.   Let me just say, the roofers?  those guys worked their tails off.  And seem to have done a super job.

Were you standing in the wake of awesomeness this week, it might have been profitable for you.  Blogher contacted me about placing ads on the blog, which you will notice by looking to your left.  We also, paid off our car, paid cash for our new roof, in addition to the LASIK we paid for last week, just being around us you might have been able to pick up some of the money flying around.   We also emptied the piggy bank and the littles are the proud recipients of $45 worth of toys the next time we go shopping.

So, I must do it…..

WE’RE DEBT FREEEEEEEEE!!!!!

and we are well on our way to killing our mortgage.  Now that we have the other “little things out of the way”.  It wasn’t too long ago that we were uncertain if Hubby, aka Awesome Daddy, aka The Resident Geek, would be employed this week.  He is, and we are thankful for that.  So thankful we’re committed to doing only the best of the best with the money we earn.

Obama has had this brilliant plan that is trying to get everyone to have a mortgage no higher than 40% of their monthly income.  FOR FORTY YEARS.  Yikes, I freaked at the prospect of how much freakin money that would be.  Then I figured if we paid 40% of our mortgage we’d be done with the damn thing no time, but could not bring myself to pay that much every month.  So, I decided on 33% roughly and we’ll be done with the durn thing in 24 months give or take because you know that bonus’ and tax refunds will also be applied.  By the way, from the calls Dave Ramsey is allowing on his radio show, it doesn’t sound like Obama’s plan is helping.  They seem frustrated with the bureaucracy (which I just Freudanly spelled buraucrazy(Welcome to a new awesome word)).  I need a whole dictionary page to explain my awesome words.  I’ll work on that.

So, me and my many personalities bid you adieu and wish you all well for your Father’s day weekend.  (I bought Kobe steaks and cannot wait to eat them celebrate Daddy Awesome!)