Ok, so, remember THIS POST a month ago?  I talked about how I’m growing stuff, because I’ve got, like, this green thumb and all.  I like to grow stuff.  I’m kinda good at it. In fact, sometimes errant stuff grows and I don’t have the heart to thin it out and kill it, so I do stupid stuff like pull out suckers and give the extras to my neighbors. And then they grow stuff, even though they don’t have colored thumbs.  Well, their thumbs are BLACK DEATH.  They can’t grow stuff. They mulch stuff instead.  Follow me?  No?  I don’t follow me either, so we’re even.

Anyways, way back yonder a month ago, I showed you a picture of my garden one month after planting:

And I showed you the potAHtoes we are growing:

Here it is TWO months after planting.  Notice a difference?

If you said, “Yes. The difference is that there are words and arrows on that picture.” You would be correct. But look again.  One month of organic worm poo and lotsa rain and dogs peeing sniffing around in there apparently DOES make your garden grow(Totally kidding about the peeing part. Maybe.  It’s for me to know and you to find out.).  The best part about my garden may be the herbs that I rarely use use constantly. It’s nice to have fresh herbs, dontcha think?  I think.  So if you don’t think, your bad.   I also like my sunflowers.  What sunflowers, you ask?  These:

So, I’ve got a surprise for you.  I’m gonna hold a contest, and the person who most correctly guesses the total height of the sunflower by the time the head flowers and goes to seed wins a major award.  I am hoping this happens by the time I go on vacation in a month.  You know, we’re DRIVING ACROSS THE COUNTRY?  So, dearest single person who still actually reads this dreck, make your best guess.  I’m gonna measure these bad boys on August 14th.  You have a week to make your guesses and then I’m gonna make me a nifty little chart to keep track of them.  I will try to measure them weekly until then and keep you updated.  The person who comes the closest (even if they go over, this ain’t the Price is Right) gets the major award:

HAHAHAHAHA!!!! Just kidding.  Do you have ANY IDEA how much that freaking thing costs?   Well, it costs more than the real prize I’m gonna award to you.  Y’all, brace yourselves.  In honor of my travel down a large portion of the Mormon Trail to Utah, I’m awarding you this:

Yup, that’s what you think it is.  A Mormon Cookbook.  It includes sections such as “How to cook for all fifteen of your offspring at the same time” and “Cooking with no caffeine or liquor.”   Just kidding. Not to be offensive, really.  Mormons are the only folks I’ve ever met that have more kids than the Irish Catholics from my old neighborhood, is all.  But you will learn to cook with TONS of butter, all kinds of creamy casseroles, and their absolute favorite dessert, JELLO.  They love themselves some jello, fo sho.

Alrighty then, get guessing.

Ok kids, DG is in a funky-arse mood. That means she needs a hot bath or a hot toddy or a hot poker or…all three.  DG needs your help with the following:

1. I leave for vacation in a month. Should I get my hair cut NOW and then it will grown in a bit before then?  Should I wait two weeks and have it more refreshed or wait until the last minute so I have a fresh ‘do?
2. I am in no mood to cook dinner.  Should I make everyone eat leftovers?  Should I make fries and sandwiches?  Should I do breakfast for dinner?  Should we do takeout?
3. Bugaboo had the BEST DAY EVER yesterday.  That, of course, means he is starting to get sick. He woke up this morning with a runny nose but was otherwise fine.  Should I keep him home?  Should I send him until the teacher or school nurse calls me?  Should I send him and hid and not answer my phone?
4. The house is quite tidy and laundry and dishes are caught up.  RARE.  Should I do extra cleaning today?  Should I read a book and take a nap?  Should I take Bug Boy someplace special?  Should I rent him a video game (Baaaaaaaad mommy) so he leaves me alone for a few hours?
5. DG needs to shave so that her new tankini doesn’t make her look like a hippy with, AHEM, extra hair.  In this town, though, it is the norm.  Should I do a bikini shave?  Should I shave it all for a change of pace?  Should I do “the landing strip”? Should I just leave it and tell the husband he has to deal?
6. I’ve had purple toe nails for three weeks no.  I usually do electric blue (so that I look cyanotic) or wicked witch green.  I’m thinking of changing it. Should I keep the funky colors?  Should I do, *GASP*, a shade of RED?  Should I do a french manicure on my toes?  Should I take it all off and go au naturale?
7. We’re driving across the country in ONE MONTH. Yes, I am insane.  Should we take our standard DVD player?  Should we pack the Wii this time?  Should I leave all electronics at home so we talk more and have more family bonding time?  Or I am completely off my rocker in thinking that my kids will behave for three days in a car without SOMETHING TO DISTRACT THEM???
8. Speaking of driving across the country, we need hotel suggestions. We typically stay in one chain, but they rarely have pools. They do, however, have a PHAT breakfast bar in the morning and they are always clean and moderately priced. And quiet.  Do we stay there and say the heck with the pool?  Look for places with a pool so that the kids can swim at night when we stop?  Go even cheaper and do Motel 6 and McD’s for breakfast?  Where have you stayed?
9. I am thinking I will chronicle my trip. That means I need a laptop. The husband will bring his and his Crackberry.  Should I insist on using his?  Throw a hissy fit and buy a laptop?  Borrow one from someone?  We will need one that can get Wifi.  Hmmmm…
10. I’m gonna miss my dog.  Should I bring a picture of her?  Should I call for daily updates? Or am I neurotic and need to take a chill pill?  (DO NOT ANSWER THAT ONE)

Phew.  I really need your help on these.  I’m feeling somewhat indecisive (CAN YOU TELL?) and could use someone to point me in the right direction.  Thanks, y’all.  I knew I could count on you.  Y’all are the best cyber stalkers friends a girl could ever have.

In the past, I’ve mentioned that my yard is a virtual animal sanctuary. They show up here, all creatures great and small.  I kinda feel like Snow White in the scene from the Disney Flick when she’s singing and chatting with the birds as they sit on her finger.  You know, before she eats the poison apple and croaks and has to be saved by a Prince because she has a wicked stepmother?  Sheesh. Don’t get me started on the patriarchy and how the keep women repressed and glorify eating disorders and broken homes…

Where was I?  Oh yeah, Animal Sanctuary.

We’ve got rabbits, squirrels, chipmunks, more squirrels, cats, dogs, foxes, freaking squirrels, moles, voles, deer, hawks, crows, birds of many feathers, snakes, mice, raccoon and those G-D squirrels.  Which is why my husband built THIS to keep the freaking vermin (ahem, SQUIRRELS!  I’M TALKING TO YOU!) out of our garbage:

Dang Purty, Ain’t it? I mean, we don’t have A DECK but we’ve got a fancy-schmancy SQUIRREL-PROOF BOX (we shall see) for our garbage cans.  Perhaps I won’t go out in the morning to let the dog do her duty (ALLITERATION!  YEAH!) and find chicken carcasses, dirty diapers and rotten veggies all over my yard.  Perhaps.  It could happen. A girl can dream.

Sorry, was I off on a tangent again? My bad. Animal Sanctuary, right?

Yes, they all know I’m the crazy lady who builds a pretty garden in which to gorge themselves. They also know they can come here at night and drive my dog crazy, as she whines at the window to get at the rabbits remaking Watership Down.  They poo all over my yard so Shadow can roll in it.  They scare the beejeebus out of us when they knock the cans over.  The chew holes in my cans.  Apparently, they are so comfortable here that they have also made this their animal graveyard.  I’m talking, IT’S SUMMER!  LET’S GO TO DG’S TO DIE!  WOOHOO!   I don’t know what they are all excited about, see.  I mean, it’s a nice yard and all.  I just don’t see why they pick my yard.

