Welcome to the Funny Farm

About the fifth time Alena said, "This family is just NOT normal" last week, I started to realize, maybe it wasn't just her being her typical pre-teen self.

Maybe she was right.

I don't know what tipped her off the most, though.

Was it Tessa and her new favorite game of pulling tampons out of my purse and walking around casually with them in her mouth as she went about playing like normal?

Was it seeing Justin, dressed in his basketball jersey from Sports Day at work, shooting ghost free throws to himself in front of the bathroom mirror - in the dark when he didn't think anyone was looking?

Was it Phoebe spinning around and around and around and around, then throwing up, and starting to spin all over again?

Is it the cat who neurotically pulls out his own fur in big fur clumps all over the floor?

Was it how Chloe relates literally EVERYTHING she is doing or saying to some sort of cartoon episode?
The other day, Tessa was trying to grab one of her toys and she ran away screaming, "Swiper, no swiping!"

Is it how my mom is constantly fearing low tire pressure and is positive that every cow in every pasture that is lying down for a nap has surely met their demise, and just loves to ask, "Is that cow dead?"

Poor Alena. No wonder she's been retreating to her room.

That in itself is a worry, however.
I've noticed this girl has serious hoarding tendencies.
The other day I took a trash bag in there, on a mission to get rid of some junk and came out an hour and 2 trash bag loads later feeling like I'd just survived Normandy.

I think she had held onto every McDonalds Happy Meal toy she'd ever gotten.
She had wrappers and half used erasers, string and lone googly eyes, plastic animals with body parts chewed off.....It was like I'd found the Bermuda Triangle.
I'm worried that one day I will have to send in rescue dogs to find her and they'll drag her out from a pile of newspaper clippings or something. For this I record Hoarders on our DVR and make her watch it, all the while saying, "Now what lesson have we learned from this?" with hope brimming in my voice.

No. This family definitely isn't normal.

Actually, this whole neighborhood is a little wack-a-doo, when I think about it.

Next door we have the 40 year old man who wears one of two things: Duck hunting rain gear with a matching camo rain hat, or gangster paraphenalia. He only emerges from his house the second the mail gets here to get his mail, grabs it, and that's it.

Across the street, we have a half-way house chalk full of loonies and one scrawny dog who's owner kisses and rolls around with the dog on every lawn but her own. I'm pretty sure they're in love.
She used to use ours until I confronted her one day and scared her off.
After rolling, the dog usually poops as the owner looks all around the cul-de-sac to make sure no one's looking, then grabs the dog and darts back inside to avoid cleaning it up. It's no mystery who's poo that is, Lady.
It's either yours or his.

At the end of the street is the Grand Master of Strange - Dale - who I'm quite positive has OCD.
Dale is CONSTANTLY doing one of 3 things: Doing touch-up-paint on his house, changing the oil in a car he NEVER drives anywhere, or separating old bark from new bark in his side yard by hand and then standing over it and surveying it for what seems like hours.
He always has a red plastic party cup in his hand while doing these things, and I'm just wondering how much of a party it could be when you are doing those things.
To each his own, I guess.

We spent the whole first year in this house wondering what on earth he was doing as we saw him just standing, head bend down, staring at his plain bark yard. From the appearance of all the "work" he was putting in, you'd expect Better Homes and Gardens to be doing a piece on some lush garden that was about to erupt at any moment, but 2.5 years later, here we are with the same side yard as always- 5 water saving shrubs and bark. Old and new. Which are separated. By hand. In piles. For hours.

So, see Alena, we're not that strange. Normal is all relative, right?

I'll take my spinning, free throw shooting, Dora exclaiming, hoarding, tampon chomping, dead cow reporting family any day.

The Revolution

2010.

I never thought I'd be so happy to see a year end and another begin.
Not that there was nothing good about 2009, but MAN am I ready for some changes.

Yesterday as I walked around the track at the school, (when I wasn't eyeing the sketchy looking hoodie-wearing guy leaning up against the chain link fence),
I was thinking;
What do I want this year to be? What resolutions do I have?

I came to the conclusion that I have many. Probably too many to ever realistically keep, but isn't that's what resolutions are supposed to be like?

