It’s a Hard Knock Life

I am a walking musical.

I’m the kind of person who busts out in song randomly. I’m the kind of person who sings about her trip to town to buy groceries.

And my kids don’t think it’s awesome.

Yesterday, I had “It’s a Hard Knock Life” stuck in my head from Annie. What a super catchy tune! Darn you, Annie!

I guess TheWiseOne finally had enough because he told me he didn’t want to hear it anymore. Then he sauntered off into the bathroom.

It was then that I saw my golden opportunity…

…to scare the life out of my spawn.  

What kind of parent passes up this opportunity? Not this girl.

So, I tiptoed down the hall and waited outside the bathroom door–hunched over at his eye level with arms spread wide. As soon as TheWiseOne stepped out, I belted, “It’s a hard knock life for us!”

Now, what I didn’t realize is that TheWiseOne had apparently gotten a drink of water while he was in the bathroom and–for some unknown reason–had not swallowed all of it. So, when I startled him, he kind of freaked out which looked kind of like this:

And he fell to the floor and “lost his water”.

But I’d totally do it again.

Advertisements

TracyandHolly: We <3 Etsy!

My back is better. I have not fallen into a post Thanksgiving dinner food coma.

And I now have an Etsy store!

Today is a good day!

My mom and I paint. That’s a vague statement, I know. But let me tell you how legit I am about this: For five seconds in college, I was an art major. Okay, maybe it was two weeks, but still. Then I realized that my love of stuff did not befit the life of a starving artist. So, I was like, “JK! Ha ha! I’ll go be a nurse now.”

But I still really like to paint. And my mom really likes to paint. So, our Etsy shop, TracyandHolly, was born.

Etsy is a win-win for me. I can still have my day job to make money so I can have “stuff”, but still satisfy my craving to paint.

My mom and I are quite opposites when it comes to art. While I prefer digital art, my mom is an excellent traditional painter (ie, oils). I paint rather “tightly”, but my mom is a very free-spirited, loose painter. Either way, we both have fun!

So check out the Etsy store and let me know what you think! I have some Christmas paintings listed now that would make beautiful Christmas cards! Thanks!!!

Tears and Socks: Not in That Order

Today I wept like a baby.

And the story is actually kind of funny.

I woke up Sunday with annoying lower back pain. I had trouble lifting the baby, but thought I’d be right as rain after a day of resting.

Monday: I woke up at 5 am with the pain again. Okay, maybe I wasn’t “right as rain”, but it would surely pass. I went to work and the pain seemed to be more manageable as the day went on.

Tuesday: OH MY GOSH. By 4 am, the back pain became back/right hip pain that was excruciating. Rolling over was horrible. Getting up was nearly impossible. And I couldn’t stand up straight.

Oh, and I’m nursing the cold from the Netherworld. (I coughed up a “thing” this morning. It was traumatic. I won’t go there.)

I literally limped and shuffled–like an old lady with severe arthritis–down the hall where I cautiously lowered myself into a chair.

And my husband had to put on my socks for me because it hurt too much.

TheBaldEagle was all, “You’re going to a doctor.”

And then my face crumpled, and I sobbed. And I was all, “OMG, I’m going to be paralyzed. I’m going to be in a wheelchair. I’m going to be a burden. This is my worst nightmare!”

And then the doctor was all, “You pulled a muscle. Here’s some aleve.”

And now I feel really dramatic… and silly… and miserable. I think it’s time for a nap.

The Boy and The Webcam

There are some opportunities that are too good to miss.

One presented itself today, and TheBaldEagle snagged it.

Today our 7-year-old decided to act more like an angsty 17-year-old, and was hiding out in his sister’s room with the door closed.

What he probably wasn’t thinking about was that we have a camera in her room. Instead of a baby monitor, we bought an inexpensive webcam. We can watch K-girl from our computer in the living room or even our cell phones.

And we have the capability to talk to her through the webcam, too.

So, TheBaldEagle, having seen Z-boy leaning against the door with a pout that even Posh Spice would be jealous of, gleefully snagged the microphone and started whispering, “Z-booooy… Z-boooy…”

Z-boy may be young, but he ain’t no fool. He ran out of the room and yelled at TheBaldEagle, “Stop!” Then he ran back to the room and resumed pouting.

TheBaldEagle was not so easily deterred.

“Z-boooy…”

Again, Z-boy ran out of the room, “Stop it!” Back into the eye of webcam he went.

