Me? Posting? On my blog? GET OUT!

Yeah, yeah - I've neglected this blog for far too long. I get it. I could pepper you with excuses or I can just say I'm sorry and call it a day.

Life? It's still chaotic... but a beautiful chaos. And with Christmas upon us I'm like a teenage boy at Hooter's.... just giddy! I promise there'll be more to come soon but for now I'll leave you with these pics of the Darlings. Our annual Christmas photo shoot didn't end in tears for me or the girls, which probably means the apocolypse is near. Fair warning.

Love to all,

Kayla

Bad Mommy Diaries, Vol 1

I had a two year old. And a newborn. The hubs was working miles away and had been for days. I was wearing the same pajama pants and ratty t-shirt from 3 days prior. I was hideously sleep-deprived.
I had just finished kissing the elbow of the slightly injured two year old when I realized I was unsure of the whereabouts of her infant sister. Where could she be? We had several conveniently placed "baby stations" throughout the house, so I started the rounds.

The swing in the living room. No Kenly.

The bouncy chair in the bathroom. (You try handling nature's calls one-handed) No Kenly.

Her crib? Nope. The bassinet? Oh dear Lord, where IS my baby?

Panic was taking hold of me. Sure, she was a newborn and couldn't have crawled away but where was she? I was near tears and my racing heart was now residing in my stomache. I couldn't breathe.

"Ashlyn, honey - where is baby sister? Where did Mommy put Kenly?" She responded with a quizzical look while fixating her stare on my arm.

"This is NOT the time for anatomy lessons; it's an arm kid. Now, what have we done with KENLY?" As I said this I glanced down at the limb Ashlyn was so consumed with, and there, lying perfectly secure and fast asleep was the misplaced baby. I had been holding her the entire time.

I cried. And laughed. And hugged the little lost child while profusely thanking the other for understanding what I was asking.

I then called the Hubs and demanded he return home so I could take a week-long nap.

How we've all survived the 3 years following that day is nothing short of miraculous.

Now, for the Darlings:

Ash, showing off her new break-dance move; the sidewalk chalk hop. Or something.

Ahh, and see? There's the victim of the *almost* missing child case, though I now keep a very diligent eye on her at all times.

Sweet Ashlyn again. Isn't she just so precious? And innocent? Her drawings are nothing short of artistic genious and... Oh holy toledo. Would you look at that other kid in the background? What the heck kind of terrible mom let's her child get so darned close to the STREET?

The same kind that *misplaces* her newborn, it would seem.

Cheers!

I feel like this every day...

Exhaustion.

This is what happens when Gramma is in charge.

Cheers!

Random thoughts while driving

There is a person walking this Earth. Her name is Ashlyn. She's a product of Allen and I, and so many before us. There is another person walking this Earth. Her name is Kenly. She's also a product of Allen and I and so many before us. I mean, I know they are my kids. I know every freckle, every muscle curve, every lump or bump; I know the intricacies of each of their personalities and can (almost) predict every move they will make.

But ya'll; I'm a mom.

Excuse my slowness, it takes me awhile sometimes. 5 years in some cases.

Cheers!

A Lesson in Relating to In-laws; Bring Peeps.

Earlier this week my mother in law stopped by with peeps for the Darlings. She also had some for me. My mother in law has, it seems, learned her lesson.

She and my father in law take the eldest Darling to gymnastics every week and when they come they typically have treats for the girls. On Valentine’s day this ritual became problematic when the girls were each presented with a sugar-coated marshmallow sucker. They were huge. They were made of marshmallow. They were coated in sugar, ya’ll. All I could do was look at Kelly (MIL) with eyes full of sorrow and longing and indignation. How could she? How could this woman to whose son I am betrothed walk into my house with a marshmallow Hello Kitty sucker for her grandchildren but not me?

She soon left our house; although reluctantly because she was (rightfully) afraid I would pry the ‘mallow kitties from the death grips of my pleading, screaming kids and devour the sugary goodness right before their terror-filled eyes.

