Ginger, Cocoa, and Trixy

There are these three amazingly good looking girls that live directly across the street from my house.

I refer to them as "The Hot Co-eds".

Three single girls living under one roof, a new home I assume was purchased by one of their Daddy(s) (as I see him arrive weekly to mow their lawn). Darling clothes, designer purses, and convertible rides greet them as they make their way in and out. To add to that utopia, there are a variety of hair styles going on too. One has luscious long espresso locks. The other voluminous brunette. And of course, the trio isn't complete without a shiny blonde. You think I'm kidding? This is no exaggeration. The only falsified bit of information I will offer is their names: which I've dubbed Ginger, Cocoa, and Trixy.

Just the other day, they all stepped out of a vehicle in their bikinis. Each flexed, cellulite-less butt cheek in perfect sync with the other as they shuffled inside one behind the other. Boom budda budda. Boom budda budda. Boom budda budda.

Call me crazy, but I prefer my previous across-the-street neighbor: an overweight, hairy Basque who scratched his belly while staring at his blotchy lawn.

Don't get me wrong, I think there is nothing more unattractive in a woman than needy insecurity. I would classify myself as a completely confident, healthy woman who is perfectly secure with herself and her marriage (minus pregnancy...when my nose swells to the size of cucumber and I begin crying and throwing potato chips at the television screen when Victoria Secret commercials air while Tyler and I are watching The Office, screaming "Sell outs!". Insane? Slightly. But I get suspicious that even my most faithful, sex-deprived husband is probably viewing those commercials with the same longing I view Applebee's burger commercials while dieting).

But come on!...Regardless of my non-pregnant status, how can I compete with this trio!? I'm not gonna lie, when I'm out watering my plants at 5:30pm in baggy floral capris, a mustard stained T-shirt, with half-naked and mismatched kids swarming my feet as my husband and the co-eds simultaneously are pulling into their garages, I feel like the universe really must have an ax to grind to land me at a permanent residence across from Hugh Hefner's future entourage.

They seem extremely nice. Intelligent. They all seem to have good jobs....but enough playing nice here. It's a dog eat dog world out there, and I'm seriously considering tight booty shorts and heels the next time my petunias need watering. If you happen to drive by my house and witness me so scantily clad, be sure to honk and cheer me on...cuz let's face it....I'll be winning. Nobody can offer my man my package deal. Nobody.

That is until I get pregnant again. Then I'll just throw my potato chips at them.

Case for the apes.

I salute the Round Table Pizza dancers on street corners. You know who I'm talking about - these less fortunate souls, left to hold what appears to be a 20 lb. sign in the blazing sun, advertising some upcoming clearance sale or $5.99 buffet.

Seriously, rock on. Fearless and undiminished by the glares of passerby(s) during the noon hour, they dance and shake what their Mama gave em. Completely capable of forgetting that nobody else is hearing the music blaring through their Ipod Nano (the same way I forget while singing to Beyonce's All the Single Ladies).

I sat at the intersection today, stopped at a red light for a considerable amount of time. The awkwardness of my situation was palpable. I was the first car in line halted, and there was the shaking Round Table girl, within a 17 inch proximity. Do I watch and smile? Pretend like I can't see her? Roll down the windows and wave? Dance with her?
I mean, the poor thing is practically having a seizure. I just can't ignore it.

As I uncomfortably conducted a false search for an earring in my glove compartment and then counted and recounted the change in my ashtray in an effort to avoid staring at Ms. Dance-a-tron, I got to thinking: what is it with dancing anyway?

I absolutely love it (I have some pretty slick moves, as Tyler will attest - right dear? Remember your most requested move: the Make it, Shake it, Bend and Spank it? No?).... but, if you step back to see it from a deaf person's perspective, it's all a little outlandish. A bunch of people moving their bodies around in large rooms after wedding ceremonies and parties. Not much conversation, just movement.
What is it about sound that causes us to move our bodies in various motions? Have you ever thought about how weird an entire room of dancing people would seem if you silenced the music while they continued dancing? And nightclubs...let's talk about those....places where humans go to rub their bodies against each others to sound.
It's all very funny.

Monkey's lick each other's armpits and sniff each other's butts.

We have seizures to eight counts.

We're not so different, now are we?

Confess.

I challenge any mother who does not use television/movies as a useful form of self- medication to treat pre-head explosion before nap-time to step forward.

Go ahead, I dare you.

Didn't think so.

So cute, and so quiet. Ahhhhhh.

I recommend children.

London dearest, as explained in the last post, I'm so glad we have spent inordinate amounts of cash on a swingset, grass, and a trampoline for you to discover your favorite place in the backyard:


I discovered Lily sleeping like this in her favorite attire: her "cereal" swimsuit ("cereal" is how she says "Ariel"/ the Little Mermaid's name). Nice sock selection too.