Yesterday I put Bugaboo on his bus and dropped Bug Boy at camp.  When I returned home (after running many errands) I let the dog out.  Since it had been raining, and it was trash day, I figured it was a good time to bring the cans in and put them in our PURTY BOX.  As I meandered around the yard, I noticed feathers scattered everywhere. Not an unusual occurrence here in Animal Sanctuary. I mean, the food web is well represented, yo.  It’s sick, but we find a bevy of deceased creatures.  All part of the life cycle.  What I mean is, EEEEEEWWWWW!  STOP DYING IN MY YARD! I’VE GOT TO PICK THEM UP!  STOOOOOOPPPP IT!!!!!

Ahem.

I saw scattered feathers.  I walked over to identify the post mortem and noticed that the feathers were small and brown and looked suspiciously like a miniature hawk.  After glancing up at our stately oak trees, I located a large nest directly above, no doubt the source of the feathers.  I looked back at the feathers, figuring they just ‘fell out’ of the nest.  That’s when I noticed the head:

Yes.  That’s what you think it is.  Except, when I flipped it over with a stick?  It was blood and gore and ONLY HALF A HEAD.  And a zillion feathers, scattered in a wide path all over my yard.  *shudder*  I then did what any self-respecting adult human being would do.  I waited for Bug Boy to come home, called the neighborhood kids over and we had a mini-nature lesson. The kids were all, “EEEEEWWWW!  Poor HAWK!”  And I was all, “That’s part of life, kids!”  And they were all, “I’M GONNA HAVE NIGHTMARES!”  It was grand.

A few hours later, I was once again meandering around the yard. I’m good at that.  Meandering, I mean.  I meandered over to the pool (I like that word, meandering) and flipped the dirty, filthy, slimy, mosquito-larvae-ridden water out of it.  Apparently, I upset the voles in my yard. Because they all scrambled to the surface and darted off.  Except for one. He kept running around in the circular imprint that the pool left in the grass.  I called the kids over the check it out (COOL BEANS!  ANOTHER NATURE LESSON!) and they gleefully watched it and asked questions.  As we watched him nibble grass and sniff out the ground, we commented on his teeny squinty eyes and the kids all commented on how adorably cute he was.  They wanted to name him. As they argued over who had the best name for him, Shadow meandered over and with one swift movement, grabbed him between her teeth and then spit him out.  Suddenly, the silence was deafening.  The kids all stopped arguing and turned to the dog with a look of horror on their faces.  And the tears began welling up in their eyes as they saw the little vole sprawled out on the ground, stunned. I began explaining that voles pretend to be dead to fool their predators when the vole sat up, rubbed its eyes and began coughing up blood.  Then he began to shudder. Then he began to have a full-on seizure right in front of all of us.  Of course, this all happened over the course of about thirty seconds.  Before I could grab a sand pail and scoop him up, the damn thing died right in front of us.

And then the kids all screamed and ran.  The end.

But not really.  They ran off screaming, I scooped him up in a bucket and stuck him behind some shrubbery to deal with later.  And later, he was gone. I have NO IDEA WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM.  Poof!  Disappeared!  I think!  Or eaten by large, hairy, black dogs!  Or cats!

Sigh.  I’m begging you, local fauna. Please stop dying in my yard.

It’s Monday already?  Time sure flies when you are having fun!  And by fun, I mean:

• we spent the afternoon at a crowded aquarium with Bugaboo while he attempts to jump into sea lion and hippo tanks
• Bug Boy had a sleep-over, Mini-me (my niece) spent the weekend here (and so did Middle Child, The Actress and Little Miss)
• I managed to pop my THIRD TIRE on a curb headed to the local swim club with our neighbors as guests (and Darling was not amused)
• Bugaboo broke our solid oak entertainment center door (and Darling was still not amused and kicked a hole in the wall to prove it)
• The girls told all the neighbors we were getting divorced (totally not true)
• Bug Boy heard the girls telling people we were getting divorced and FREAKED OUT
• I had the entire neighborhood of children in my backyard or basement for most of the weekend and have the lost shoes and trash to prove it
• Bugaboo learned to climb the fence.
• Bugaboo went missing four times and once ended up in a house half a block down in the SHOWER.  As in he walked into someone’s house, walked upstairs and turned on the shower. Yeah, that was a little scary.  Picture it: me walking up and down the street in my bathrobe, with wet hair and soap running down my legs, screaming his name.  Good times.