I resisted that path, though; because it might flirt with the border of poor parenting. Besides, I don’t have to exercise force when I have insight into my children that proves very useful in times like these. You see - I know that the smaller Darling doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth and while she won’t willingly hand over the goods she will grow uninterested with time.

So I spent the next hour shadowing her every move, pretending to play with her but really just waiting. Waiting for the moment she would abandon the ‘mallow kitty. The moment came. I snatched and ran. I hid the now one-eared cat so that I could enjoy it later. With a glass of fine wine. Alone.

In conclusion, my mother in law now gets it. She understands that it is probably unsafe and possibly emotionally scarring to bring sweet treats to my kids yet leave me out.

I’m elated that we got that cleared up.

Cheers!

Lessons in Morality; by way of Goldfish

When taking The Darlings to the grocery store I have learned one key maneuver; I get each kid a mini-carton of goldfish right off the bat. For one, food in the Darlings’ mouths = Quiet Darlings. Second, with them already being in possession of a treat I have leverage when they inevitably begin asking for cookies and cupcakes and tubs of pure lard.
Sorry, Darlings, but you already have goldfish so you can’t have any other goodies. Besides, Mommy needs room in the basket for her own cookies and cupcakes and …well, nevermind.

Today we encountered goldfish catastrophe when one Darling was curious as to the amount of fish in possession of the other Darling and that Darling didn’t like the invasion of her fish so she jerked them away from her sister and subsequently smacked them into my face which caused the entire content of the carton to spill.

Immediate ethical conundrum.

I know that the only decent thing to do is to summon an employee and get a broom so I can sweep this mess up. But, the embarrassment. Everyone walking by with their “Lady needs to get her kids under control” faces. And grocery shopping with the Darlings is an energy-draining enough task without adding chores into the experience. I do the look around to see if anyone notices the spill. They don’t. I slowly begin to wheel away when Ashlyn yells “Uh oh Mommy; we need to clean up Kenly’s mess.”

Ugh, Ashlyn; ALWAYS with the morals and values.

I think the cute young employee saw the desperation and terror in my eyes when I flagged him down because he ordered me to keep shopping; that he would take care of it. Well, or the $20 I slipped him did the trick.

Either way? I got home with chocolate chip cookies and the Darlings have no clue where they’re stashed. Success.


Cheers!

Well, Excuse Me.

But I think you've got my chair.

Hmm, that would be an excellent line for a country song. Oh wait.

Kenly has recently laid claim to my chair. It hasn't caused too much of an uproar as I spend 95% of my waking hours cleaning, cooking, band-aiding, seperating, tickling, laundering, etc etc. But tonight? Tonight I was content to leave the burdens of motherhood behind and just recline.

Kenly, as it turned out, had other ideas. When I instructed her that this was Mommy's chair and she needed to vacate or I would withhold the chocolate milk and take her blanket hostage (because THAT is excellent parenting, people) she ignored me.

It became obvious that I was in need of a different tactic. Crying. I threw myself (and by that I mean carefully descended so as to not further injure my lumbar region) on the floor, kicking and screaming and forcing out crocodile tears that led to a snotty mess while yelling "YOU STOLE MY CHAIR"

The child had the audacity to laugh at me.
Later, when I recounted this story to Allen about his ungrateful daughter hoarding the chair that I bought to relieve my aching back, he was all "Are we talking about the chair that was delivered out of the blue a few months ago that I had no idea about and when I asked you where it came from you said that you loved me so much and appreciated me working so hard that you bought ME a chair to relax in that was for me and ONLY ME?"

Oh, yeah. That's the one.

So I kissed the little conman (conwoman? conkid?) and parked my behind on the couch.

Then I asked who was up for a game of hide and seek and the second her eager little 2 year old body was in motion I lept onto the chair in a blaze of glory. Because 2 year olds are gullible like that. And I would be an imbecile not to capitalize.

