A dream come true and a nightmare all rolled into one

I haven't exactly come to terms with my feelings about my master bathroom.  It's equally mortifying and awesome.  Kind of like a Vegas hotel room that you got for cheap on Expedia.  

 I'm pretty sure I don't have to tell you to notice the rounded vanity - how could you not.

And want to know a secret:  Not one of those drawers actually opens and there is no electrical outlet.  Form over function was apparently the theme of this design.  And by form, I don't necessarily mean good form.  

This is the most humbling bathroom I have ever been in.  At any given moment you can see yourself from 15 different angles.  Showers are quick, that's all I'm sayin'.

 

I'm honestly a little disappointed that the bathtub isn't in the shape of a giant champagne glass.  However, the carpeted stair almost makes up for it.

 I can't complain about the storage in the obnoxious room.  Behind every giant mirror there is a giant closet.  It's a give and take situation.

 This is mine...all mine:

Ya know, this bathroom has helped me to channel my inner Hugh Hefner and just live it up.  

 I think I'll take a bubble bath, put on my full-length velour robe and pour myself some brandy.

A party only a Mia could love

Mia likes to be in charge.  Of everything.  And in the ultimate display of Type A characteristics she controlled her own birthday party by presenting the attendees with gifts she had painstakingly made for them (Thank you, Mom and Ahmo for indulging her).

She couldn't have cared less about all her presents sitting there on the hearth.  She likes to get her attention in other ways.

She made a quilt for Henson:

 "Adore me.  I made you a present on my birthday."

She invented this darling little felt racetrack rug for Simon complete with little cars and traffic signs that velcro to it:

 A beaded wooden necklace for Sesa:

 And she did enjoy her new bike (for exactly 30 seconds) from Yaya and DD.

She decided to have her small group friends over for a tie-dye party (AKA my worst nightmare).

And again, in true Type A fashion, she spent the first half of it crying in frustration because her t-shirt did not turn out like the one on You Tube.

After threatening her within an inch of her life, she pulled herself together.

Overall I think she was pleased with her day.  

This hug pretty much sums it up.  

"Thank you for submitting to my every demand on this special day.  You're a real friend."

"Just because it's your birthday, kid."

Pretend you don't see all that dead stuff...

and the rotting stuff, and the other dead stuff, and more rotting stuff. 

And then you will know why I bought this house.  Those two little kids can run, play, hide, hit baseballs, and have backyard campouts.
Totally worth it.

Happy Birthday, Sweet Girl

Today Mia is eight.  

Her ears are now pierced, she attempts to fix her own hair, and her teeth are huge.

 She is the most wonderful eight-year-old girl I have ever met.

 She's complicated, bossy, sensitive, nurturing, and inherently creative.

She's her Father in drag.

 And I wouldn't have her any other way.

Happy 8th birthday, Mia.  

Your party isn't planned, I haven't gotten to the store to get you a present yet, and your birthday outfit isn't ironed.  

And yet you love me anyway.  

I'm so blessed to be your frazzled Mommy.

Summer Lashley and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

So yesterday was the day we were supposed to close on our adorable house on Meadow Lane.  Keep in mind it's been under contract for over a month now (i.e. off the market, sold, we can be excited about our move because the huge burden/nightmare of having two mortgages is off of us).

Here I am snapping pics of the kids last night in their rooms at the adorable house on Meadow Lane.  Trying to savor those last moments in this house before another sweet family made it their own.  

Here I am in my nostalgic and blissfully naive state as I watched my child make his sweet sleep sounds on his last night in the adorable house on Meadow Lane.  

And then on Monday we moved.  And sweet Mia immediately went to organizing her new room and asking for turquoise and purple stripes on the walls.

I immediately bit my tongue and eeked out a, "We'll see," while physically restraining myself from rearranging those shelves.

And then on Tuesday I was blissfully unaware that my house was a disaster because I spent the entire day organizing my pantry.

I had dreamed of having a pantry all my adult life and I finally had it.

So what if there is a giant fake palm tree in my entry covered in 6 inches of dust?

And so what if they left a ginormous weight machine that takes up half of the garage and takes an army to move less than a centimeter?

I have a pantry, darnet, and I'm not going to let any part of this quirky, spider-ridden house get me down.

Not even the built-in wet bar with a giant hole where an ice maker used to be.  No siree bob.  I'm happy.

And then Wednesday came.  The day we were supposed to close on the adorable house on Meadow Lane.  And I wasn't even sad anymore.  The pantry had quite a healing effect on me.

And then we got a phone call, "I'm sorry but the people that were buying your house TODAY didn't get the loan."

Translation:  "You've had your house off the market for a month and now you have to start all over.  And it has no furniture in it.  And it's coming into winter and no one likes to move in the winter.  And you still own it so you still have to pay for it.  And basically, you're screwed, have a nice day."

So, anyone want to buy an adorable house on Meadow Lane?  It's already had inspections.  The repairs are done.  And the owners are desperate.

Last school picture in front of the house.

That title is so pathetic even I can't stand myself.

Today is Gooney Bird Greene day at Oakdale.  And as you might imagine, Mia can give RuPaul  a run for his money when it comes to playing dress up - the girl loves it.   

When I was in grade school I dressed up as Lois Pasteur, who, in case you didn't know developed the vaccine for rabies and anthrax.   Basically, what I'm trying to tell you is that I was a big dork.  

 I also had bifocals in kindergarten.  Try not to be jealous.