In other words, nothing out of the ordinary.

In addition, we celebrated my sister’s fortieth birthday very simply with a family gathering and SHE was there, which was totally awesome.  And my parents stayed TWO HOURS instead of the usual ONE, which is a new world record!  SOMEONE CALL GUINNESS!

But by far, the best part of my weekend was taking the boys and the dog for a walk last night.  The day was quite warm and we were sweaty, plus there was a teensy bit of stress.  I made Bug Boy go with me while his Daddy cleaned up drywall (part of the aforementioned kicking-the-wall incident) and he and I were able to chat and bond while he pushed Bugaboo in the stroller and I was dragged down the street by the world’s worst dog-on-a-leash.  Whenever we walk as a family, and I comment on how nice the weather is, or how beautiful someone’s garden or home is, Darling always states, “But not as beautiful as you!”  And as cheesy as it sounds, his smile tells me he means it.  So this evening, Bug Boy and I were without Darling (as he cleaned up the freaking drywall) and chatted about our weekend and giggled and pointed things out.  And then I said, “Gosh, that breeze feels GREAT!  The weather is so nice this evening!  It’s GORGEOUS!”  To which Bug Boy smiled and replied, “But Mom, it’s not as nice and beautiful as you are!”

That boy learns fast, eh?  He knows how to make his momma feel better.

Later on, we gave the boys baths and I ran around cleaning up toys and getting clothes out for the next day.  I told Bugaboo it was time for bed and he went RIGHT TO HIS ROOM AND CLIMBED INTO BED. I’m not sure if he is getting sick or had a momentary lapse of judgement, but he WENT RIGHT TO BED.  This parenting stuff works sometimes!  Anyways, I leaned over to kiss him good night (which he usually cringes at but will smile and give me a high-five and I said, “Give Momma a kiss!”  And he usually wrinkles his nose and allows me to kiss his forehead.  But this time, he threw his arms around my neck and pressed his cute little lips against my cheek.  A REAL KISS!  Rare and priceless, I tells ya. That sort of thing doesn’t happen very often.

So the weekend ended up swell after all…

I’m actually doing this Filch-it Friday thing. AGAIN!  Can you believe it? That’s, like, twice now.  So here it goes:

I’m filching from Bossy, since she’s smarter than me and funnier and cool as sh*t. I kid you not. She’s awesome, I’ve met her.   I’m filching her Ten-word Tuesday. Yes, I’m aware it’s Friday.  I think Five-word-Friday is too short, don’t you?  Fifteen-word-Friday might be too long.  Ok, FINE!  FIFTEEN WORD FRIDAY IT IS!

Today I’m gonna take Ms. Lucy’s suggestion and talk about things that drive me insane.  Like, faded ribbon magnets on cars.  Replace them already!  Get a new one!  We can’t even tell what color it is or what you are supporting, yo.  No!  FIFTEEN RIBBON MAGNETS ON CARS!  I mean, I get it, you are supportive of soldiers and breast cancer and autism and the humane society and AIDS and parasitic twins and all that, but do you need fifteen of them?  Or worse yet, THE CIRCLES WITH THE LETTERS IN THEM!  I spend WAAAAAY too much time at red lights trying to figure them out.  C’mon!  I’m good at Wheel O’Fortune!  What the heck is “CS” anyways?  Or “LBI?”  ( I did figure that one out.)  IT’S STOOOPID!

Whew. That felt better.  Isn’t it great to get stuff off of your chest?  Cathartic, I tells ya.

