November 2009 Archives

I have confirmed what everyone else probably already knows - kids (not just boys) will make a gun out of anything. ANYTHING. I don't know where it comes from. I haven't really encouraged toy guns in my house, but know that as soon as I forbid it, some family member will give them one as a gift. So, I never officially FORBADE toy guns in the house.

Still, I don't get it. "Here Bobby and Bobby Sue, here's a gun, what you do, is you hold it just like this, and you point it, and BANG! Isn't that fun!?" I really just don't get it.

Although they've done it all along, it seems like lately it's been way more often.So, it's never been a big issue at my house, but lately, I think from discovering the art of making the gun shooting sound, the kids have been making guns with their own fingers, bendy straws, my personal fav - toilet paper rolls, sticks, pencils, their forks at dinner time, paper clips, their toothbrushes.

On a mini-roadtrip this weekend, and the kids - both of them - were using their mini-juice bottles as guns. I opposed only to hear, "But mom, we drank all the water out of them, so it's okay."

Atleast the sound effects were impressive.

That's how I roll.

And to think we could be serving rum punch from this place...

On Monday, Ricardo and I decided it would be a great idea to buy a resort in Belize and run it. The average cost of living in Belize is $8,000. It's a simple beautiful life. There's a resort for sale for just $400,000. We can totally do that. Right?

It's the murder of capital of the world. And granted, that's per capita, still, MURDER capital OF THE WORLD. So, I'm out. I'm the dream crusher.

On Tuesday we discovered there's that whole "You can't get an international business loan" thing. It turns out I don't have $400,000 in my savings...YET. So, there's that little nay sayer.

We have grandeur dreams of traveling as a family and maybe even living internationally. But for now, we'll just get through the holidays, I suppose.

That's how I roll.

We went to church this weekend to give thanks and stuff. It was a Thanksgiving service, so it was a little bit longer than usual and the longer part was BEFORE the kids went to kid's time. Usually, they are whisked off to kid's time at the beginning of the service. This time, they had to sit and I had the audacity of insisting they listen and participate. They were shocked and not conforming as well as I'd hoped or insisted.

So, after lots of nagging, kid's time was coming up and I leaned down to Lucy and said,
"I want you guys to make sure you listen to the lesson at kid's time. Be good, and be appropriate."

Lucy says to me, "I know, Mom, you always tell us that and we always are." They are, but I don't think it's because they are just great kids, it's also because of my stellar reminders.

"Oh, you are always appropriate and listen well, huh?"

"Yep." And then she left to go to kids time.

THen I found her church bulletin art work she'd been doodling and writing on. In big letters at the top that said, "You are poop." It was directed towards her brother.

How appropriate.

That's how I roll.

This turkey is looking a little too confident.

Okay, so, y'all still wondering if I'm sticking to the healthy menu? Uh, yeah. And I just saw that McD's is offering those cool coke glasses with extra value meals, so this health crazed Thanksgiving dinner is just in time, cuz we need some new glasses up in here.

I stalked my Weight Watchers meeting last week and got some pretty cool recipes. But the Hungry Girl original cookbook also has some super uber healthy recipes. What is uber anyways? So, anyways, here's my menu and my tricks I'm working in.

Turkey Breast - Ricardo is the Turkeymeister and will be smoking the turkey in his cool new smoker. So, I'm watching tv the other day, and they say the best and basic way to calculate how big of a turkey you need is a pound a person. Really? Because the correct serving size for meats is 3-6oz. What's up with that? It turns out that you can't -or shouldn't - smoke a turkey breast without the skin. It'll dry out and be all crazy smoky. So, I found what is called a bone-in turkey breast. They just cut off the legs and wings. I'm paying for the parts of the bird I want, and it has the skin on it for smoking purposes. Might I add, when you smoke something with skin on it, you aren't in the slightest bit tempted to eat the skin. It's gross, tastes like a turkey-flavored ashtray. So, that healths it up even more.

Mashed Potatoes - yukon gold potatoes boiled in chicken broth and then mashed up with chicken broth.

Gravy - Okay y'all, I have a confession to make. I am a lady from the South who loves to cook and for the life of me, cannot make gravy. The shame. The guilt. So, I don't even think they have this little gem in the grocery stores in Texas, but, I found pre-made gravy in a jar, FAT FREE! What!? I know. Sounds gross, now that I type it, but I tasted it and it's good, so I'm going with it.

