Keep Your Sick Cussing Kids At Home. I’m Over It. AND YOU.


So after having various illnesses pass back and forth between the four members of our household for the past two months, we’ve finally been feeling “well enough” for like two weeks. Because we love being healthy, we logically take ourselves to the Eau Claire Children’s Museum over the weekend. A place where everyone else will CERTAINLY only bring their healthy, well-adjusted children to. RIGHT? RIGHT?

WRONG.

I yelled at three different groups of children over the course of two hours. Two knocked down the towers we were building in the giant foam Tinker Toy area, and the others blew past us up the stairs and shouted behind them, “WATCH OUT.” I, of course, yelled back, “Watch out yourselves and slow down, it’s rude.” I might have also suggested they were brats but I refuse to put that in quotations. I yelled at the other kids too, and right in front of their parents. I don’t give a cuss. And you know what? I knew the moms were scared of me, because of the tattoos, so I totally used it to my advantage. It’s like, “What. You want to mess with this?”

Then there were tons of miserably sick children there, sneezing over everything and coughing, repeatedly, with their mouths open. WHAT KIND OF PARENT THINKS IT’S A GREAT IDEA TO DRAG YOUR SICK KIDS ANYWHERE. I don’t get it. You know how many times I’ve opted to leave the kids at home versus toting them around to some family function with their illness in tow? It’s for the kids. It’s for everyone else. Have I made some enemies with choices like this? CERTAINLY.

My point being; What the frick is wrong with parents? They’re either selfishly toting their kids around to stuff with major illness because DAMMIT, WE ARE GOING TO THIS EVENT WHETHER YOU’RE DYING OR NOT AND ALSO WE DON’T CARE IF YOU WE YOUR KIDS SICK. Or they’re bringing their healthy kids with the worst personalities in the world to things and making me boil to the point of wanting to punch the whole lot.

My kids play well with others. I apparently don’t. SO WATCH OUT.

Is There a Dead Magician in the Neighborhood?


So, last October I was just ready to head out for a run when my mom noticed something odd from our living room window. There, standing on its very handsome hind legs, was a bunny. Not just any garden-variety brown bunny. A BLACK AND WHITE gentleman bunny. The kind a magician pulls out of a hat. IN OUR PARKING LOT. Clearly, something was wrong with this picture. Black and white gentlemen bunnies don’t belong in neighborhoods with hawks and eagles and feral cats. And mean people who apparently THROW AWAY PERFECTLY GOOD BUNNIES.

Naturally, I obsessed about this bunny all day. During my run, I puzzled how I might rescue the bunny. I returned home and saw the bunny hopping around in the brush near my car. Eventually, I put out a bunch of baby carrots (I know these aren’t real carrots but it was ALL I HAD), a laundry basket, and a towel. In my dream world, I envisioned this bunny hopping perfectly into the laundry basket, snuggling in, and asking me to PUHLEASE get him some jelly beans.

It didn’t quite happen that way.

He eventually ate a few of my carrots but refused to get near that overturned laundry basket. I can’t imagine why a caged basket wasn’t appealing to him.

Eventually, I contacted my friend Candice. I fancy her kind of an animal whisperer. She managed to get the bunny into a tupperware container. I know that sounds terrible but it was rather large. Just as she carried it up the stairs and we almost let the boys touch it, she noticed that it was kind of filled with bugs. Of all kinds. Time to close the box. Sorry, bunny. (The boys named him Oscar, by the way)

Oscar went to the humane society and that was the end of our exciting adventures. OR SO I THOUGHT.

Last night, I pull into our parking spot and what should I spy hopping around in that same patch of brush? A BLACK AND WHITE GENTLEMAN BUNNY. WHAT THE CUSS is going on here. Either the same bunny ran away from the humane society/his adopted home (but who are we kidding…it was the humane society), OR, this is another bunny that doesn’t belong in the “wilderness” that is Chippewa Falls. I’m thinking that a dead magician could be rotting somewhere with a box filled with bunnies that periodically hop out and scavenge for food.

I wasn’t going to mention this but when I saw the bunny last night, I shouted, “WHO ARE YOU. WHY ARE YOU HERE.” And he stopped to look at me. I also made some noises I thought might be bunny-like. Don’t judge me.

