Martian Child

I just finished a really sweet movie called Martian Child. It's got John Cusack and nobody else that I really care about in it. I was hoping for something like Grosse Point Blank: Baby Blues and ended up with a decent story bogged down in politically correct, new age parenting weak-kneed slush.
The bones of the story are good; It's about a recently widowed Sci-Fi writer who adopts a defective kid who thinks he's an alien. There's also a stock Hollywood "nutty girl with a heart of gold" who's most notable achievement in the whole film is that she first shows up in an outfit almost identical to the one I wore to my sister's wedding. (Sorry about that, Sister.)
It made me think alot about myself, and how I've been for the past month or so. Night time is when I do most of my thinking, and each night I've gone to bed wishing I hadn't yelled so much, or been so bitchy to the kids, or had put just a little more effort into the whole parenting thing. I used to be so enthusiastic about it; When the oldest learned to read, learned her letters, I was so much a part of it. Now I just feel like I'm faking it. I get up in the morning just trying to keep the house from being destroyed. I count the hours until bedtime. Most of my pleasure comes from my morning walk alone, reading about the gardening I hope to do, or the cigarette breaks I take on the front porch, back wedged against the door to keep the screaming hordes from following me.
I guess burnout happens to everyone, but unfortunately I can't put the kids on hold until I work out my issues. I was so angry about a huge mess that happened in the front room today, I just started throwing toys back into the bin. My oldest walked up, on her tiptoes, and whispered "Can I help you, Mommy?" in a very concilitory tone, and I know that moment is going to be wedged into her brain for the rest of her life.
I don't want to be remembered as the mood-swing mommy.

The garden leech

So, you go to the store to buy some tortillas, and what do you come home with? Plants, of course.
I really couldn't help myself; I mean, what kind of cold-hearted person could refuse a lettuce with a name like 'ButterCrunch'? The kind that makes Care Bears weep, that's who. SO I got some ButterCrunch (it's even tasty to type!), some baby spinach, some onion chives and some basil, along with various assorted seed packets.


The leafy greens will be moving out of that planter soon, into my yard garden. Once I empty out another big can I'll be putting in some cilantro, maybe some lavender. I grew parsley all summer last year, and never once used it. Go figure.
I also want to get some of that spotty sage.
The mint plants are staring to sprout in the backyard, and I have high hopes for pennyroyal this year. I think I want to start a rosemary hedge along my sidewalk.

In other news, I found a way to incorporate my love of Americanized sushi into Mr. Leg's wierd religious beliefes. I give you (celestial choir noises) Lent Tamakizushi!


Mmmmm.

To my love in the desert: Stay strong throughout your cruel blog-deprivation, and know that we all love you and are praying for you.

Why yes, I am running a shelter here

A neighbor brought over this puppy, thinking that it was ours. We went up and down the street, but no one's claimed it.

She's cute and everything, but she looks like she's going to be big. And hairy. I'm thinking Border Collie-Chow.


She's pretty cute...Her fur is a really interesting shade of red-black. If I could keep the fur without the puppy, I totally would.

Pretty like a Mirror...Into your Soul...Of DOOM.

Alright, here it is, the finished product! Thank you thank you thank you, Mr & Mrs Sister! I can't even describe the warm glow I feel whenever I look at my shiny new floor. The stain finally dried, we slapped some polyurethane on and moved right in! After we unstuck the kids, we realized that we probably should have waited until it had dried, too. (kidding)



Just, you know...Try to imagine Swiper out of the picture.



Ooooooooh.



These pictures don't really show the kind of high-powered, tooth-shattering gloss that you can see in real life; It's very pretty, very antique-y.

And in case anyone was wondering about that horrible smell in the dining room, yesterday Swiper went under the house and came out with a desiccated, malodorous, petrified, & partially masticated feline corpsicle. He generously offered to share it with me.


Anyway, the smell's gone, and in case any of you were wondering, no I did not get a picture. Although now that I think of it, that would have been cool. Maybe I'll go dig it out of the trash tomorrow.

Also, in case any of you were wondering, you can put chalkboard paint on an Altoid tin.



I can't wait to put up the chalkboard mural in the girl's room; I can't decide between a pony shape and a flower shape, but either way it will be unbelievably cool.

The Demolition Begins

My favorite older sister is in town, and is graciously assisting me in tearing up my floor. By assisting, of course I mean she and Mr. Sister are tearing up the floor while I nurse the baby for eight hours or so. Anyway, here's what happened.
First, there was carpet.


And then there was none. Notice, if you will, the strange resemblance this tile bears to those 'Learn-to-Dance' mats they used to sell.


The dancing tile was laid down over particle board sheets over an even older layer of linoleum. The whole thing was screwed, I repeat, SCREWED to the wood floor. There were also a few random patches of what appear to be upholstery tacks nailed into the floor for no apparent reason.
While Mr. Sister crowbar'ed the carpet tacks out of the floor, we ripped up strips of particle board and linoleum.


Then we went through and removed screws. Thousands and thousands of screws. Many jokes were made, and one screwdriver was broken.


Then we swept it clean and hopefully I'll finish ironing off the last of linoleum glue. We got a ton accomplished today, and I'm so frikkin' giddy about the whole thing. I can see my floor, and it's bee-utiful.

Not sick, but still can't catch a break.

Well, thanks to everyone's prayers and massive doses of echinacea & yerba root, I have not come down with the stomach-eating infection. The oldest is fully recovered, although the younger two are still experiencing some random lingering bowel ejections. It's been really cold the past few days, so we picked everybody up and moved to the inlaws until it warms up. And I thought taking care of kids with a stomach virus at MY house was bad.
The good news is, the MIL recently replaced wall-to-wall carpet with hardwood floors, so I don't have to worry about clean up too much; just wipe and go.
Anyway, it looks like we'll be here till Monday.
Stay warm, people.

The bi-directional output stomach virus hits

Today started pretty good.
A nice cool walk in the drizzly gray, some hot coffee waiting at home. We had breakfast, did laundry, had lunch, did laundry...And then it hit. About one O'clock, the body fluids and semi-solids started flying, every five minutes a new eruption, and it didn't let up until SEVEN.
All three girls, totally miserable. Every blanket and pair of pajamas we own, in the washpile. The couch, the carpet, EVERYTHING is soaked.
The good news is, the dryer has been running non-stop, so we have a very comfortable level of warmth and humidity going. I may be puking my guts out tomorrow, but by god, my pores look FABULOUS.

They are now burrowed under the covers in my bed, totally exhausted and hopefully sleeping. I sigh loudly every now and then, to remind Mr. Legs how much I've suffered. He brought canned soup home so I wouldn't have to cook, and Dr. Pepper without being asked. He's a good guy.