Finally, he whispered, “Z-boooooy… look in your pocket. There’s 5 bucks.”

Z-boy sprung to attention, “Huh?!” Then he dug in his pockets.

Cue parent maniacal laughter.

I do what I want…

Toddlers do what they want. TheLittlePrince is no exception.

He’s been telling me all week that he’s not 3 anymore. He’s 1. You don’t argue with a 3/1-year-old.

The other day he came in the living room and said, “Mommy, I’m thirsty.”

“Okay, just a second,” I replied as I was in the middle of something.

I heard him go into the kitchen and saw him pushing a stool over to the cabinet. I have to admit, I already knew where he was going with this. Yes, he already had a sippy cup, but there is apparently an unwritten rule in my house that says “no free refills” so he was going after another cup.

About a minute later he returned with a bowl full of water…

…drinking it Beauty and The Beast style. And he was totally nailing it. So, I was all:

Poke-Blog with TheWiseOne: Gotta Read Them All! 3

Hello everyone! Sorry it has been quite a while since I made a Poke-Blog. I keep forgetting each day. I guess todays my lucky day. 😉  Oh well. Today we are going to talk about the pokemon Arceus!

Arceus is a lengendary pokemon. Arceus can take other forms which can change his pokemon type and each form is at least a normal type. When you first find Arceus, he starts at a level 100, which is highest level you can reach! Arceus starts as his normal form. All lengendary pokemon genders are unown. Arceus is also known as the god pokemon. Please post in the comments if you have an Arceus. Peace out!

The Weekend From…

“You’ve got to blog about this,” my mom said.

Yeah, you know it’s bad when your own family tells you to blog about it.

Do you remember the sewing machine from…?

Well, I had the weekend from there, too. So, grab a cup of joe or better yet, stick a bag of popcorn in the microwave and pour a glass of soda. Prepare to be entertained.

Here’s a timeline of our weekend:

Friday
Benign. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Normal day.

Saturday
1:30 pm: We meet with our realtor to sign papers. K-girl screams, crawls all over the building, and removes labels from filing cabinets. TheLittlePrince helps.

2:45 pm: I decide to take the kids grocery shopping… solo. TheBaldEagle and I part ways. That lucky jerk.

3:50 pm: We go to Joann Fabric’s. My post-pregnancy bladder has to go. NOW. I run to the bathroom (squeezing legs together) with four kids in tow. TheLittlePrince refuses to go into the family restroom with me. Praise the Lord, TheWiseOne stays with him outside the restroom while I skip inside with K-girl on my hip. I set K-girl down and see that Z-boy has beat me to the toilet. My bladder cries a little.

4 pm: I now have a happy bladder. We go to Aldi’s. TheLittlePrince suddenly decides he’s thirsty and that the world will end if he does not get a drink now. No problem, TheWiseOne offers to share his drink. Alas, three-year-olds cannot be bargained with. TheLittlePrince begins throwing a mega tantrum in the parking lot because he doesn’t want to drink the drink, he wants to hold it and love it and open it randomly throughout the store and pour it on strangers. I do not let him. Cue ultra mega Power-Ranger-style tantrum.

4:05 pm: TheLittlePrince makes screaming snow angels in the middle of Aldi’s.

4:10 pm: TheLittlePrince is suddenly happy as a lark. I have no idea why… but I’ll take it.

4:30 pm: We check out. K-girl is screaming now. I don’t even know.

4:35 pm; I call home and ask the hubby to finish the cupcakes for the church dinner which is at 5. “It’s a box mix. The cupcakes are already baked. All you have to do is mix 3 ingredients and follow the instructions,” I say. He agrees.

4:50 pm: I arrive home. The cupcakes are not done nor have they been touched at all since I left. “Did you forget the cupcakes?” I ask.

“Those were for tonight?” TheBaldEagle replies.

I die a little inside.

5:10 pm: By some miracle, we arrive at the church dinner… late, but with finished cupcakes in tow. I carry K-girl, TheWiseOne follows with the cupcakes, and Z-boy hauls the diaper bag. Boom. I turn around to see Z-boy sprawled on the ground with diapers surrounding him like sprinkles on a cupcake. You can’t make this stuff up.

5:12 pm: We enter the church, eat, and be merry. Z-boy accidentally dumps his whole glass of tea into the diaper bag. Seriously?

5:15 pm: TheWiseOne knocks a metal piece off the table. Once. Twice. Three times. Everyone stares. Shoot me now.