Yesterday Mia had the all-too-familiar dodge ball to the face experience that so many of us awkward people have had in elementary school P.E. class.  In case you were one of the cool kids and never experienced this, it's mortifying.

It hit me that after all these years I can finally use my many awkward moments to help someone else.  

And then right after that it hit me that it might not make her feel much better to know that her awkward non-athleticisim is genetic and there isn't a darn thing she can do about it.  

At that moment I whipped the car into Sonic and ordered us both some tater tots and root beers.  Sometimes the best you can do is self-medicate with fried foods.  And sometimes that is just fine.

Remembering Meadow Lane

We move in less than a week.  I'm excited.  And sad.  I love this little house on Meadow Lane.  It's where my babies nursed and my toddlers tried to destroy my will to live (and succeeded on occasion).  And it's where my son can sit and play legos in his birthday suit.

I have a feeling that will not change one bit in the new house.  Which is why window coverings and an exterminator are going to be top priority.

Welcome to Generation Z

So I found this on Mia's desk the other day:

Someone pass the sedatives, we still have ten more years under the same roof.
On second thought, pass the xanax...and the sedatives...and a paper sack.

We're off to see the wizard....

Because I can barely keep my head above water with school and moving and school and packing and school and kids and school, it was only natural that Mia get cast in another play.  And so she did!

This time she is a lollipop league munchkin in the Wizard of Oz.  When they called to offer her the part she said, "Ahhh man, I really wanted to be Dorothy."

  

Apparently fame will go to your head.

Andy and I kindly explained that every Dorothy in the world has been a munchkin many times.  It's called paying your dues - get used to it.  

Her first super-long rehearsal was yesterday and as I sat in the lobby talking with all the other moms I kind of felt like I was back home.  As natural as it is for her to be on stage, it's just as natural for me to be backstage, patiently waiting.  

If you prefer driving shiny cars, being center-stage and eating well-blanaced meals in restaurants that have tablecloths, I would not recommend motherhood.  

But if you prefer driving a trashed out mini-van and spending hours in musty lobbies eating your kids leftover gummy snacks for dinner then have yourself a kid.  You most likely won't regret it.

Don't Knock It Till You've Tried It

When I said I was desperate enough to take Bode to see a Tribal Healer I wasn't kidding.  

Meet Hayli: 

She's not exactly a "tribal healer" but she is from Australia and she does practice Chinese medicine.  And in my suburban bible belt world that's close enough.  She did all sort of interesting things to Bode (and then me cause I couldn't resist) and the next thing I knew I was leaving her office with strange herbs and oils.  I felt so enlightened and cutting edge at that moment.  I was all, "Demi and Gwyneth ain't got nothin' on this.  I'm super-mom."  (I think I only said this in my head.)

And then Bode drew this god-awful picture of a demon-possessed little boy and I became convinced that this is the way he sees himself - struggling to maintain his will to live.  (I'm also reading crazy psych journals at wee hours of the morning so that may have something to do with my irrational, paranoid fears.  Grad school is awesome!)

And in other news:

Sometimes my kids are so adorable even I can't take it.  I'd rub strange potions on these babies for the rest of my life if I had to.

*And I'll keep you posted on Bode's progress with alternative medicines.  I won't bother keeping you posted on the amount of eye-rolling my husband is doing concerning all of this.  Just assume it's constant.

Next up, a Tribal Healer

Bode hasn't been able to breathe in, oh, about five years now.  He takes 15 different medicines for this problem so you would think we would have a handle on it by now.  But, nope, he still can't breathe and still ends up on antibiotics and steroids and breathing treatments and steam baths and humidifiers and controllers and new controllers and even newer better controllers every other day. 

Still.  Can't.  Breathe. 

So like any mother I decided to take matters into my own uneducated, uninformed, not really up on the latest research and reacting mostly out of unresolved mommy-guilt hands.

So off to the chiropractor we went.  And we continue to go every Wednesday.

Do I have a clue what they are doing?  No.  Does it work?  Who knows.  Does it make him feel better?  Again, who knows.  But does it make me feel better?  Yes, and that's kind of the point.

I can't continue to go on this way.  Always having the kid that sneezes and sends snot flying into the next county while all the other children and mothers shriek in horror.  Having his teachers give me that "are you sure he should be at school" look every day.

We also have an appointment with an herbologist (I think that's what she's called).  And if that doesn't work I'm going to start praying to some weird looking statues.

Go ahead and judge me.  I can't be stopped.

Mia's still homeschooling the Bodester, and thank goodness because no one else has any intentions of doing it.  And when Mia commits to something, she is all in. She's not above using her toes to hold up props and she's also not above using brute force to convince her students to submit.  Trust me, I've seen it in action.  

And I have told Bode over and over again that if he has any intentions of learning anything at home he's just going to have to take it.

Some days he'd rather risk death by choking on a scooby-doo action figure than have puppets on popsicle sticks teach him his vowel sounds.

And some days I can't say that I blame him.

Forever Plaid

 We saw the best play this weekend and, as usual, Mia found her way on to the stage.  

It didn't hurt that her Uncle was in it and made sure she was "randomly selected."  

Hey, sometimes it's not what you know but who you know that matters.  

Lucas is a great uncle to have when you need to practice for an audition, borrow a wig, puppet, vintage action figure, or an adult-sized spiderman costume. 

And you would be surprised at how many times we have needed those things.