So here they are:

*This year, I will be healthier. Physically, mentally, emotionally. I will eat less cheese and more
lettuce.
*I will use the jogging stroller to actually JOG, something that is foreign to me thus far.
*Sometimes, I will choose tea instead of coffee, as to stop the cycle of coffee, Tums, coffee, Tums.
*I will be realistic as to which things I own that I actually use, and if I don't, they will go. I have
seen Hoarders too many times to not let that sink in. No pig pen in 2010. My new motto.
*If I have a need, I will express it. No more expecting people to read my mind and then getting
mad at them when they don't do what I want. Sometimes mommy needs an alone trip to
Barnes and Noble to look at hair magazines, and that's OK.
*I will make attempts to go to bed earlier. You really can't complain about being tired all
the time when you regularly go to bed at midnight.
*I will avoid public frump at all costs. Fashion is important. I already feel crazy half the time
but if I'm crazy AND frumpy, I will be one step away from an under-bridge mumbler.
*I will make valiant attempts at remembering who I really am. My likes. My personality. Me.
2009 had the memories of that getting a little blurry. This year will be different. Being a good
mom doesn't mean total sacrifice of self.
*I will keep the car cleaner. If I see a Ritz on the carpet, I will not leave it there to be smashed to
bits by toddler feet, I will clean it before it turns into a total disaster area.
* I will yell less and breathe more deeply.
* I will buy diapers before we are down to only 2 left in the whole house. A very dangerous
scenerio with two small children who eat a lot of fruit...
* I will be more loving with my words and actions remembering that other people like hugs just
and kindness just as much as I do.
* I will smile more, dance more, play more.
and MOST importantly
*I will be an active participant in my own life. LIVE more instead of watching from the side lines
and feeling sad about getting older and life flying by. Forget that. There's so much more living
to do. I may FEEL like I'm 80 some days, but I'm not. This chick's still kickin'.

So here goes, 2010. May we join hands and run into a field full of daisies together.

Um. No.

So. Here I am. Finally doing this.
For now.
It's pretty common for me to start doing something and then get side tracked with Chloe screaming that Tessa's getting something she has or to have to stop because Alena needs help on her 60th project of the year.

Don't get me wrong. I love my life. I love my kids, and most of the time, I love my family as well.
Here is a picture of us:
Justin is my husband. We've been married almost 5 years, dated for 2 before that. We met when a friend tricked us into meeting on St. Patty's Day and we were together ever since.
Only afterwards did we admit to eachother that I was drawn to his dark skin (the darker the berry....) and he was drawn to my still half full plate of corned beef and cabbage.

Thus began our romance. Firey. Funny. Crazy-making. Never dull.

I came into the relationship already having Alena, my then 3 year old, who is now 10 going on 20. Alena has no idea why she should not be allowed to wear makeup, drive her own car, and move out. She is not bogged down with details like that she has no way of making money except for the random birthday check from a distant aunt, or that she would actually be fined if she had 50 puppies, like she says she will one day have.
For now, I will let her live in her dream world, because that is what you do when you're 10.

We tried for over a year to have a baby, once we got married. After a very exciting positive pregnancy test came a very painful miscarriage that truly changed my life.
The very next month, I was pregnant again.

Chloe.

Chloe is a lesson in being very careful what you not only ask but BEG God for.
She evokes passions both good and bad. There is no one like her on this entire planet, and for that I am thankful. God knew better than to make her twins.
She's smarter than she should be, cuter than should be legal, and most days I fear that she ACTUALLY drive me insane.
Padded walls. Pill cups. Restraints. The whole nine.

Before I had time to stop my head from spinning with Chloe entering the world, then came Tessa. The baby we USED to say we hardly even knew was there.

Not any more.

Tessa is barely a year old and is practically in a 6x.
She bowls over anything or anyone who gets in her way. She gets into everything. She EATS everything. For this, we lovingly refer to her as "Destructo"

She's squishy and cuddly and absolutely darling.

They all are. Which is a good thing, because otherwise I would most likely ship them off to a distant land.

Phoebe is our dog. She is a Boston Terrier, and she spins. ALL the time. Around and around and around and around until she's dizzy then she throws up. Awesome. The vet told us he thought she might have a brain tumor. We got a second opinion. That vet said no tumor. Just OCD.

Great. Just what I needed.

So most days my life sounds like this:
"Chloe, Mama said no screaming! What? What did you say? I can't understand you when you're whining. No, Tessa! Tessa, NO! Get out of there. Where did you GET that?! Give it to.....Tessa....come back here. Don't eat that, it's diaper cream! PHOEBE! STOP SPINNING. Go lay down! You have to take a nap because Mommy's tired. Why? Because I said so!"

Perhaps writing will be Mommy's time-out.
Maybe this WILL be good.
Time will tell ----- For now, I have to go. I hear the sounds of destruction as we speak.

K