Tonight Lily requested a pickle. As I was getting one out of the jar, she grabbed the jar and spilled juice on the counter. I exclaimed:

"AAaa! Lu! You're getting pickle juice everywhere!"

She responded:

"Mom, isss jus life." (Mom, it's just life.)

"Did you just tell me, 'It's just life.'" ?

"Yesh. Isss. Jus. life."


Ahh, sweet love, it never gets old. To have a three year-old speaking in the house is wonder and hilarity beyond compare. Everyone should have one.

Only the Best...

He spent days and days.

In the hot HOT hot sun. Shoveling dirt, hammering nails, hauling loads, and digging holes .



And nights, too. dark DARK dark nights. Out with the lamp, building and measuring and cursing. Just kidding. He didn't curse. (Mommy might have though)



All so they can spend their summer afternoons in the backyard like this:










What a guy. What a Daddy.

I know two little girls who have a pretty massive crush on him. I can't say I'm surprised...so do I.


Thank you for all of your hard work, you are simply the best. Always have been.

It must be recorded (again)

Dear Lily and London,

Honest to goodness there are days I think I'm going to overdose on loving you two. You are both insanely fun, and insanely insane to mother. I wouldn't trade this for anything. But I can't go to bed without recording a few randoms from today that must now be etched into cyber-eternity so I'll never forget these days with you.

London - you've mastered this ridiculous scream that I have concluded is the well-deserved bad karma I am receiving from previously complaining of a distant cousin of yours who used to do the same thing (before you came along). Today in the checkout aisle of Walmart you unleashed it. Scream at the top of your lungs, shrill...earth-shattering...mind numbing....pain inducing...high pitched girly scream. Then you laugh. And I'm helpless to do anything about it. Seriously. You just scream, laugh, repeat. Scream, laugh, repeat. And you're too little for any decent sort of lasting reprimand. It was so awful trying to checkout, and search for my lost driver's license while five others waited behind us in line, all listening to the screeeam...laugh....repeat. Scream...laugh, repeat.

Lily- You were on the potty today doing your number two business when I heard you yell from the bathroom:

"Mom!"

"What Lu?"

"I yike you!" (I like you!)

"I love you too!"

"Noooo! I yike you!" (Nooo! I like you!)

"Oh, I like you too!"

"I sink you're so cute!" (I think you're so cute!)

"Thanks Lu, I think you're so cute too...now are you ready for me to wipe you yet?"

When I came in to help you finish the biz, you looked down (sorry, graphic) and proclaimed:

"Thew's cwap in my poo." (There is crap in my poo.)

Can't wait to see what tomorrow brings.

You

make

me

smile

and

laugh

a lot.



Love,

Mom

To do list

1. Map out plan to teach Lily all of her ABC's
(oh yeah, this kid's gonna be a genius. At the Haack household, we reach for the stars if ya know whadda mean):
Check.

2. Begin with one specific letter each week
(example - it's letter "A" week!):
Check.

3. Identify, locate, and get very excited over finding that letter anywhere
(in books, at the grocery store, street signs, etc. etc.):
Check.

4. Begin tracing, drawing, painting that letter for fun daily. When Lily masters drawing the letter A on her own, begin screaming, calling everyone you know, and plastering her A papers all over the house:
Check. Check.

5. Congratulate myself on astoundingly productive motherhood equipped with visualizations of her future kindergarten teacher's praise....

"My goodness, I am so impressed Lily can write the entire alphabet, we recommend students at this advanced of a level just go ahead and begin in the third grade. What a prodigy Mrs. Haack, you should be so proud."

"Oh, it's nothing really. She just started writing cursive practically out of the womb, I didn't have much to do with it. In fact, her favorite thing to do as a baby was to line up all of her goldfish crackers and practice long division. To be so blessed, I'm humbled really."

Check. Check. Check.

6. Choke down a solid, massive piece of that humble pie as you realize your child can mastermind and manipulate your scholastic efforts to get away with her favorite pastime....coloring all over herself and our new sofa:


Check.

She couldn't be punished...they are beautiful A's, aren't they?
Talk about a genius.

Recap

London has started doing her animal sounds. Just when you thought she couldn't get any cuter...

I aM So In LoVe WiTh tHiS cHiLd.

Lily keeps popping up with the funniest phrases. Among them this week were:

"Dad, you jus know da wules..." ("Dad, you just know the rules..." then she proceeds to explain to him how things are supposed to work around here)

"A corse I do." (Of course I do.)

"Um, Um, just las nite when I wus jus a babee and a kid and a wittel boyee, I fawed down."
("Um, um, just last night when I was just a baby and a kid and a little boy, I falled down." This is how she prefaces any story about the past...it is always last night, and any mixture of sex and age she comes up with.)