Sweet Potatoes - What's momontherocks, you're all going healthy on us, and you're serving sweet potatoes AND mashed potatoes? Isn't that redundant? Yes. And I'm doing it on principle. I've had to fight for my holiday dual carb veggies in the past, and so, I'm standing and delivering on that principle still. Gone are the days of the Sweet Potato Balls. And y'all, those balls are GOOD. But I got a recipe at the Weight Watchers meeting where you boil the potatoes (no sweet potatoes in a can, they are soaking in syrup and really, the pilgrims would frown on that, don't you think?) And then mash them up with crushed pineapple and a little bit of brown sugar and vanilla. Then just a little bit of dots of marshmallows, not a 4" layer. Just enough for the sweet and the toasted efffect.

Green Bean Casserole - Okay, this one is a must at my house. And when I was pregnant, I made it and ate it EVERY DAY. EVERY DAY, I say! So, now, in an effort to not freak Ricardo out with a false alarm of what now can only be construed as the immaculate conception, I only serve it on Thanksgiving. Get some french style green beans, mix it up with some 98% fat free cream of celery soup, sliced water chestnuts, and mushrooms,a little bit of milk, and some salt and pepper. Put that in a baking dish, and then top it with - get this - garlic and onion flavored soy crisps. What, but those fried onion things are so yummy!? I know, and they leave a waxy film on the roof of your mouth. Imagine what they're leaving on your arteries.

Caramel Apple Salad - I really only have a few more pounds to lose at Weight Watchers. And I will keep going back just for the recipes. Cut up about 3 granny smith apples, mix with some fat-free sugar-free instant butterscotch pudding mix (the small package), an 8 ounce can of crushed pineapple. Mix all that up, then fold in 8 ounces of Lite Cool Whip and 1 cup of minimarshmallows. All my points peeps out there, 1cup = 2 points. What what? I know. You are welcome. It's a new recipe I'm excited to try.

Judy's salad - My fantastic MIL is bringing a salad. I heart this salad. It's got shredded cabbage and ramen noodles and stuff in it. She keeps telling me the recipe, but I just keep asking her to make it. It's so yummy and tangy and good!

Pecan Pie - I'm breaking down and making the traditional pecan pie. It's very bad in carbs, calories, fat and points. I'm making it just so everyone knows I'm not crazy health craze lady. Just keepin it real is all.

Self-Crust Pumpkin Pie - again, why I go to Weight Watchers - for the recipes. This is some kind of magic chemistry induced pie. You mix it all together, and then when it bakes, it makes it's own crust. I'm in love. Bring it on. mix up 2 eggs, 1 can 15 ounces of real pumpkin puree, 2/3 c. brown sugar, 1 c. nonfat milk powder, 1/4 tsp salt, 1 1/2 tsp cinnamon, 3 tbsp flour, 1 c. water. Mix it up and pour it into a pie plate. Bake at 350 til it's done (about 45 mins). One FOURTH of the pie, y'all, is 4 points.

And I got some whole wheat and multi-grain rolls.

And there it is. It'll still be a big meal. It'll just be a big healthy meal. Let me know if y'all try any of these recipes. The other thing I like about all these dishes is how easy they will be to prepare. Yay!

Happy Thanksgiving, Y'all!
That's how I roll.

I'm totally gonna look just like this, except on a road race bike, and I'll be clipped in, and I'll be more sideways and more in a tumbling situation.

I finally succumbed to the peer pressure (and by my peers I mean, JulzHOLLA! She has a way of convincing me - like that time I was totally against reading those stupid Twilight books and then a week later, read them all.) Anyways, I gave in to the pressure and bought spinning shoes. I swore I wouldn't do it. I'm against swim hats (caps) too, but bet I'm sporting one by the beginning of next triathlon season.

So I got spinning shoes. Or maybe they are cycling shoes. I call them clippy-do-shoes. Because they clip into your bike. Let me reiterate that - the shoes clip INTO THE BIKE. I will be attached to my bike. I'm deathly afraid of that concept. Maybe I should call them "I'm gonna fall on my butt what the hell did I attach myself to this thing for anyways shoes."
I should never be attached to the bike, or "clipped in", ever! This is going to be bad. But atleast my feet won't hurt or feel like they are breaking in half when I go flopping over and break a hip. So that's good right?