Either way, I am obsessed with staring out the window today and it has to stop. WHO ARE YOU BUNNY.

Kidoodle. TV makes me happy. And they want to give you free stuff too!


Full disclosure, my friends:

“I participated in a Blog Blast program on behalf of Mom Central Consulting for Kidoodle.TV. I received a promotional item and a free trial as a thank you for participating.”

I started a free trial of Kidoodle. TV a few months ago because I love my kids and I love getting work done around the house. Guess what? Those two things are not always synonymous with each other. Love this platform because it’s built for kids, not just aimed at them, Kidoodle.TV is designed specifically for the use and navigation by kids (ages 12 and under). I can filter what they watch and they can easily figure out how to work the controls (even a nearly 3 year-old set of twins can do it!). My boys love nearly EVERY show deemed appropriate for their age-range.

You can try Kidoodle.TV for FREE and enter by December 31, 2013 to win 1 of 10 tablets or 1 of 10 Kidoodle.TV year-long subscriptions! Just visit their website for your trial and sweepstakes entry. Check them out on Twitter and Facebook because you’re cool like that.

 

Have you created your adorable Christmas cards yet?


Full disclosure, my friends:

“I participated in a campaign on behalf of Mom Central Consulting (#MC) for Cardstore. I received a promotional item as a thank you for participating.”

Before the kidlets came along, I simply sent out the Christmas cards I bought on clearance from the year before. So my styles might’ve been slightly behind, but really, does that matter in the world of Christmas cards? Now that the boys are here, it’s like some kind of unspoken rule I simply MUST SEND OUT FANTASTIC CHRISTMAS CARDS FEATURING MOSTLY THEM. And of course, now that I have kids, I have zero time for this task. Just when I thought I’d have to tape old photos to pieces of cardstock, Cardstore.com came to my rescue. They’ll print, address and send cards out for you. If they would also design my cards, that’d be great, but I’ll take what I can get. If order today (Cyber Monday!!), you get $.99 flat cards. Log on and make your holiday card today: http://po.st/PersonalizeYourCard

 

 

 

Oh, we’re having all kinds of fun lately.


Well, let’s see here. I nearly blew out my knee about 3.5 weeks ago, I had a concussion a few weeks prior to that, and the arthritis in my neck has been flaring up since May. So, this has been just a banner effing year for Jodie in the health department. Am I getting old or something? If that’s the case, would I currently be writing a song called, “Distracted By My Sweatpants?”

I THINK NOT.

Anyway, the boys are in full-fledged toddler-dom and the moments of adorable behavior (like Jack telling me a shopping list included “no underwear” and Clark informing me of his intentions to push Santa Claus off the roof….yes I find that adorable because he said he wouldn’t do it if Clarice was there…from “Rudolph”) are sprinkled between long stretches of annoying OCD behavior. WHAT THE FRICK IS UP WITH THIS CRAP. There’s a growing list of things the boys want “lined up” in front of their beds before they fall asleep.

When they fall asleep.

IF THEY FALL ASLEEP.

If the line gets crooked, it’s a problem. If the line is missing something, bigger problem. If the line is forgotten, well holy shit, you’d better get your ass in there and fix it. They don’t poop until they’re in their beds, making it necessary for me to return to their bedrooms once they’re laying down. It’s all so very clever, isn’t it? BECAUSE I KEEP DOING IT.

Our bedtime routine kinda sucks and I know that. When the boys were smaller, I was alone a lot with them at bedtime, and well, you just do whatever the hell you can do with tiny twin boys that are screaming their heads off for the same shit at the same time. So, now we’re probably suffering a little with prolonged bedtime resistances, etc. It’s like having Custer’s Last Stand on a nightly basis. If they had bayonets, I’d be dead 378 times already.

I don’t want any suggestions because I don’t. In some ways, that’s just how kids are. They’re small adults. Big adults are big shitheads. So small adults are small shitheads. And having two shitheads in the same bedroom is like one big slumber party. EVERY.GD.NIGHT.