So, dear readers reader. please tell me in fifteen words EXACTLY (yes, exactly.  I’m the fifteen word police.) what your pet peeves are?  I’ll go first:

Cheap plastic flowers in  gardens in front of pretty houses is sooooo seventies, dearest neighbors!

or

You drive like a moron because there is a cell phone stuck to your ear.

or

Picking noses at red lights has to be the most disgusting thing.  Husband is guilty.

or

People who let their kids run around nekkid should get their heads examined.  Who, me?

See?  It feels good.  Now go tell your friends and neighbors to stop by and vent their frustrations. I don’t care if it is toothpicks at the diner or shopping carts with dirty handles or folks who leave their turn signals on, tell them to get on over here and release their anger.  It’s all good.  It’ll be just our little secret.

And do me a favor? Don’t tell my neighbor to stop by here?  You know, the one who yells at the kids for drawing on the sidewalk with chalk?  ‘Cause it’s not like rain washes it away, or anything…

My mind is drawing a blank. Not sure if it is because I had to nuke my tea three times this morning (and ultimately did not finish it) or because NOTHING EXCITING HAS BEEN HAPPENING TO ME or because I’ve not been sleeping well (for eight years now) but I just cannot think of a thing to write today.  It ain’t writers block, honest. I just keep deleting everything before I post it.  Premature de-postization.  Yeah, that’s what they call it.

Anyways, for your viewing pleasure, I thought I’d instead treat you to a list of the search terms that some sickos fine, upstanding citizens used to accidentally stumble upon my humble little neck-o’-the-woods.  I honestly don’t remember writing about most of this stuff, but somehow they keep finding me.  Go away, sick people.  Please.  It’s creepy and unhealthy and there are real people on the other side of that computer screen. HONEST!  Move that dusty seventies drape out of the way of your mom’s basement window and look out there!  TREES!  GRASS!  PEOPLE!  And, get this!  If you WALK OUTSIDE, say, you can breathe FRESH AIR.

Ahem.

So here’s what they’ve been looking for:

• Domestic goddess (no kidding)
• How to grow potatoes (oh YEAH!)
• Regrowing potatoes
• Growing potatoes in the front yard (I don’t recommend that)
• Electric Bugaboo
• Post-Partum Bathing Suit (EX-SQUEEZE ME?)
• What parents want to know about autism (that it starts with an A- and ends with -utism?)
• Kissing in “Music Man” is excessive (what, are you in Dubai or something?)
• Riding the Short People’s bus (the prefer “Little People”)
• Jenny McCarthy Haircut (Mine’s better)
• Act your age, not your shoe size
• Yellow tears (also known as conjunctivitis)
• Keeping your mouth shut when sleeping (use duct tape)
• Blood-sucking leeches (eeeeewww…I don’t even want to know)
• E.n.e.m.a.s for f.u.n. (GO AWAY SICKOS!  IT AIN’T FUN!)
• Why do people have a sulky face (because they need an e.n.e.m.a.)
• Iceberg in Utah (uh. Methinks you might need a geography lesson. Or stop smoking the Mary Jane.)
• Autism and fireworks (we made it out alive! YEAH SILENCING HEADPHONES!)
• Does Passive-aggressive husband love? (himself, yes)
• M.D.F. the bed (I don’t even want to know)
• McCain + yard (not in MY YARD, you don’t!)
• What kind of domestic goddess am I? (You aren’t one. I am.   The end.)
• Twain guests smell days ( And was wrong, it was Benjamin Franklin.  But maybe not, that’s what Wiki says.)
• Poo in the backyard (plenty of that around here)

And my favorite:

• I want to be a Domestic Goddess

Nope. Sorry. You can’t.  There’s only enough room in this world for one of us (in other words, I’m more than enough for the world to handle.).  Go get your own shtick, mmkay?

Here’s the thing: I come from a family with a long list of depression-related illnesses.  We’ve got OCD, Bi-polar disorder, anxiety, social anxiety, autism-related issues, ADHD and more.  It’s unavoidable.  EVen my dog is ritualistic and anxious.  She fits right in around our dis-FUN-ctional family.