Cheers!

Update: Take a chill pill, people... this is all sarcasm. I use it. A lot.

Elevator Etiquette. According to me.

(Which basically means; no one else gives a crap.)

It is my personal belief that when using an elevator there are certain guidelines of propriety that one should follow.

In terms of “right of way” I feel that current occupants of an elevator should exit before the new crowd enters. Otherwise one must step to the back, allowing room for the newbies, only to then have to wiggle and shuffle right back through them to exit. This makes PERFECT sense to me.

I would think it makes perfect sense to anyone with a 4th grade education as well; but it seems I overestimate the general public.


So there's that.

And since no one cares about a blog post unless it contains a photo - here's one of my recently-turned-five-year-old.

She's old enough to put away groceries. She asks for IPod's and laptops and listens to grown-up-thank-heaven-because-I'm-tired-as-hell-of-all-the-kiddie-music music.

She's teaching me quantum physics.

In short; my children are old and I am older. Ugh.

Cheers!

Maybe The Hubs should watch his back

My Dearest Bottle of Caprock Blush, (or whatever other wine product is in my possession)

The exploding POP and gentle fizzing noises you make are the soundtrack of my soul. I often shudder as I caress your smooth curves and spill your contents into my over-sized glass. Each night as I tuck my Darlings’ into dreamland I am filled with anticipation, for I know that soon you and I will be together. Alone. I fully trust that what you hold inside of you will bring me delight* with each and every rendezvous.

Our relationship is deep, and it is real. What we have is a beautiful co-dependency. The love of a lifetime.

I vow to you here and now (Does anyone else hear Luther Vandross in the background?) that my adoration for you will remain unchanged through the course of my existence.

I Remain Your Beloved Always,
Kayla

*and the slightest of buzzes

Also, a couch decoration.

Jacket: a garment for the upper body usually having a front opening, collar, lapels, sleeves, and pockets b : something worn or fastened around the body but not for use as clothing

Though I'm not certain; I believe Webster is trying to say "When it's bloody cold outside; put on your friggin' jacket." It's a basic concept; really it is, but I cannot seem to remember it from day to day.

Alas, I freeze my choochoos off every morning and curse the couch that, thanks to my lack of logic, is all warm and toasty. I wouldn't be surprised if I got home and the blasted piece of furniture is snuggling with my blanket, too. Jerk.

Cheers!

You know, that little holiday in December..

It’s like this, people. I have these kids. And this husband. And some whack-o’s who call themselves my friends. Then of course we have laundry (mounds and mounds and piles and piles of it). Along with dirty dishes. Crusty toothpaste on the sink. Bottles of wine that will not drink themselves.

What I’m trying to say is that finding the time to sit at the computer and conjure up articulate accounts of my life that, let’s face it, absolutely no one (except for my mom occasionally) gives a rip about is tough.

Today, however; I told all of the whack-o’s/friends to take a hike, locked my children in a shed (Waiting for the phone call from Hance), shoved the laundry under my bed, ignored the grime covering every surface of this house, slammed a bottle of wine and here I am. With pictures of Christmas.


On Christmas Eve the girls opened these beautiful little gown sets from Allen’s mom. They proceeded to twirl and swish and giggle and “MOMMY TAKE A PICTURE OF THIS IT’S SO PRETTY” for a solid hour. Gramma is in serious trouble though, because now any and all other pajamas are scoffed at by the darlings. Why eat jello when you have crème brulee?

Ah, there’s Hubs, aka Daddy, aka infinite toy putter together-er. He is just so scrumptious when he’s working though, isn’t he?

And Me? Moi? Yours Truly? What am I doing while sweet Hubs is assembling 455 dolls? Well I’m, uh, um – I’m directing traffic. Yup. That’s it. Just trying to keep the public safe from the ice. I am absolutely NOT skating on the ice, by myself, on Christmas Day, while my hubby is single-handedly warding off the restless demands of the darlings on a Santa-high. Why, no self-respecting and decent mother would do THAT.