In other news, I have two separate Christmas cards I’m sending this year. One that is far less obnoxious than the other. So, we’ll see how you all rate.

I want to smash your smart phone.


So I’m waiting for my physical therapist the other day at the clinic, and a nurse comes out to call in another patient/victim. She says his name, he says, “that’s me” without even looking up, then continues to fuck around on his smart phone for THREE MORE MINUTES. YES I COUNTED. She eventually goes back to the room, and leaves him out there alone. He was completely unaffected by this all.

THEN, I’m driving home from this same appointment, when I pass a dad walking with his two small children. They’re running everywhere, trying to get his attention, and what’s he doing? STARING DOWN AT HIS SMART PHONE WHILE HE’S ALSO PUSHING A STROLLER WITH A BABY ALONG WITH TWO OTHER SMALL KIDS.

How adorable! What a proactive dad!

Anyway, I want to smash your smart phone.

I know you think you need it but you don’t. Don’t tell me you need it because I don’t believe you. At some point, I realize I might have to cave and get a cell phone again but no…I will not. I WILL KEEP THIS LANDLINE UNTIL I DIE. I should clarify here…the hubs and I do have a Tracfone that I use maybe once a month, and never for emergencies. My mom gave it to us and she pays for the minutes so in my brain, this means my involvement in this whole process is limited. I’m assuming if I’m in a bad situation, either someone else will have a cell phone or I’ll just die. It happens.

In related news, I occasionally get emails (REMEMBER THOSE?) from people who tell me how much they miss seeing new pictures of the boys on Facebook. Well, guess what? Even if I were on Facebook, new pictures of my kids wouldn’t be. Maybe I’m paranoid and overly protective, but I don’t need pictures of my kids floating around the internet. Back in the day, I would’ve been super pissed to walk into the center of my town, and see a billboard up with a giant, shitty picture of myself. However, we’re all cool with tagged pictures of ourselves, and our kids, floating around Facebook, etc. Of course, things shared on Facebook just stay on Facebook, right?

Yeah. Whatever.

In less pissy news, I’ve been running the shit out of myself, gearing up for a full marathon next month. I think it’s my 13th one, and I’ll ignore the unlucky implications of that number. If you’re wondering…yes, training with 2.5 year old twin boys is just a blast.

Big Rigs. Construction Trucks. Fire Trucks. WHAT COULD GO WRONG.


Well, the hubs and I fancied ourselves quite the AWESOME PARENTS yesterday. At least we fancied ourselves such en route to what we considered to be the EVENT OF THE CENTURY for little boys. The Eau Claire Big Rig Truck Show was happening yesterday and I was certain the twins would love it. I was determined to make this an awesome afternoon filled with photo opportunities, enthusiastic admiration for huge, shiny trucks, and perhaps even a few small purchases from a cheap (BUT QUALITY!) vendor selling trucks and truck…stuff.

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh…what bullshit. Within five minutes of rolling into the truck show, the boys were on perma-whine mode. “NO GO IN FIRE TRUCK.” “HORNS TOO LOUD.” “NO TOUCH THE TIRES.” Then they refused to go in the free-stuff tent until they saw the display of semi-trailers for sale. THE ONES THAT STARTED AT $45. Tearing them away from the diecast display that could easily bankrupt us was a real good time. As were the tense moments near the bouncy tents. NO, WE ARE NOT PAYING $5 SO YOU CAN GO INSIDE AND NOT PLAY ON TOYS THAT ARE TOO BIG FOR YOU. The sun beating down on us felt great as we slugged our way towards the exit, the screams for chocolate milk ringing in my ears (YOU DRANK IT ALL ON THE WAY HERE, FOR THE LAST TIME).

It was a GD disaster. The boys hate crowds. They hate loud noises. They’re like me…in miniature form. Why would this be a good time? I just WANTED IT so bad. You know what I mean? I was forcing a good time on people who were most likely not going to have a good time, no matter what. I was forcing some kind of lasting memory. Kinda like the time we took the boys to the pumpkin patch when they were 5 months old. ALSO NOT A GOOD TIME. Blame it on overly-enthusiastic parenting.