My only saving grace is that I don't have a road race bike to clip onto right now. We're waiting for a big sale at the bike store. So, until then, I can use these bad boys in spin class, and practice clipping in there. If I fall off a spin bike....oh God. It's possible. Uggh.

These darn shoes better cut my time in half. Supposedly they'll make me pedal with greater ease. I guess that doesn't matter how easy I can pedal if I'm laid out on asphalt.

Off to a spin class. That's how I roll. Bahahah, get it? that's how I roll....and I'm going to spin class!?

Something has changed in me. Because I'm looking at this picture and in the past it would simply say to me, "MMMMmmm Thanksgiving!" But now it just says, "Here's an extra dimple for your fat ass on a plate."

I'm a little crazy about cooking lately. Just check my facebook status, there's always some great revelation about a new recipe or food trick on there. And I'm really starting to get a little crazy about Rachael Ray recipes.

Since I'm back on the Weight Watchers wagon - what? I know, you're all shocked from those sexy triathlon pictures. I have a few pounds to shed. And considering that our cholesterol was checked and one of us in this house has rising cholesterol. I don't wanna out anyone, but it's not me. I'm just sayin, it's not a great time for mashed potatoes and gravy and fatty hams and pies.

The average Thanksgiving meal is 3,500 calories. If you wanted to burn that off with exercise, it would take 12 1/2 HOURS to walk that meal off.

I find it ironic, and I'm not proud that we're an obese nation, but have a one of the highest rates of hungry and sometimes even starving people. The irony of spending a day of lavish cooking with two potatoe dishes as well as four pies, all that. All so we can be thankful for what we have. And this extra meal that we spent $300 and a trip to the er with clogged arteries on. So, lets get this ridiculous binge on, right?

So, this year for Thanksgiving, I've decided - pretty much without asking anyone's opinion - that we'll have a healthy thanksgiving. Stop laughing. Seriously, shut up. Do you know how hard this is for me?

This is very difficult for me to do. I mean, putting my newfound theory into practice is new for me. I've fought for my sweet potatoes AND my mashed potatoes with gravy in historic family fights. But this year, I think I'm trying to keep it simple, low-cost, and healthy.

Someone help me. I think I've got some good recipes. And we're doing a mock triathlon - sprint distance, it should take 2 hours and burn a good 1500 calories the day before, so, that ought to help a little bit.

I've asked the kids what they think we should have and what they remember a traditional Thanksgiving dinner to be.

"To shut up, be still and eat and be thankful, mommy." Okay, no. They didn't say that. Sorry, that's MY Thanksgiving memory. Woops. Anyways, being that my kids have only had 7 Thanksgivings, 5 of which they really got to eat up, they remember pies and turkey.

So be it. I think it's a great time in their lives to teach about healthy cooking, and how its making the meal, and all the fun in the kitchen with family - the contribution to the table that we each bring. So, you serving up some sugar topped with cholesterol and a little dab of fat? What are YOU bringing to the table?

In my quest, I've found some really great recipes that I'm excited to make with Lucy and Max and our family. We will have fun decorating the table and it will still be over my daily caloric intake. Just not as bad. I'll post the recipes if you care to join me in serving up some healthy love this Thanksgiving. And you KNOW it'll come with commentary!

That's how I roll.

Man, it's only Monday, and I have had it. Perhaps its because it's that time of the month and I just don't know it, and my mood swings are solely based on purchasing power. I dunno. But today, I left the house, only to look out and see that the yard waste people left a note on my pumpkin leaf bags citing they are plastic and they don't do that. Fine.

So, I put the car in park, and ripped all those bags open and put them in the approved yard waste cans. I got nasty wet grass all over me. Super.

The gym - the pool water is gross, the sink doesn't work, the guy who does the kids swim classes doesn't watch them at all, and mumbles instructions with a lollipop in his mouth. There's no water pressure and the water is scalding. I felt like Goldilocks, walking from shower stall to shower stall. If i have to figure out the best shower stall that ain't right. The swim classes for adults are no longer free, and the triathlon training program I've been so excited about, has doubled in price, but halfed in service. Shit y'all. Woops, sorry, that's my list for my next comment card.