The Reason for Which I Live

Each morning I wake thinking "Am I going to make it through this day?" I ponder over the hardships in life and the obstacles that I'll surely face. But then, as predictable as the sun, I am overcome with beautiful thoughts. Thoughts of the one thing that prompts me to roll my large behind out of bed, into the shower and onward towards my day. The thing that adds sweetness and goodness and meaning to every inch of my life.

What could this thing be?

My husband with the cute backside?

My darlings with the laughs made of pure sunshine?

My job?

My unpredictable and often unruly hair?

(Wait.. we're looking for a good thing here... )


No. None of these. There is something far superior that awakens my spirit. Something that also adds inches to the aforementioned large backside.

Cupcakes.

And not just any ol' run-of-the-mill cupcakes... the gourmet ones from "Cake" in Kingsgate Center to be specific. If you have not experienced this decadence yet; stop reading this blog. Immediately. Pack yourself up and run, speed, fly - to this place. Try one of each flavor. Get an icing shot (yeah, they sell those). And prepare yourself for the life-altering happiness that will come your way.

Ahh, the sugary, cake-y, icing-y, heavenly little pastries for which I swoon.

The icing. Oh, the icing. It is of such quality that you must eat it S-L-O-W-L-Y so as to fully appreciate its divinity. Then there's the cake. So moist, and so rich, and so.....

Oh. Excuse me. Just looking at these photos sent me into a frenzy.

As long as there are cupcakes, I will forge on. I will forge on in pure bliss. And I love my family some, too.

Cheers!

Watch out for that second one..

... she's a real doozie.

The victim:

The culprit:

No; seriously. What is it with these second children? While I love her ball-bustin' attitude and know it will come in handy later in life, her strong sense of self and bold opinions make for some 2 year old temper tantrums straight out of the pits of hell.

Ok, that might be a tad exaggerated.

Cheers!

Hold on; let me grab the list.

In preparing for the wonderful holiday of thankfulness I was left with no time for blogging about being thankful. Ironic, no? I jotted this down the night before Thanksgiving and I'm thinking the week before Christmas isn't too late to post it...

I have probably mentioned this before – I am a list maker. I’m not talking scribbled notes on a post-it note type of thing, either. I create color-coded, multiple category lists on excel spreadsheets for everything from grocery needs to Christmas gifts. I even have a list of other lists I need to make. (I am very much type-A). I often communicate through email in list form; last night I chatted with a friend on facebook in list form. My listing ability really knows no boundaries.
So today I will offer you multiple things for which I am thankful in the form of a list.

1. My hairdryer – because for the 15 or so minutes that I use it every morning my ears are deaf to the darlings’ pleas for snacks, or cries from one darling because the other has hit her/stolen her toy/looked at her the wrong way. For those 15 glorious minutes I am the parent of two well-behaved children who speak softly and live in perfect harmony with one another.

2. Scrubbing Bubbles – they work hard; so I don’t have to.

3. Southerners – it had to be a southerner that decided frying the turkey for Thanksgiving would work out. And work out it does. Hubby kicks some serious turkey-frying butt every year which liberates me from the hassle. (It also liberates our guests from the burnt-ness which would certainly occur if I were left in charge.)

4. Bright green foaming hand soap- because the dried remnants of it left on the bathroom counter each day is proof that my darlings are washing their hands.


Cheers!

"WHY didn't it say to SLOW DOWN?"

I am huge fan of all things Christmas and as such was thrilled when Jess invited me to attend the Holiday Pops concert with her. So, I threw on the face paint (which doesn't happen often with me) and clothes that didn't smell of young child goo and off we went.