For years I’ve tried to ignore the fact that I may or may not possess some of these disorders. I mean, the likelihood of my kids having any or all of them was about 2000%, since everyone in my family has SOMETHING. Having a large family increases the chances, you know?  But I kept telling myself that I wasn’t bulimic anymore and I didn’t need meds and that my twelve hours of boundless energy was due to the fact that I am just A CHEERY, HAPPY ENERGIZER BUNNY and that I’ve got a faster metabolism. While this may be true, I started to see signs of the bi-polar rearing its head.  And by reared, I mean I started having three-day cleaning binges, all-night awake sessions, days where I couldn’t shower because I couldn’t stand the feeling of water on my skin, days where I couldn’t get out of bed, days where I’d go nuts and spend six hours straightening the basement or eight hours hanging pictures (never mind the fact that they’ve been in storage for THREE YEARS, it had to be done RIGHT AWAY!).  And so on, and so forth.

Yeah, It’s time to admit it.  I can’t do this alone anymore.

I’ve always had a tendency to binge on things.  Whether it is food or exercise or reading or gardening or cleaning, I get completely obsessed and can’t stop.  For years I’ve been on and off of different medications and then I tried the holistic approach (which I’m not knocking, it just didn’t work for me) and then just thought I could exercise my stress off and then I’d fall off the wagon a few times a month and end up in bed for days and wonder what the heck was going on. Back in the fall, Darling and I had an major argument adult discussion about the simple fact that with a family history like ours, there was very good evidence that we both had chemical issues.  And so I began taking little blue happy pills. Again.

But this time I’ve stayed on them.  I sleep better. I eat well, exercise moderately and take care of myself. I still have cleaning binges, but that’s only because my house is currently a total sh*t hole, since I procrastinate so badly. I keep up with my daily routines, I don’t put off important tasks and I don’t eat entire boxes of au gratin potatoes in one sitting. I’d say I’m making progress.  And, I’m not stressing over little things.  While I am not happy about the whole appetite suppressant thing (I’m eating what a woman my age normally would eat, I think. Just not what I used to. You know, like three times a normal serving?) and the fact that I get a little sleepy, I love the fact that I can control my temper around my kids, I’m not ignoring them while I paint entire rooms while my husband is at work and I keep up with the housework and don’t feel so overwhelmed all the time.  I was worried about the change in my personality but apparently it is intact. My husband still thinks I’m perky and crazy and scattered, my sisters still think I have boundless energy and my friends still think I have a very optimistic outlook.

What do I think?  I think I’m happy.  I can handle things. I don’t feel like stabbing strangers with icepicks. I’d say it’s win-win.

Bugaboo went back to school yesterday and the planets were aligned and choirs of angels sang and I found a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.  No, not really. But, gosh darn, I was happy. And relieved.  And tired…oh, so tired.  I love my boy, really.  It’s just that it takes so much energy to deal with him for twenty-four hours times three-plus weeks of school break.  He barely slept, he barely ate and he was a tad grumpy.  And by a tad grumpy I mean he was biting holes in his arm and the arms of anyone who dared to walk within a four-foot perimeter of his little mouth.  And by mouth, I mean fangs. Like, it’s got teeth!  POINTY TEETH!  It huuuuurts.  I have the bruises to prove it.  Poor boy was mighty frustrated by the time school was back in session yesterday.

Bugaboo’s program moved to a new building to start the summer session.  His old building was, well, old and dilapidated and in desperate need of repair. Since his county program leases buildings, they obviously weren’t going to put any money into fixing anything the last few months there were there. The power went out more than once, the air stopped working on the hottest day of the year (so far) and the toilets backed up a few times, causing early dismissals.  I, for one, am happy with the move to the new(er) building.  The program now resides in a building that was an elementary school for twenty-five years, until the town grew too large and a new school was built directly behind the old one.  The cool thing is that the new(er) building has a PLAYGROUND with SWINGS and a CAFETERIA and a GYMNASIUM and a LIBRARY which is currently being used as a therapy room, but still. It’s quite an improvement.

So.

