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!