I must say that for Jessica and I the outing was somewhat non-eventful. Usually when we are together we cannot stop talking long enough to take correct exits or turns or refrain from swerving violently after being temporarily blinded by laughter. We've even been known to skid off of a loose gravel road because our gift of gab caused us to miss the "SLOW DOWN; LOOSE GRAVEL AHEAD" sign. We cannot watch movies together, we cannot schedule "Quick" visits with one another - it's just understood that we lack the ability to shut up in each other's company.

On to the actual concert; we got there unharmed and sans any major traffic violations. The concert was wonderful; complete with a drunken elderly couple sitting next to me and a garlic-breathed man singing behind Jessica. The conductor was fabulous and certainly devoted to his craft, though I'm convinced he should take stock in Excedrin as his head bobs more violently than my car when careening off of gravel roads. But I digress.

The choir did a number that was simply breathtaking and a rendition of the Twelve Days of Christmas that made me actually enjoy the song. (Come on; there's no way around it. It's just TOO long.)

All in all it was a splendid evening; and miraculously Jess and I managed to keep quiet for most of the concert.

Also, Christmas is 11 days away. Ecstasy.

I'll try to be a better blogger.

Cheers!

If looks could kill

Saturday morning Hubby and I took the girls for our annual Christmas card picture shoot. It's a daunting task; taking pictures of your own kids, especially when it's the first time the darlings have seen their father (a.k.a. their favorite human in the world) in a week.

It was apparent after 2 minutes that nothing short of duct tape would get them in a picture together, so I focused on one darling at a time.

It is no surprise that Ashlyn came through with flying colors. In fact, I ended up with about 12 good shots of her.

This pose was actually her idea -

As I've mentioned previously; Kenly is somewhat difficult when it comes to picture taking. The child REFUSES to look at the camera if and when it's in front of my face. I have approximately 5 pictures of her running away from me and 7 or so in which she is giving me "the look."

"I am NOT going to give in, Mom. I'm just not."

This particular adventure ended with me and Kenly both crying and Allen mumbling something about taking the kids by himself next year. Alas, today I am (Again) thankful for the husband and his mustering the ONE and ONLY smile out of Kenly that day and even more thankful that the Canon was on my face and my finger was at the ready when it happened. That ONE picture plus one of 12 I have to choose from of Ash will comprise our card this year. When you receive it in the mail; please take a minute and appreciate the trouble I go through to make the darned thing happen.

Cheers!

P.S. Notice the shoe in the background of Kenly's pic? That would be from her plopping down, taking her shoes off and throwing them. Before it was over the skirt was given the same treatment. I need a xanax just thinking about it all..

Oh, it's just some refried beans and Yoplait.

I'm not exactly sure what I did to deserve this:

But golly, I wouldn't trade her for a million other squeaky clean kids. I am also abundantly thankful for baby wipes given that this is the scene at my house every night. Don't get me wrong, a mess of these propprtions certainly will need a run through the bath tub, but one must slightly de-noodle before being transported from point A to point B.

I am afraid this child is going to grow up with a fear of touching things due to the nightly "NO MA'AM. DO NOT TOUCH ANYTHING. NOTHING. STRAIGHT TO THE BATHTUB." On second thought, no - I'm not worried about that at all. My concern lies with her hearing ability. Because no matter how loudly or how often the above is yelled at-um, I mean spoken to her in a sweet motherly way she still manages to leave bean-y, yogurt-y, ketchup-y handprints everywhere. Hmm.

Cheers!

Not a Woman of my word..

I was determined to post every day, and believe me I certainly have enough reasons to be thankful to warrant a post every day. I simply failed. But you all will forgive me. Or you won't. Whatev.
Moving along...


My darling husband is a sound sleeper. Like, I’m convinced that if I were to (one night after he’s asleep) call all of our friends, have them pile into the bedroom, fill them full of liquor and crank some heavy metal jams he would simply adjust his snoring rhythm to match the music and stay nicely tucked away in dreamland. (I may need to test this theory….)