I got a bill in the mail for $540 for psychiatric treatment. It's not even my name, but my address. Nice, you'd think when whoever's sitting in the chair is listening, and taking better notes than that.

Then the recycling guys left the bin perfectly located in the middle of my driveway so that I couldn't pull in to the driveway, had to park the car in the street, move the bin, and then pull in.

Habitat for humanity called and although I appreciate that it was actually a live person soliciting my money that I'm bankrolling in, the monotony of her reading to me, not so much today. I don't usually do this, and I don't know what came over me, usually I give them the courtesy of not letting them ramble on, or I ask them to send it to me by mail. But this time, I just let her go a while, and then I just hung up. On HABITAT FOR HUMANITY! I'm an ass.

I called the billing office for the psychiatric treatment, and explained that it's the right last name, right address, but just a few letters off my first name, and last I checked, I've receieved no psychiatric treatment. But perhaps I should. Ha hah ahah, she's not laughing. She suggests I've committed mail fraud. And wants me to waste a stamp and mail back the bills (because there's plural) that I've had the audacity to open. She's going to have to file a report. I tell her to just fix the address and I won't be wasting whatever the going rate for a stamp is anymore.

I walked Farley the Wonderdog to pick up the kids, and did you know that dog poops while he walks. Doesn't even to bother to pull over or squat. Right there on the sidewalk. God, I hope nobody sees this, because I have nothing to pick it up with. Didn't see it coming, dear God, he's like a frikkin Clydesdale at a parade! Is he going to stop!?

Clearly, it's the wrong time of the month for me.

As soon as I picked up my kids, the clouds parted, the sun came out. It was a little warmer out and the rest of the day was fine. And Max says, "Mom, I had like, the worst recess ever today."

Poor kid.

That's how I roll.

Just when I suggest that we are doing a great job with our kids...well, I suppose it's a fair balance.

I think I've actually tried to work this theory out here before. But we're having a problem keeping our darn house clean. Let me make the disclaimer that all the kids' toys are down in the basement now. And the basement is in construction shambles, so it's not real accessible to put their stuff away. Let me make another disclaimer that the little suckers didn't put their stuff away when the basement was not in shambles anyways.

The other day, I went to take a giant wad of clothes downstairs to the basement, when on the first step, I stepped into a plastic storage box on the step that I'd asked Lucy to put away. Apparently she chose to put it halfway away, resolving to just take care of that later. I stepped into it, it slid off the step and me and the box went flying down the steps. Ouch. The kids came running in concern because I might have screamed. And I frikkin lost it. I'm pretty sure I said something to the effect, "Oh, you're concerned about me now, but not enough to clean up your stuff when I ask you too? I gotta go flying down the stairs for it to count for anything?" Yet again, another stellar parental moment. I threw the box so hard aginst the wall, it shattered into a million little pieces, except this story is true.

Lucy was petrified. You'd think that performance would have worked, but there's stuff all over my house as I type.

I'd also told the kids that the very basics of expectations was that they had to keep wet towels off the floor and hang them up, and no clothes on the floor. I explained that I was buying no more new clothes or shoes, they have hampers, drawers, hangers and a closet for their clothes and shoes. So, if the clothes are on the floor and I had to pick them up, they were going into a trash bag. But I never did it.

All that happened during my give-them-control-and-responsibility-to-clean-up-their stuff. I even got them each a clean up basket and I fill it up every day while they are at school and when they get home, they are supposed to notice all their crap that was strewn all over the house, that I picked up, and they are to put it away. That's not working either. Well, it's working, but not as well as I'd hoped.

It is so much easier for me to just clean up. I don't yell at the kids. It gets done right. Everyone is happy. I think they appreciate me cleaning up and not the screaming dragon lady 24/7. Still they need some responsibility. I'm really torn on this one. So, I was really ready to just buck up, find some other responsibilities for them to earn their allowance and dignity. But mostly allowance.

I just gave up and gave in, and I was really considering just doing it all myself. And while considering it I was doing laundry, and went to strip the kids' beds and wash their sheets and remake their beds. I got Lucy's bed made, and found a few clothes on the floor. And then I went to go into Max's room. And that's when the Mommy Dearest rage came over me - the saving grace was the kids were at school.