I found out Bugaboo’s bus schedule (very important) and was pleased to see that he’d be picked up a full forty minutes later than his old schedule, even though his old school was twenty minutes away and his new(er) school is forty-five minutes away. He used to get picked up first and was on the bus for nearly two hours while they picked up for several programs. It made me insane but I never complained, since he’s all into buses (like, have you seen the buses in my house?  Just sayin’.).  Yesterday morning I had his bags on the curb ready to go and Bugaboo and I walked around while we waited for his bus.  It was a few minutes late and we noticed the neighbor’s daughter (Little Miss) waiting at the corner for “summer reading camp” and chatted with her.  Just then, a full-sized bus rounded the corner and stopped to pick up Little Miss.  I kept looking for Bugaboo’s short bus.  That’s when the aide on the “regular” bus stepped off and asked me if that was “Bugaboo” and indicated that he’d be riding with the “regular” kids.  I nearly fainted, I tells ya.  I never in my wildest dreams thought this kid would ride a bus with “regular” kids to school. I mean, he’s ridden a short bus for two-and-a-half years.  And you know who rides the short buses, right? I mean, they might as well have flashing neon signs on them, saying, “SPECIAL KIDS ON THIS BUS RIGHT HERE!  LOOK!” because whenever Bugaboo’s bus stops at home to drop him off, people all stare like they’ve seen a ghost.  I feel like they are wondering why the short bus stops at my house. You know, because the signs outside my house that say, “DISABLED CHILD AREA” aren’t enough of an indication and the handicapped parking placard apparently doesn’t given them enough of an idea.

He’s riding a full-sized bus to school!  I’m having mixed feelings about this. I mean, I know the goal is for him to be around “typical” kids as much as humanly possibly.  He’s a part of society and he will be for the rest of his life.  At some point he has to learn to function. It’s just that kids are kids and they can sometimes be cruel, sometimes without realizing it.  I’ve heard the teasing that Bug Boy has endured on his bus (the reason we chose to drive for the last few weeks of school) and I am worried.  Although, I have to tell you, Bugaboo will just continue to smile and stare out the window. Kids usually give up trying to interact with him after a while because they get absolutely no return on their investment.  It’s just not fun.  Bug Boy, on the other hand, freaks out if his arm hairs blow in the wind. They know they are getting their money’s worth there.

What really warmed my heart, however, is that Little Miss and another kid who knows Bugaboo actually had a spat over who got to sit next to Bugaboo.  Perhaps I just need to chill and it will all be fine. I guess I just worry that Bugaboo will get antsy from the noise or the wait and will do his cockatiel routine and freak the other kids out.  Or that he’ll pinch or bite one of them for getting too close.  Or that he’ll start his siren wail and they’ll all stare at him like he has two heads. Not that he’ll notice, see.  He’ll be too busy enjoying that ride on that humongous bus, which is no doubt his life-long dream. Riding a bus that ain’t short.

Or, where the heck has DG been?

Between house guests, holiday celebrations and plain ole stupidity, I just haven’t had two minutes to rub together.  We had a blast with my childhood friend and her family and it was MUCH TOO SHORT.  I miss them terribly already, and it just goes to show you that if they still lived in the area and not in St. Louis, we’d still be chums for life.  Sigh.  And I have a difficult time making friends (insert hearty guffaw here if you know me IRL) so that makes it all the more bitter sweet.

Independence Day was a blast.  Between the teeny little town celebration in our hamlet to the field games to the barbecue, it was all perfect.  The kids had fun, fun, fun. Bugaboo’s therapist (and her husband and doggy) were here for several hours and it gave me a bit of a break.  We ended up inviting several neighbors to our yard (since we were all doing small barbecues) and had a blow-out of a celebration, complete with eleven kids running around the backyard while the adults chatted and occasionally yelled at a kid or two to SHUT THE GATE.   Miracle of miracles, this time Bugaboo did NOT run away, and a good time was had by all. Even the dogs. Even at eight o’clock when the party was winding down and the rain (which threatened for hours) finally hit.  That’s when the eleven kids were in my basement…

