Quiet Desks

They do afford me the time to post here. Something I love to do, but, other than that they are exceedingly annoying. The beauty of being a team secretary is that I don't really have "responsibility". That falls to the regular secretary. The ugly is sitting in a chair attempting to look busy.

I'm not a work-a-holic (stop, just pick yourself back up and keep reading) but I'm getting paid an exorbitant amount of money to hold a chair down, print emails, answer the phone the 1.2 times it rings and the attorney-du-jour can't answer it, and monitor the secretary's email so she doesn't come back to too many firm bulletins and Viagra adds. I think team secretary is just code for an insidious experiment to ascertain the time it takes for roots to form between my ass and the chair and how many times I can bang my head against a keyboard without getting irreparable brain damage.

The last assignment I had lasted over a month and they actually gave me work to do. I didn't have time to blog, let alone much of anything else. In that time there was no moss growing down south, let alone roots. I loved it. They actually acknowledged that I had a brain, and let me use it. Now, 4 working days later, I feel like retarded monkey spandex man could do my job. I feel like a fraud. I am wasting my life for money, when I could be actually raising my children. I would pay to be home with them. I'm coming up with creative time wasters for probably more money than teachers, policemen, firemen, etc. make. I don't know that for sure, but damn I make too much for days like today. This is wrong

Going to lunch before I depress everyone more. Bleh.

The Grossest Mom Ever!!!

Or: How to Snap Your Kids Out of a Bad Attitude.

So, we actually went camping for a little while this weekend. We left home at noon on Saturday and left the campsite about the same time Sunday. Was it worth it you ask? Oh my yes!!! I love the drive and the desert was absolutely beautiful. It was cool up there (it is becoming sweltering in the valley) and the air smells so good.

While breaking camp yesterday I had planned to go to Ryan's Ranch to play before making the drive back down the mountain. My children had other ideas. #2 decided that he wantedtogohomerightnow and got the princess in the car and asked her to get her seat belt on. The princess is adverse to taking direction from anyone, most especially #2. I'm not sure why this is, he is the sweetest and most mellow of my boys, but that is neither here nor there. The wailing ensued. There was touching and crying and "justgetyourseatbelton!" and wailing and hitting and "#2hurtme!!!" and wailing and wailing. I finally got #2 out of the car, calmed him down and told him he could sit in the front seat with me. I told the princess to straighten up and to not be such a....brat, yeah, that's the word...brat. I decided that we would just go home instead of Ryan's Ranch. I moved #3 next to the princess and he began grumbling to her, she got louder in her protests until I hear "HEWONTLEAVEMEALONE!!!!" I glanced back to see #3 slowly slide one finger onto her car seat. As the tormentor of younger siblings myself, I can understand the perverse pleasure in such an action. Now a mother myself, and the operator of a ton of metal, I can understand why my mom would do her Linda Blair impression in such circumstances.

As the darlings whipped themselves into a frenzy, I tell #3 that he'd better stop annoying the princess. His reply? "She's just a stupid girl!" To which I, oh soooo maturely state, "Well you're a stupid boy." His eyes narrowed and he growled "You're a stupid mom."

In case you are worried...I did not beat him to death. I would have liked to, but I refrained.

I did, however, pulled off the highway onto the first dirt road I could find. Stopped the car, hauled his butt out and plopped him down on a rock. I stood there glaring at him while the cars whipped by, silently contemplating the advisability of a beating in full view of traffic. I decided that discretion was the better part of parenting and tried talking to him. We talked and hugged and got back in and started moving down the road. I was musing to myself about how miserable the trip home would be if everyone stayed as irritable as they were, when we passed a dead elk on the side of the road.

At the nearest turn off to said elk, I pulled in, told everyone to get out of the car to check out the carcass. Some were interested, some not so much, but trudging down the road we went. About 200 yards later we came upon the desiccated elk. It obviously had been hit on the right flank and then chewed upon, the entire chest and abdomen, though, had not been touched. That spot on its spine was munched, as well as the flesh removed from its lower jaw. Other than that it was largely intact. The kids didn't want to get close to it (which is a really good thing). I did happen to lean over and get a good look at the fact that it was missing an eyeball! It was completely gross. We took a bunch of pictures and finally left.

Every one's attitude was much improved after our little field trip.

Let's hear it for the power of roadkill!!!!!

Death by Pie

I gained a pound this week.

It was Memorial Weekend. We went out of town. I did well until around Sunday afternoon and just slapped on the feed bag.

My final downfall was MIL wanting to go to Village Inn after I picked her up on Tuesday evening. I went in fully intending to not order anything for myself and having a bite or two from what the kids got. When I walked in the door there was a pie in the display case that immediately started calling to me. A Hawaiian strawberry pie.

I tried to ignore it...it just got louder. While I was helping the kids decide what to get, that darn pie came up and tapped me on the shoulder! I kept arguing that I didn't really want it but it was so persistent! The final blow was when Katie wanted to go to the display case to see what she could get. There it was, shining and beautiful, an ethereal glow around it.

All Katie wanted was plain cheesecake,

it looked like dog food next to the Hawaiian. I kept trying to resist...then the waiter came to take our order. I caved. It was so good. I did only eat half of it. I kind of felt yucky afterward, but it was tasty.

Now, tell me, which would you have chosen? Hhhhhhmmmmmm?!

I’M NOT A CRIPPLE!!!!

For the past few days I have been wearing my old boot on my sore foot. You know, the big old orthopedic boot that has a 2” high lift that is rounded, so you feel like you are walking on a boot? The one that you wrap a padded cushion around your leg so that your leg sweats profusely. The thing that you Velcro yourself into with enough strap to make it seem a bit kinky. The one that you can tuck a flask inside, thus enabling you to drink your booze at the concert? (Was that last one out loud?)

Anyhoo. I hate wearing the boot. It isn’t fun, tho it does seem to be helping. I decided not to wear it today, to see how it would do. Before lunch I put it back on. But I finally realized why I don’t want to wear it.

I’M NOT A CRIPPLE!!!!

When I wear it I look like a cripple.

I walk like a cripple: If I’m not careful I will slam the ankle of my good foot on the hard plastic edge of the boot. This is not comfy and especially attractive when blood runs down my leg. So I have to sort of swing the good leg out to avoid doing this. Hey! If I bend over I could look like Quasimodo!.

I sound like a cripple: Step……thunk. Step…..thunk. Step….thunk.

I’M NOT A FREAKING CRIPPLE. I can do anything I want to, with the exception of run very far or fast. But who wants to run anyway?

Just when I think I’m a failure as a mother

I've been running like crazy hauling people to and from activities and feel like my kids are being raised by wolves lately.

On the way home from football practice last night #3 and I were by ourselves. I told him of a situation at work with a guy that is creeping me out. I started telling him that the guy is pretty weird, but we have fun saying silly things when we see each other…but he is an odd guy. #3 stopped me and said, “Mom, remember, in first grade, when I was mean to Tyler and you told me that was bad? You told me to be nice to him. This guy might be your Tyler.” That just put me in my place. Then I told him that this guy has been saying some things lately that are really starting to creep me out. Again he stopped me by saying, “Mama, you should just do what I do when kids are saying bad things on the playground. I say Jesus doesn’t want us to sin.” I am amazed an in awe of this little guy. I guess I’m not a failure.

When telling #1 about it this morning (he got the more in depth version) he told me I should call the cops.

I guess somewhere in the middle is the answer.