Clean clothes still folded and dirty clothes wadded up, wet towels, crafts, books, all of it, were all over the floor. I couldn't walk into the room it was so dirty. The kid has allergies and has mold freshly growing in his room from wet towels on his floor. C'mon, y'all. Still, in all the rage, I was considering just cleaning it up myself. Or maybe wait for them to come home from school and lay into them, tell them to go to their rooms til they are clean. That never works at this house. And then a light bulb clicked, I went and got the promised trash bag.

It's hard to hold up to that, because I'd spent alot of any free time shopping for pants for these ever-growing kids. So, to throw it away, no good. But I just need one "Mom, I don't have any pants to wear to school" to use against him. Or, "Mom, I can't find my favorite night gown" from Lucy. That's all I need.

I'm gonna stick to my promise, I'm gonna teach them a lesson. This is going to be great.

I shovelled games, shoes, towels, books, stuffed animals, a tape measure, clothes. All of it. And then I went back into Lucy's room and snagged all of her stuff that wasn't as offensive, but I gotta be fair, right? I FILLED UP a giant trash bag and hauled it down to the basement. LIBERATE!

I made their beds, and started the laundry. Oh this is gonna be good! They'll come home, and notice all their stuff is gone and learn their lesson! Yay me!

Those shits came home, and still haven't noticed anything gone. It's almost been a week. Dammit. Well, atleast the laundry was less this week.

That's how I roll.

When Max woke up this morning, he immediately asked Ricardo if we saw the note on the wall. And he pointed him to it. He was very concerned. That he owned up to it, made sure Lucy didn't get in trouble, and was responsibly concerned enough to show us where the note of apology was - we're just beaming with pride over these little stamp marks.

This message has been brought to you by Mr. Clean Magic Eraser. They sell it in bulk at Sam's Club. I'm just sayin.

That's how I roll.

Today, Lucy asked me if I would ever divorce Daddy. Thankfully, that was an easy answer. "NO."

But she looked like she didn't believe me. And that just broke my little heart. Because Ricardo and I get along famously. We laugh a lot. We hug and smooch a lot. And we drive our friends crazy with how well we get along. We always have, and we totally pride ourselves in it. So, I was concerned, I mean, she's not getting that question from our actions here at home.

So, I stopped emptying, or maybe loading the dishwasher, I get mixed up sometimes and it's always there- the vicious cycle of dishwasherness. I stopped what I was doing - and looked her square in the eyes and said, "Baby girl," because that's what I call her sometimes, "I am not ever going to divorce Daddy. Because I promised God, and our friends and family that I wouldn't. And I'm promising you right now."

A look of relief came over her porcelain little face. She knows I don't break a promise. And I promised to stay with Ricardo forever. And that's my plan.

I realize that to Ricardo sometimes that can seem more like a threat than a promise. And I realize that some of you guys are reading this and suggesting "Never say never." But I also know that I'd never let Ricardo off that easily. Mwwwahahahahah!

Aw, way to ruin a sweet moment, Les. You're welcome. It's a gift.

I don't know exactly where Lucy got that concern from. Ricardo and I really like each other and make sure to have fun and talk sweet to each other all the time. So, it came from maybe television. Or school. School might be the better bet because Lucy has about half a class of kids from divorced parents. That's pretty high, even for this day and age.

And I'm guessing a few convos like, "Tonight's my dad's night." or "I spend Thanksgiving with my Mom and then Christmas with my Dad." Stuff like that comes up. But Lucy can now confidently go back to school and say, "They are in it for the long haul."

That's how I roll.

Okay y'all, do NOT freak out, but I have the tree up. I said don't freak out. Let me explain. This cool cedar plank tree has been passed down to me. And by passed down, I found out my Aunt A, in a moment of downsizing, gave the tree to my Uncle G. I love this tree, always have. So, I might have sent a letter to Uncle G, perhaps if read wrong it mayyyy have seemed threatening. "If you don't want that tree give it to me!!" And my favorite Uncle G gave it up. I heart this tree. It's just different and neat.

My plan was to give away our pointy irritating tis-the-freakin-season-to-be-jolly-artificial-tree. The Veterans donation pick-up was coming around, but I didn't want to give the tree away before I made sure I could assemble this pile of cedar competently. Because really, what's the spirit of giving if you don't have a back up. Right?