I Am So iN lOvE wItH tHiS cHiLd, tOo.

We jammed at Sesame Street Live this week. And let me tell you, there is nothing more entertaining for parents than costumed characters dancing on stage for an entire hour and a half.

RoCk oN, SeSaMe StReEt.

I got an IPOD shuffle from Tyler and the girls early for Mother's Day! I was so excited I began the much needed training for the mini-triathalon I'm determined to complete this summer. The bad news is I practically died of heart failure while attempting to jog the first half mile. But the good news is that my butt cheeks now slap the back of my thighs, spanking me into shape.

Who NeEds a TrAiNeR?

Happy weekend!

Food for the Brain

Here is a little video I loved. Spend fifteen minutes and you'll be very enlightened as to one of the most defining and controversial decisions in American history...it deals with arguments I'm sure you'll hear or have already heard somewhere along the way during any political/historical discussion, lecture, class, etc.

Click here.


Comments anyone?

The cure

I broke down sobbing last week. A good, hearty, sulky, pity-fest sort of sob. Tired and miserable and wallowing in my own selfish dramas.

Strangely, I usually don't have the full meltdown in front of my husband. He always tells me to go ahead and cry. He's willing to listen, willing to hold me, but often I will instead allow myself only to get conservatively teary-eyed with him, and lay quietly in his arms. Then I go perform the snot-nose, puffy, red, eye-rubbing saga to my mother. I don't know if this is good or bad.

It's not that I don't trust him, adore his advice, or feel safe and secure in his presence. Most often it is that I know he has enough on his plate, so if I'm going to feel sorry for myself on a day of difficult stay-at-home motherhood, it's best to not go whining to the amazing man who is doing everything to provide me with that stay-at-home motherhood. I don't want him to think or worry that anything is truly wrong that needs "fixing".

I love my life.

I can't get enough of my life. But every now and then it just feels good to allow yourself a few hours of indulgent pity partying.

The phone call sounds like this:

" (Sniffle sniff) Hiii Mom."

"Hey! How's it goin'?"

"Good." (Sniff, wheeze, cough-a-cry...whatever it takes to pass the hint)

"Uh oh, what's wrong?"

"Oh...nottthing..."(sniffy, inhale dramatically followed by a long enough pause so she gets the effect of the tears on the other end...although I'm calling to talk about my issues my sorrow still enjoys playing a little hard to get)

"Are you having a lousy day?"

Ginormous run on sentence sounding something like this:
"Yeeeesss. I feel like I'm living in a suffocating cage of monotonous drudgery. I clean and clean and clean the house and take care of the girls only to end the day with a dirty house from taking care of the girls and then having to clean and clean again and if we try to go do something fun it ends up being a nightmare...London was screaming the entire time in the store and kept biting Olivia so Olivia kept screaming and everybody was looking at me and I didn't have any tissues for the boogers that were dripping down Olivia's face from crying by being hurt by London. And Lily wasn't listening and kept grabbing stuff so I hurried out but all I needed was shampoo! I'm out of shampoo and wasn't able to buy any not to mention I can't even afford the kind I really wanted...I'm poor and ugly and my hair is disgusting and nappy and my roots are too grown out and I shouldn't have cut my hair cuz I just look like a lesba-mother and my neck hurts all the time from lifting three babies in and out of the car and Tyler and I got in a argument over something stupid today and now I probably don't even have a husband who likes me because I am a dumpy tired hag who doesn't wash her hair and is wasting away eternally windexing glass sliding doors that have crusty handprints all over them even though I am constantly washing the girls hands to keep us all from dying from the swine flu which is going to further harm our economy and we are going to end up homeless..." (double wheeze, double sniff, prepare for the climactic tearful finale...choke, sob...and done)

Regardless of how irrational the tantrum, I receive much need female/mother validation and get a little advice, along with a small dose of the perfect medicine:

A break.

Sarah came and picked me up and we enjoyed a nice long conversation and plenty of silly laughter over texas cheese fries and mini burgers at Chili's.

Mallory offered her free babysitting services while we were at Chili's in addition to Friday night so Tyler and I could get out. She even arrived early and I was allowed to spend a frivolously wonderful amount of time getting ready. I spent as much time applying eyeshadow as I regularly did in my pre-marriage days, painted my nails, and wore strappy heels that I could never chase my children in. I even allowed myself to admit the fact that I can still clean up rather nicely (that's code for: I look goooood).

Tyler and I had a lovely night visiting and holding hands and doing all the things that remind me how lucky I am. I love being able to focus on how handsome he really is without somebody flinging a french fry across the table or spilling their drink.

And then I'm cured....
and excited to return back to the life I needed to take a break from.

It is the Best Life.
But do ya see what I was saying about the hair?