I'm still a little bit, okay, a lot fried from all that's happened in the past several weeks. And 2009 already seems to be shaping up to be the year Mommy started mumbling to herself and living in her bathrobe.
I know that this is just one of those times in life when all the shit seems to hit the fan at once. And I also know that in six months life will likely be it's nice, usual, manic self. But right now, it does seem to feel as if I'm standing in the ocean, trying to reach the shore, only to be knocked on my ass by wave after wave. So, Life if you are listening? Uncle, already.
Anyway, until the tide recedes, and I feel certain that I'll be able to post about daily life without sounding like a 17 year-old-black-clad-EMO-pussy, I'm going to stick with some pictures.
And won't mention that I'm sitting here listening to The Smiths and wearing entirely too much eyeliner.
Just before Christmas, my mother-in-law had the kids down to her house to bake and decorate cookies. Evan was showing off his floury hands and his 'Guess what? Chicken Butt' shirt. If it's wrong that I chuckle every time my three-year-old tells this joke, than I don't want to be right.
Lucas gave the experience two thumbs up. Also please note Geisha Emma in the background. Mother-in-law has a small bag of throw down cosmetics for Emma to play with at her house, complete with powder compact and gray hairs for Mommy.
Yeah, he's trying to play it cool, but I think Michael had more fun than any of them. As I was posting this he came home from his wrestling match and requested that I let the internet-at-large know that he got another pin and the phone number of a really cute girl named Ashley. I'd like the internet-at-large to know that I got some wrinkle cream and the phone number of a therapist named Monica.
Turning three means never having to say you're sorry, or having to wait for your icing fix. Also, please note that the poor child had three matches on his cake to blow out. The entire family gathered around the table, antsy, and ready to sing while Curt and I rummage through drawers in vain for candles. Klassy.
The older four spent the next week with bio-dad. The same week Curt had off. And apparently those two occurances created the perfect storm for Curt to decide that we should go through every closet in the house to purge anything not deemed vital. Me thinks he was a gypsy in a previous life. Thankfully, we did take a small break to meet up with Linda from Travels With Children and her (adorable!) crew at the Children's Museum in Pittsburgh. I'd be remiss if I didn't point out Evan going nuclear because he was told to stand still and smile. The nerve of some parents, honestly.
In the garage room Ellie was endlessly fascinated by the rubber balls rolling along a maze of wires suspended from the ceiling. She may look like her mother, but her brain is all Daddy. Which means, I get to blame him when she rigs up a pulley system to get to the M&Ms in the cabinet.
Evan insisted that Curt accompany him down the slide the first time. Thankfully, no photographic evidence exists of Mommy and Ellie's voyage down the spiral of embarrassment.
This morning as Michael was working himself into a foamy sweat playing the air-drums, Ellie pulled herself up and snuggled in. I look at this picture of my oldest and youngest children and think that despite everything else going on, I'm going to make it ashore after all.