BTS

Back To School shopping is EXPENSIVE. Really, REALLY expensive.

It was kinda fun though. :) My children are so prepped out it hurts.

Finn's getting new shoes on Tuesday.

Finnigan Says:

Finnigan can say "more". I taught him using Mini Melts (those flash-frozen ice cream pearls of yummyness) at the mall. It comes out more like "Mmmmm-oe", and is ridiculously cute.

Finn now has two commands: "Mmmmm-oe", and SCREACH!!!!

Also, he can eat an entire nectarine all to himself. Just hand it to him and he eats it, with little baby micro-bites. That's pretty dang cute too.

They never. stop. talking.

Srsly. It's like Offspring Chatter Torture. OCT. It drills into your brain and all your sanity leaks out. The military could use tactics like these. I keep answering, but I must not be giving them the information they're looking for because they JUST. KEEP. TALKING.

For the record, today alone we've covered the following topics:

• Why words are spelled the way they are.
• The difference between a waffle and a pancake (the amount of dishes, as far as I'm concerned).
• Why some little brothers are circumcized and some are not.
• Why certain six-year-old neighbourhood children ought to be rounded up and sent to the zoo.
• Why some TV shows are not for children.
• Where fruit flies come from.
• Why we don't leave Barbie shoes on the floor (ouch).
• How many times one child can say "she poked me!" before the big vein in mommy's head explodes.
• What deodorant is for.
• Why changing into new clothes because you got a little handwashing backsplash on you is not acceptable.
• How many utensils one child needs for spagetti.
• Yes, Finnigan, gravity affects pizza.
• Yes, Finnigan, your sippy cup too.
• That you can no longer leave lids off of highlighters markers, because they will dry out and mommy no longer has access to any more free highlighters markers.
• That lippin' off to your mama is a good way to get a whuppin'. Rachel, this means you.

Finnigan spent about a half hour today in his playpen, banging on the window and yelling "DA-DA! DA-DA! DA-DAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!" and telling me "ta, mama" whenever I had a bottle in my hand. Demanding little booger.

It's 9:33pm, and my brain is long-since fried. And they are STILL. TALKING.

ShutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupSHUTUUUUUPPPPP!!!

Moving right along...

I applied for a job as an Advertising Copywriter. I'm massively underqualifed. Actually, I AM qualified, I just don't have the requisite previous experiance. Bah. I applied anyway. The worst they can say is no.

And laugh at me. :(

But damn, I'd be good at that job.

FINNIGAN IS WALKING

Alone, unassisted. A little "drunk"enly, but walking nonetheless.

That's all.

I hate my car

Engine replaced - twice.

Cracked windshield.

Tire about to blow due to craptacular alignment.

Air conditioning busted.

Gas monster.

Knob on window roller-downer-dealie busted.

No latch system for Finnigan's carseat.

Gas gauge needle constantly flips too far around and gets stuck that way.

Speakers 1, 3, and 5 are wonky.

Brand-new EVERYTHING, and still runs like shit.

Cracked power-steering pump thingie.

Something wrong with oil sucker-upper thingie.

Window trim sealant stuff falling off.

All around, a generally cliff-worthy automobile.

Laid off. :(

I got laid off on Friday. I knew it was coming, but it still smarts. :(

Anyone who's been to this blog before knows I WILL NOT be missing that damn company though!

Wanna know the shittiest part? I was four weeks shy of qualifying for unemployment. FOUR FRIGGIN' WEEKS. So now I have no job, no paycheck, no plan B. Sucks to be me.

Luckily, I have in my posession someone who is the BOMB-FREAKIN-DIGGITY of a hubby. :) He took me out Friday night and got me drunk. Very, very drunk. I felt a little better. Then he bought me presents. Felt another little bit better. I still feel like shit, but at least I'm out of bed. What more do you people want???

Cons:

• No job.
• No money.
• Embarassed.
• I hate packing.
• Embarassed a little bit more.
• Not enough hours to qualify for EI.
• My plants will probably die.
• No more free office supplies.
• My suits will go to waste.
• Eventually I'll run out of food.
• My rent is due on the 1st.
• Stay-at-home moms don't get coffee breaks.

Pros:

• I NEVER HAVE TO GO BACK THERE AGAIN.
• "Laid Off" doesn't carry the same stigma as "Fired".
• I am now free to move to the Island.
• I can go on job interviews whenever they'll have me.
• I NEVER HAVE TO GO BACK THERE AGAIN.
• I can go on vacation as planned, without taking time off work (lol).
• I can work for a company who respects me, and pays me what I'm worth.
• I NEVER HAVE TO GO BACK THERE AGAIN.
• I can sun myself during the day, and send out resumes at night. Got bless the internet.
• Less gas.
• Less flourescent lighting.
• I can wear flip-flops all day.
• I won't be so tired at the end of the day.
• I can concentrate on my family.
• My house will be clean. Well, maybe.

This blows.

Rachel Says:

Grampa? Do you know the popcorn machine? You need a bowl and then you have the popcorn machine and then you pour the seeds in and put the bowl thingie and it POPS just like POP POP POP and you OH and you have to use the oil and after you put the ummm oil and the seeds in you have to get the plug and plug it into the wall thingie and then plug it into the popcorn machine so the popcorn seeds can pop until they're all turned into popcorn and just flip the whole popcorn machine over after it's already popped and it turns into a big bowl what you can eat the popcorn out of and when it's done it beeps, do you know? Can we have some popcorn?

(Yes, just like that. I don't think she even stopped to breathe.)

Now THAT's skinny!