We did not brave fireworks Friday because of the threat of serious weather so Saturday evening we became awfully brave and found another local town that was setting off exploding balls of sulfur.  The kids all seemed to want to go and the neighbors and I made plans to meet there. At the lake.  With the other six thousand people that were there.  And I’m not kidding, although I’m fairly certain that there were more than six thousand people there.  Wasn’t that smart?  Bringing Bugaboo to a LAKE with SIX THOUSAND people? You know, in the dark?  We managed to appease him before the ‘works started by pushing him around the lake in the stroller. And by we I mean ME. I walked at least three miles. Our neighbors somehow managed to find us (literally a needle in a haystack) and a good time was had by all.  Although despite warnings that the large oak tree directly in front of us would obscure the majority of the fireworks, my husband and sisters insisted that our seat was FINE and the fireworks would be set off at an angle and we’d see EVERYTHING.   Ahem.  Everything behind a large oak tree. Told ya so.

Believe it or not, it was not Bugaboo or Bug Boy that had the meltdown. For the first time in their five and seven years, neither one of them had a meltdown at fireworks. And we take them every year, in the hopes that they will eventually enjoy it (or because we enjoy torturing our children. One of the two.).  And enjoy it they did!  Although the both had the hands clasped tightly (and the hands of the nearest adult) over their little ears, the looks on their faces said it all.  Bugaboo smiled and laughed and jumped up and down. Each shot was more exciting than the last.  He LOVED every minute of it, although once or twice he took off running towards the lake, trying to grab at the fireworks.  It was priceless.  Or scary because he was trying to jump into the lake and I know it.  Either one.

The rest of the weekend was spent with Darling and his very important job of building an enclosure for our trash cans (pictures to follow upon completion). We had them sitting in the backyard by the fence and he has decided (after three years of living here) that it is unsightly and hill-billy-ish to have our cans sitting out in the yard. Not to mention the fact that the ridiculously savvy squirrels in our neighborhood chew softball-sized holes in our cans and shred the trash all over the yard, which incites a riot between the dogs in town and they all go nutso in the wee hours of the morning.  Except my dog.  She barks at ‘em and then runs around the tree and then gets sidetracked by the rubber chicken and then she’s all, “LOOK!  MY RUBBER CHICKEN!  I’M SO GLAD I FOUND IT!” and then she’s all, “RUBBER CHICKEN, WHO?  THERE’S A CRACKER!  OH LOOK!  A CAT!”  Yeah, doggy ADHD much?

I’m gonna need a week to sleep off the stress from the past few days, mostly because I have THIS LITTLE CONDITION, AGAIN. For crying out loud, it freaking hurts.  And did I mention, BUGABOO IS BACK IN SCHOOL!  WAAAAAHOOOOOOO!!!!!  Sorry, I’m just a little excited that after three weeks, I CAN PEE WITHOUT SOMEONE IN THE BATHROOM WITH ME.

Ahem.

Here’s a few shots of our weekend:

Star spangled Bugaboo

Everyone is a winner

Got Booze?

Now. To head back to sleep.  I’ve got catching up to do.

Mark Twain said that houseguests, like fish, begin to smell after the third day.  Ours have been here three already and they ain’t smelly. Although they did finally convince their eleven-year-old that he needed to change those clothes and shower after three days…

My childhood friend is visiting from St. Louis and I couldn’t be happier.  I haven’t seen her since Bugaboo was a baby, nearly five years.  Her kids range from twelve down to three (five in all) and two of hers are the same age as my two boys.  They are having a blast.  It’s like one big, long, fun sleepover!  My friend was one of fifteen children.  In our little Irish-Catholic Mayberry, it was not uncommon to have a dozen kids.  We had a measly seven children in my family and we still got stares. Seven is NOTHING…

Anyways, they are staying in our playroom/basement on air mattresses and trundle beds and such.  This is what it looks like:

We’re having a blast…