5:20 pm: TheLittlePrince sticks his head under the jug of tea and masterfully begins drinking sweet tea straight from the spigot without ever touching the spigot with his mouth. I’m ashamed and impressed. Help me.

6 pm: We survived! The kids and I head to the van. Boom. I see Z-boy sprawled on the ground with diapers surrounding him like sprinkles on a cupcake… again.

TheWiseOne says, “Didn’t he trip on that same thing earlier?”

“Yes,” I reply.

I am never leaving the house again.

Humility, thy name is TheBaldEagle…

TheWiseOne informed me that my homemade burgers were the second best he ever had. First place went to McDonald’s.

Z-boy wanted to know if they tasted like Grandma’s before he would even take a bite. I’m going to assume that he approved since he ate almost the entire burger.

TheBaldEagle told me, “I hate to say this, but… I think you may be better than me.”

Now that is saying something.

We were just having a conversation earlier today about a painting that I was admiring. I called my husband over, “Isn’t this amazing?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, “not that you’re not good, too.”

In case you didn’t know, I paint. Sometimes it looks like this:

red

And sometimes it looks like this:

644588_10151149149479378_840861347_n
An intricate portrait of my husband, TheBaldEagle

Anyway, I informed him that I knew that artist was better than me and that was okay. “Wouldn’t the world be boring if there was no one better than you?” I asked.

“Yes. Yes, it is,” TheBaldEagle replied.

The sewing machine from…

Well…

I’m writing to you after spending a good 30 minutes soaking my anger away.

It all started with a sewing machine.

Okay, let me back up. Years and years ago, I promised the boys I would make them curtains for their room. “It will be nice,” I said. “You’ll like them,” I said. Then I walked away and promptly forgot.

Not that the boys cared. They’re boys. All they care about is that they get food and TV–not necessarily in that order.

Then my husband got a call from a realtor friend saying that she knew someone who was looking for a house that fit our description. “Do you want to list your house?” she asked.

Um, gee, let me think about it.

YES!

So, I suddenly went from, “Hmm, I’ll get to those curtains… someday” to rushing to Joann Fabrics and doing this:

Now the next part of my story is where it gets a little strange. I am somehow the owner of three sewing machines.

Yes, you read that correctly. Not one, not two, but THREE machines.

I’ve inherited two machines from my grandma. The first one is built into a table and pops out like some sort of freaking Jack-in-the-box (only with needles). It’s older than dirt–possibly antique? We’ll say “vintage”. The second one–also “vintage”–comes with a fancy case and knobs that apparently make fancy stitches.

And the third one I actually know how to use.

Unfortunately, item number three is hiding somewhere in the deep, dark recesses of our storage shed.

So, since I’m not ready to try my luck at sewing machine peek-a-boo, I decided to go with machine number two.

Let me say that I at least had the wisdom to do a test sew on some scrap fabric. That is, after I finished googling how to thread the darn thing. The great internet told me I had to put my thread through 10 different holes. And I’m all like, “Are there even 10 different holes on this thing?!” And so I followed the picture and where I thought the thread should go and…

Success! It worked! I was in business. I was so proud of myself that I called the boys to admire my success.

And they were all like, “We have legos.” So, no, they didn’t care much, but that was okay because after decades of waiting (well, maybe not decades) they were going to have freakin’ curtains!

But then it happened.

I don’t think sewing machines are supposed to make sounds similar to a hoard of bats beating their way out of a cave. Buuuut somehow my machine was doing a good job of this. This “lovely” sound was followed by my spool of thread having a seizure and my needle doing this:

Yeah, it was stuck because apparently there was a mound of thread under my fabric resembling Mt. Everest. I don’t even know.

So, I pulled the fabric out, re-threaded the machine, and started again. All was well until it happened again. Repeat the re-threading and try again.

Times this by a zillion.

Apparently, when I’m very frustrated, I do an excellent impersonation of Miss Piggy screaming.

Yes, I did look very much like the above picture minus donuts. There were no donuts. 😦

I begged and pleaded with the sewing machine, “Puhlease? Please please please! C’mon, we can do this! Just one more stitch. C’mon, baby! You did the other curtain. Can’t  you do this one, too?”

I yelled at the sewing machine, “You had one job! ONE. JOB. Sew the friggin’ curtain! COME ON!”

I threatened the sewing machine, “I’m going to throw you where no one will ever find you.”

And I’m proud to say that I now have two new curtains. But the machine still sits there taunting me, waiting for our next encounter.

But not today, sewing machine. Not today.