So, I set the tree up. And really, it didn't take that long. The kids got a kick out of helping out. Once we got the tree up - I just didn't think I was ready to disassemble knowing I'd just put it back up in three weeks. So, yes, my tree is up. Deal with it!

I'm validated by that only because I've discovered the bell ringers are out. Just a ringing away! So, if I can drop coins into the bell ringer buckets, then I can have my tree up!

And I haven't even collected all my Christmas music yet. I better get on it!

But mostly I know that the holidays are upon us and the parental accountabilty is in full swing because the other day, I was fixing Lucy's hair and getting everyone ready for school, and Lucy says to me, "Mom, we need to go buy something at the store so we have stuff to be thankful for."

I corrected her. Don't y'all worry. I suppose our No-Kids-In-The-Stores policy for the holiday season should start a little earlier this year. But the tree is staying up!

That's how I roll!

I googled him, and Max was right. It's creepy, really y'all.

Max is getting a little crazy with football. He's becoming quite the ESPN Man of the Year, citing of crazy stats or rattling off names and best offense or defense. And he also knows most of the rules: offsides, no rushing, sacking the quarter back, pass interference. And he's seven. It's not like he got this from playing flag football.

We've done pretty good about having football only on occasion. I can't imagine what it would be like if we turned on football on a Saturday and just watched all day like many of my Saturdays were filled with.

Yesterday, after I picked them up from school, I was vacuuming and heard this convo between Max and Lucy today:
"Okay Lucy, this is a tough one, what team does Tyrod Taylor play for?"

nothing.

"I'll give you a hint, it's a college football team."

"Texas Tech?" that was sweet of her to play along.

"No, but close, he plays for Virginia Tech. There's three Tech teams: Virginia Tech, Texas Tech, and Louisianna Tech."

I'm starting to get a bit freaked out at this point. How does he know all this?

"Okay, Lucy this one is easy, what does NFL stand for?"

By then, it was too late, Lucy wasn't playing along.

"National Football League"

"I knew that!" she said bothered that the five minutes he gave for her to answer wasn't enough and she was just about to answer it.

"I'm going out to play ball, Mom."

After he left I considered telling Lucy about the secrets of football knowledge, to know just enough to get them to raise their eyebrows. You don't have to know too much to impress them, they are too busy watching the game. But if you know just enough, and you have a couple of good dips and chili recipes, you have won the heart of a football fan, any day.

But I just chalked it up to that it was sweet of Max to start helping her win hearts like that.

Later I went out to throw the football with Max.
"Hey Max, who was that football player you were quizzing Lucy about from Virginia Tech?"

"Tyrod Taylor?"

I noted the name so I could write about this precious moment.

"Yeah, Tyrod Taylor, how do you know about him."

"Uh, he's just the best guy on their team, Mom."

Did I mention the kids was seven years old?

That's how I roll.

The timing for leaf control here in the Big O is very delicate. You have to wait for all the leaves to fall, because really, I'm not doing this twice. Then you have to wait for a day that's got great weather, but have to do it before there's rain. Jumping into wet leaves is no fun. And it can't be windy. And you have to do it before the yard waste people quit pick-ups for the season. And then, daylight savings time hits, and you have to do the leaf pile early enough to blow all the leaves into a pile and jump in them while it's still day light out! Precision is required.

Yesterday was the perfect fit.

I love doing the giant pile of leaves for the kids. It's probably the last time I'm willing to play outside with them. Now that they can make their own snowmen and all, I have taken the role of staying inside when it's cold and snowy to make soup and hot cocoa. I'm brilliant like that.

Last night, I hustled the kids home so that we could do our annual giant leaf pile gig. I inherited the coveted leaf blower from my Dad. Which is ironic, because he would not approve of my playing in the yard work. He came more from the ranks of, "Just get the damn leaves up and stop making a mess. I want to get inside and watch the damn football game." Funhater. But still, I use his leaf blower in vain, and thankfully, it only takes an hour to get the leaves blown into a gigantore pile. It takes the kids about ten minutes to jump in them. And then I have to pick them up. But I let them play a little longer this time, and resolved to get the leaves up the next morning.