Now I realize the twins would’ve had more fun touching ONE big rig parked in a random parking lot. With no people around, no loud music, and a chocolate milk river flowing nearby for miles and miles.

In related news, the twins are really, really into Mickey Mouse. They have a thing for Minnie…and why not? So, I bought this shirt and I’m wearing it today for the first time. I’m the most popular girl in the house right now (and the only one but forget that). This is what I do for my children. Let’s just pretend that Miley Cyrus wasn’t just photographed also wearing a Mickey Mouse shirt as part of her super-hipster lifestyle.

THAT’S PRETTY COOL.

So, I’m Not Dyeing My Hair Red Anymore.


And is that how you even spell “dyeing?” I’m writing it out here and no angry redline is appearing (the redline that is appearing each time I type “redline” right now, which is kind of funny to me), so I’ll assume it’s all good.

I started dyeing my hair red/brown/something along those lines a few weeks before I got married the first time. That was back in what…2006? Yeah…It’s been awhile. At some point, dyeing my hair red stopped becoming a choice. Sure, the roots are a pain in the ass and that makes it hard to stop, but that’s not even REALLY why. Having red hair just became ME. There are tons of people who only know me as the girl with big, red, curly hair. They have no clue there’s this whole matter of me actually being a blonde.

Everytime I get a compliment on my hair, I’m like…FUCK. This will never happen again if my hair is blonde instead. I’ll just blend right in with everyone else and stop being interesting to look at. SAYS THE GIRL WITH THE FULL TATTOO SLEEVES.

I pretty much didn’t want to admit this shallow shit outloud but that’s how my mind’s been working. Lately I’m just over it. I don’t have time to keep this bullshit up anymore. Dyeing my hair red is work. It’s messy, it takes time I don’t have, and it fades so damn fast since I’m always outside running. Aside from the actual WORK of it all, I don’t care anymore if I don’t look as good as a blonde. It’s my natural haircolor for chrissakes. I am a goddamn blonde. UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

What’s wrong with being a blonde, you might ask? Nothing, FOR YOU. But for me? UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

And yes, my twins are redheads. Which really cracks me the hell up.

In a few months, I’ll be cursing this decision. That’s right around the time my hair is half blonde/brown and half faded shit red. It’ll be really attractive for the holiday season.

In related news, I got hit on by an older businessman-type the other day. He told me I was like a parking ticket…I had “fine” written all over me. All I could do was laugh. I never get hit on. That might be partially due to the fact that I’m not out and about very often, minus the grocery store, the YMCA, and the park. Also…well. I’m not everyone’s flavor. I’m good with that. Being universally attractive would be such a hassle. (not really)

In unrelated news, the twins have been slightly less annoying for the past few weeks. That can only mean one thing. THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM.

Yes, Jack. BIG NEWS.


I happen to turn on “Live With Kelly and Michael” today, and just as the boys were shouting, “NO NEWSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!” (which they pretty much define as any programming that is NOT MONSTERS, INC), GMA broke in an update regarding the Supreme Court ruling on DOMA and Prop 8.

HOLY SHIT, that was a long sentence up there. I’m not re-writing it. I’m exhausted.

I hear a brief explanation of the ruling before the TV gets turned off (THANKS, CLARK), and well, the news touched me. I felt tears well up in my eyes and was just thankful that the decision moved things in a direction I feel good about. Jack saw me crying, and I said it was okay…it was tears because something good happened. He touched my hand and said, “Big news, momma. Big news.”

Ugh…kids. Right?

A few hours later, the boys were busy spitting on each other during nap time, so I’m assuming that’s God’s way of making sure I never get the idea that they’re perfect. He has nothing to worry about. I WOULD NEVER THINK THAT.

I only pray my kids don’t end up being the bad kids everyone else’s “good kids” are supposedly hanging around. Not likely since they’re being home-schooled but who the hell knows.

Yeah, I don’t need to hear your ideas on home-schooling either, okay?