I just made Lily take off a pair of shorts. Why? Because they were Finnigan's. Size 12-18 mos. Yeah.

I feed her, honest.

Two more days until her 7th birthday...

For Christmas, maybe?

I want some Mighty Putty.

I also want some ShamWows.

Lastly, I'd really like a Tobi laudry steamer thing.

I really shouldn't be watching late night infomercials...

For Posterity:

Rachel, age 5, calls the washing machine "the wetter". Makes sense, no? First the wetter, then the dryer.

I don't know where she picked this up, I've NEVER called it that. But it's quite logical.

They're BAAAAAA-AAAACK!!!

Lice.

I hate them.

With a passion.

Seriously, WHERE do they keep COMING FROM??? Because I'll drop it like it's hot! School's out, so no fear there, this house has been THOROUGHLY de-loused, and there are no other cases at daycare. *Tear* Neighbourhood children? Who knows. I swear, if they weren't girls, they'd be bald.

I found exactly ONE egg on Finnigan. My own personal theory is that his hair is so sparse and fine that Mommy Louse just couldn't hang on. I don't know what's more disturbing - the fact that I found a nit on my baby, or that there's a random louse on the loose... Here's hoping she went overboard OUTSIDE. *Shudder*

Rachel... Oh my dear sweet Rachel... Complete and Total Infestation. HOURS spent hunkered over her butt-length, curly/wavy/thick hair that is, sadly, the same colour as the damn parasites. HOURS. I shit you not. We had to break for meals, half her hair done up Laia-style, and spritzed with Lice-away to hopefully prevent cross-contamination. The poor girl was absolutely SHAKING at the end from having to stay still as stone for so long with her neck at totally unnatural angles. I can't tell you what it was like to just KNOW you didn't get them all - not because you didn't try your ass off, but because there were SOOOOO many that the odds are just NOT on your side.

Lily was pretty clear. She had less than the first breakout a few months back.

So, hours spent nitpicking before lice-treatments, then the 12-hour lice treatment (which is actually a scabies treatment - ask me more if you're interested. My Dr. recommended it, he says it's the be-all end-all of lice treatments) then 3x tea-tree shampooing each, then I blow-dried the girls' hair dead straight. This is a new step I've added. It's kind of like putting their little heads in the dryer. I figure that heat CAN'T be good for any remaining bugs, and I tell ya - straightening their hair made nit-picking SO. MUCH. EASIER! Holy softness, batman. For those that know us IRL, I'll have to post pics. The girls look soooo different with straight hair! Lily says she "likes [herself] sooo much better [that] way!!!". Lol, Laly... Nuked the bedrooms. Bagged the unwashables, dryer-ed the unwettables, and threw the rest in the washing machine. Vaccumed everything that wasn't a child. Vaccuumed, flipped, and rotated the mattresses. Waterproofed them. New-sheeted them. Removed all stuffed animals and superfluous bedding from room. Threw out pillows. Nit-picked AGAIN. Lice-away'ed their hair, put it in tight braids, and sent them to bed. I'm exhausted.

Tomorrow, I get to do most of that all over again.

Rachel Says:

Mommy: Be careful that you don't drop him, Little Ray, he's heavy!

Rachel: "He's not heavy!


(wait for it...)


He's my BROTHER!"

Yup, firmly lodged in my brain too.

He ain't heavy -- He's my bru-thaaa...

Baby LOVES dessert!

SUCH cuteness! Love that hearty baby belly laugh. :)

Good God he's adorable.

(Yes, I realize there's a baby screaming bloody murder all throughout the clip. No, I don't know where it's coming from. I promise you that Finnigan is the smallest one I've got.)

EDITING - Very, VERY important

So there I was, happily tippity tappety-ing away on my keyboard at work, writing another essay instructing some poor sap on the proper procedure for filling out Stupid Form No. 84116875138. I finished up, blasted through spellcheck, and had my mouse poised above "print".

That's when it started.

The voice.

It said NO. Don't print. Something is wrong.

Very, very wrong.

I reread it. Clear, concise, and correct.

Wait.

No.

It's not right.

I must have stared at that procedure for ten straight minutes. Do you know that if you stare at a word document for long enough, it turns into one of those magic eye pictures and you see all sorts of cool things? True story.

I digress.

I stared at it. I scrolled up. I scrolled down. I viewed in different modes. I spellchecked, grammar-checked, and edited for format.

I went for coffee.

When I sat back down, there it was, clear as 12pt, black, Times New Roman on a lily-white page.
Here's what I actually wrote, with intent to distribute:
"... is a part of the lead HAND JOB." "...the lead HAND JOB requires that..." "For the lead HAND JOB to be efficent..."

Yeah, I did that.

Of course, it SHOULD (and now does) read "JOB of the LEAD HAND".

Gotta love a dirty double entendre in official procedural documentation.

I'm not as think as I smart I am.

Rachel Says:

Rachel has started swimming lessons once again. Which is a good thing, as she tends to sink like a stone in anything deeper than, oh, dry land.

Apparently we've recently begun calling "Lifejackets" "PFD's" (Yes, I realize that has always been their 'official' name, but they're LIFEJACKETS, damnit!). Thus began this acro-licious conversation.

Rachel: Mommy, what does "P-D-F" mean?

Mommy: "Personal Flotation Device"

R: Person Floating and Mice?

M: "Personal Flotation Device"

R: Person-lllllll Floats DeLice?

M: PERSONAL... FLOTATION... DEVICE.

R: But we can just call it a lifejacket.

M: Good idea, Rachel.

Her hearing is fine, it's the listening that's so-so at best.