I was nervous because that's not a very neighborly thing to do, to leave a giant pile of leaves to blow in the yard. And it was on the corner of our yard, so really, they could blow into our neighbor's yard. And they might already be pissed that I waited for every last leaf to come off the tree before I even thought to do the pile. So, half of them may or may not have already blown into their yard. Still, I left the pile there overnight.

This morning I went to pick up the pile and my neighbor started to mow his yard. And that's when we noticed a giant raccoon on our other neighbor's porch. Eww. I didn't really know what to do, except Max had just read to me from one of his fact books, "Raccoons may look cute, but are the most likely to carry rabies." Nice. So, I called Animal Control. Called the neighbor, "Hey, when you get home from work, there might be a dead raccoon on your porch....no...no...I didn't PUT it there!"

Apparently, per Animal Control, the raccoon was probably sick and/or dying. They don't just hang out on front porches in the middle of the day.

Within minutes, Animal Control was there to pick up the raccoon. Man, they are fast! I'm just gonna call them if I have an emergency.

I finished my giant leaf pile, and told my neighbor, "My job here is done."

"Good work."

I wonder if Animal Control would clean my basement?

That's how I roll.

The other day, Lucy and I were driving and talking, one of my favorite things to do because they are trapped in the car. Whatever. And she mentions she's going to buy lots of things so that when she's a millionaire she can do whatever she wants.

"Well, where are you going to get a million dollars?" This dream-crusher asks.

And all in one word, really, she blurts out, "I'm gonna buy a sphinx and then run out of money and then tell everyone I am out of money and poor so they will give me some more."

"That's pretty much already been done, but with auto dealerships and mortgage companies. A sphinx is a new spin, I guess."

Atleast she didn't think you just grow money on trees. THAT would be outlandish!

That's how I roll.

Remember when I told my kids no more shots? Apparently I forgot about it, because a couple of weeks ago, I resolved - out of freakin no where -just ask my husband - that the kids needed flu shots. They've never had one. Because wasn't there sometime when they were all like "Don't give your kids flu shots." And then the next season, they were all like, "Ooooh, big shortage, don't get the shot unless you have to." Like that? Didn't all that happen? So, they're seven-years old, and never gotten a flu shot. But this year, this week, I just decided that perhaps they should start.

The kids heard me talking on the phone. I explained that they'll get mist, no shots. Even the mist wasn't sellin. "Mom, that doesn't sound great either."

So, I pulled the false-dichotomy card with, "Well, you can get the mist, or you can get sick and end up with a needle, not a shot, but a needle STUCK in your arm and it will stay there because you'll be so sick, you'll need to have fluids put into your body through a needle."

Both of them turned pale white and then agreed that indeed, the mist might be bearable.

That's when I made the mistake of calling around town with the kids in the same room. No one had the flu mist, nor the shot. I called my doctor to see if they knew of anyone in town that had it. Turns out, they do. However, no mist, shot only. Oh God. This is going to be ugly. Because in the midst of calling all over town, the more less supply, the more demand I had that my kids really needed to get this shot.

It didn't help that the night before, I'd seen my friend on the news for delivering her baby, and then being quarantined for H1N1. The baby is fine. But did I mention I watched her son while she was in labor for a while? Super, we're all infected. AACK!

And I realize that the flu shot and the H1N1 shot are different. Since I'm just getting on the flu shot boat, I'm just picking one shield to protect with, if you will. Baby steps.

The problem now is, I've made an appointment with the doctor for a shot. And they know it. Because if you ever want your kids to hear something you've actually said, say it into the phone. They're listening.

I hung up the phone and immediately heard singing/terror/screaming: "MOM YOU SAID NO SHOTS!!!" Dammit - Mommy never breaks promises. Except today, I suppose. I had two hours to kill until our flu shot appointment. Two very long hours of regression with whining and begging. Uggh.

We finally made it to the appointment. By that point, the kids were walking in on their own accord, which was good, because I don't think I could carry them both kicking and screaming, they are way stronger than me now. We get in, get checked in, get escorted back to a room, and the nurse comes in, checks out their chart. Gives them the shot. And then says, "Since this is their first time, they're going to need another shot in a month."

Ever seen a glare from a seven-year-old of shame and deceit? Try it times two.

Oh, I'm in so much trouble.
That's how I roll.