I spent an hour outside, digging for worms. The boys love them because they are disgusting and they are boys. I am forever fascinated by the ways in which boys are drawn to boy-stuff without anyone pushing them in a particular direction. Of course, they also wear my blush and try on my shoes but WHO DOESN’T. Anyway, they told me they wanted to dig for worms, and that sounded like an activity that’d eat up a lot of time (spending the day with toddler twin boys may never get boring but it does get mundane, especially when you’re living in an apartment the size of an effing box with zero yard), so I was game for it. If you know me, you know how much I despise worms. The whole process was quite distressing, especially after I found a worm. We then spent another large chunk of time pouring water on the worm. I wasn’t sure if the worm minded it, but I reasoned that worms often come out after rainstorms, so you know…why not flood them with dirty rainwater from a random bucket.

My mom has been SAVING MY ASS lately, when it comes to my own mothering. I’m here alone quite a bit and well, it gets to sucking pretty big butt. I know a few of you out there get what I really mean by this because you’re at home all day with kids too. It’s not the same as having a job in the traditional sense. Well, yes it is, since I think being a mother is supposed to be our job but that’s another blog. One I’ve probably written TEN TIMES NOW.

Anyway,  my mom’s been coming for a few hours, most days, so I can at least go the gym and run some errands. It’s awesome. Moms are the best, aren’t they? I would do anything for my kids and I have someone who would do anything for me. I like that.

Now it’s laundry time. Again! Like it was two days ago. And it will be tomorrow. GOOD TIMES.

 

 

I Guess I Have Fun.


Am I supposed to be having more fun as a parent? Because I’m kind of not right now. The boys are fucking annoying about 80% of the time with the constant whining and bickering over everything we only have one of…including my pajama pants and and the only lip gloss left in the house that isn’t full of fuzz from being tossed on the carpet every minute. I can’t tell you how many times they’re shouting, “START THE TIMER!” lately. Yes, we need to set the timer for “sharing.” Though admittedly there are times when the timer goes off and no one can remember what in the hell we were struggling to share in the first place.

So last night we go down to the ghetto Burger King for the car show. I had told my dad about it, since he has a pretty sweet Rat Rod pictured here that basically blows your average ’56 Chevy OUT OF THE WATER. And no, I don’t think that girl in the picture is very attractive but whatever.

Well the car show got rained out but my Dad showed up anyway because we’re one of those normal families that doesn’t carry cell phones with us. Because we don’t have them, unless you count the Tracfones we have in our respective vehicles.

Anyway, the boys were thrilled to see Grandpa and we all sat inside eating (not me, since I don’t eat at Burger King….no reflection on Burger King personally) when suddenly Clark starts choking. Mind you, this happens weekly in our household. I know of people who can recall the ONE time they gave their kid the Heimlich. Yeah, that shit happens all the time in the Arnold household. It appears the one lasting “preemie thing” for my kids has been their issues with eating.

So, that was super. Clark nearly puked everywhere and had again, almost died, so Justin took him to the bathroom to calm him down. He was screaming quite a bit. It was relaxing and fun.

In the meantime, Jack suddenly vomits EVERYWHERE. On my dad, on the table, on the food, on the floor. So while one twin is in the bathroom following another near-death choking incident, the other is out here puking over us.

Again, really fun time. I’m positive that the booth and floor were both CLEANER after I sat on my hands and knees wiping it all up with free napkins.

On the way home (we walked there, which was a great idea until we had to walk home with kids that were hungry again-thanks to the barfing, etc.), I found myself feeling the need to say, “Well that was fun!” But it wasn’t fun. Pretty much, any family outing is not fun right now. I spend my time ensuring my children don’t die, while they spend their time ignoring my warnings, and essentially just making life miserable and exhausting.

While I was cleaning the bathroom for the millionth time this year, I thought briefly of my friends with even more children than we have (because I think twins are harder than most other situations…and you probably wouldn’t agree unless you also had twins) and nearly vomited. Not because I was also cleaning up vomit but because the thought of having even more rain on my parade is just that terrible.

In other news, I thought I was dying for a few days there (don’t worry! I think it’s just Lyme’s Disease!), and what scared me the worst was the thought of three men in this place without someone to make sure they were fed and in clothes that started clean at some point. So, I’ll try not to die for awhile. AS IF I HAVE CONTROL OVER THAT.

Back to your regularly scheduled life, which is probably a little less depressing than this post. SORRY.