*He's going to KILL me for posting this - it was after a day of swimming on vacation*

Over the course of our marriage his nightly nocturnal coma has created some interesting predicaments. Until recently the funniest (also scariest) incident happened when Ashlyn was a newborn. I asked him around 3 a.m. to get me a bottle and after stumbling and fumbling around for 15 minutes or so he returned with a tiny little baby bottle full of Dr. Pepper. I’m not kidding. And he was absolutely positive that I requested a bottle of Dr. Pepper. For a 2 week old.

The latest episode went like this:

*I woke up around 12:30 one night to the sound of our house alarm….I wrestle Allen to wake him*

K: Babe, wake up – the alarm is going off…. BABE! WAKE UP!

A: Oh… ok…

*Al Stumbles off… after a minute or two the alarm stops screaming. He gets back in bed with a growl *

K: Thanks, babe… did you turn the alarm back on?

A: Oh… no…

* he rolls back out of bed, again stumbles to the front door…stumbles back to bed*

K: Wow; that’s really scary – someone just tried to break in our house…

*Allen SPRINGS out of bed; grabs the baseball bat and starts looking out of the window*

A: WHAT? Someone tried to break in?? Huh??

K: That’s usually why an alarm goes off in the middle of the night. Yes, dear.

*Allen is still scouring the yard from the window; still with bat in hand*

K: Honey; it’s been 5 minutes since the alarm went off, and I’m pretty sure it scared them away at that point. Whoever it was is gone now. You can come back to bed.

Suffice it to say; I am now in charge of any midnight burglaries that take place in the McMillan household as my husband is liable to get confused and rob his own house rather than protecting it.

Even though he's like a fat momma bear in hibernation when he sleeps - I am 125 % thankful for that beautiful, hot, sexy, strong, caring, thoughtful, intelligent, supportive and hilarious man that snores loudly in the bed next to me.

Cheers!

Sir Dickens, you done me right.

A family of vampires that sparkle. A woman who leaves her negligent husband and takes her daugher across country. A friendship that spans a lifetime. A love that transcends centuries.

Books offer me an escape into another world, into an alternate reality; they provide me with profound lessons and provoking thoughts. They allow me to explore and experience life through someone else's eyes and in ways that I would otherwise never get the chance.

They, at times, make my husband angry.

"Kayla... it's 3 in the morning, turn the light OFF and go to sleep."

"But, BUUUUTT"

"Let me guess. The girl who reminds you of yourself is about to make a life changing discovery about her past while slaying magical dragons and castrating all of the male species and it's just getting to the good part so you can't possibly stop now"

"NO!, well - sort of; BUT she does it ALL while wearing pumps. She's BRILLIANT! Just ONE more chapter babe, promise.'

Although they may well cause the dissolution of my marriage; today I am thankful for books. And authors. And publishing companies. And, well you get the drift.


Cheers!

Who brought lizard girl?

This is tomorrow's post, only it's here today. But it's still the post intended for tomorrow. Got it?

Around October 12th of every year the powder keg fairy begins nightly visits to my house. This fairy must be a devout little creature, too; EVERY night I practically drench myself in lotion only to awaken EVERY morning with scales. I'm not kidding. Thank Heavens my husband is gone 5 days a week because this epidermis is rough. I'm just waiting for him to come home and use my leg to sharpen his knives. He has many of them. My husband is a hunter/gatherer.

But I digress. (You can uncrinkle your face... it's my random and decidedly unfunny humor creeping in. I can't help it.)

Ah, who cares? He did vow to love me in sickness and in health, with scaly skin and with smooth skin, right? Yup. I'm for sure that was part of the whole deal.


So today, no tomorrow, no, NO TODAY I am thankful for lotion. The lotion that I use in effort to (albeit in vain) (I almost typed vein) (which might work better) halt my progression towards becoming a reptile.

**I'm not sure if it's the wine or the late hour but in re-reading this mess I can't find one coherent thought. But I'm not rewriting it. Apologies..

Cheers!