I taught the girls a song today.

Wanna' hear it? Here it goes:

I'm so glad when Daddy comes home,
Glad as I can be!
I clap my hands and shout for joy
And climb upon his knee!
I put my arms around his neck,
Hug him tight like this.
Pat his cheeks and give him what?
A GREAT BIG KISS! (*Smooch!*)


~RCH~

RIP: Flannery O'Car

Tonight at 7:15pm CST, holding a baby on my hip and peeking through cheap miniblinds, I watched my 1994 Geo Prizm, Flannery, slip away from me.

She was a good car. My best.

She'd been around the block a few times by the time we met. I'd just finished up a fabulous American Lit class focusing on the short stories of Flannery O'Connor, so when I found a few scraps of paper in the glove box indicating that my new used car originally hailed from Georgia, I knew that we were meant for each other and I knew what her name must be.

I couldn't have imagined that day in 1997, as I signed the papers to purchase her, the bumps and bruises she'd endure for my sake or the roads she'd take me on. I couldn't have imagined I'd one day be hauling a baby -- my baby! -- around in her back seat.

Her clutch gave out for the last time a couple months ago, and she's been sitting on the street in front of our house ever since. I meant to donate her to the National Kidney Foundation, but that involved a lot of paperwork; I don't have a printer at home, and DH had too many other things on his mind to remember it at work so it never got done. I didn't really mind. Functional or not, she remained a reassuringly familiar presence. Every morning as my youngest daughter sat in her high chair tearing up and occasionally eating waffles, she would point out the front window and exclaim, "Car!" (To which I would reply, "Yup! That's a car!") It became part of our routine.

Still, with the house up for sale and our curb appeal already completely lacking, I'd begun to worry that a bruised up, broken down car stuck in front of the house didn't really help the impression any, however loved she may be. I decided to do what I should have done weeks ago -- haul my rowdy brood down to Kinko's some afternoon and print out the forms required to get the NKF ball rolling. And then--

And then Alfredo came.

He knocked on our door last night just as I pulled the kids out of the bath. He asked if I'd be willing to sell the Prizm for $200. I got a phone number from him, told him I'd have to talk it over with my husband, and that I'd call him today.

I feel terrible that I couldn't donate her organs that other cars might live -- that I couldn't offer her up to a cause that helps with the donation of real organs so that people like my best friend can live. But time is running out, stress is running high, our budget is down to mere fumes. $200 and her quick removal won out over my nobler impulses this time.

So Alfredo took her away this evening. He says he's going to work on her, rather than scrap her for parts, which makes me feel good. The old girl may just have some life in her yet for someone who knows what he's doing and can afford the time and attention she needs. Time and attention that we can't afford to give her anymore.

I'm a big old emotional sap -- I'm not making this up to punch up the story -- but I cried just a little bit as he chained her to the hitch of a pickup truck, pulled slowly away from the curb, and rounded the corner out of sight. And I'm crying now.

"Car gone," the baby said.

"Yup," I replied. "The car is gone."


~RCH~

"I'm not a horsie, I'm a true princess!" I screamed.

Because that's an important distinction to make when you're a tired mom lying down on the floor next to your youngest child as she colors.

If you're a horsie, you get pounced on by the toddler and kicked in the side as she bounces and yells, "Giddyup! Yeeeeeee-haaaaaaw! Ride a cowboy!"

If you're a true princess, you get soft kisses to wake you from deep slumber.

Everybody repeat after me: I'm a princess I'm a princess I'm a princess I'm a princess.


~RCH~

Buy this house

We've got the sign in the yard and two listings online. I made a flyer for DH to put up at work, in case any of the incoming class of residents needs a place:



For your viewing pleasure, here are bigger views of the pics on the flyer:








And the accompanying captions:

1. The master bedroom flows into the vanity, bath, and walk-in closet.


2. Bedroom 2 features a cheerful accent wall and display shelf.


3. Both bathrooms have newly tiled floors (March 2006).


4. Counter and cupboard space abound in the eat-in kitchen.


5. The living room has a brick fireplace and full-length hearth.

This is where I live! It's the cleanest and prettiest it's ever been, lol. I really, really hope it doesn't have to stay on its best behavior for long. Somebody please come buy this house so my toddlers can relax! :-P


~RCH~

This is how I know we watch too much tv

The toddler and I were making pretend pizzas yesterday. We put on pepperonis and butter and frosting -- you know, the usual ingredients -- and then she added the pièce de résistance: Oxy Power Elephant Sugar.

The elephant sugar is all her, of course, but the Oxy Power...? Yeah, I think we need to cut down on the tv time.


~RCH~

What my life boils down to some days

It's 12:41 AM.

I have a splitting sinus headache that makes my eyes and teeth hurt.

I haven't done laundry in days because the last load through the dryer contained an orange crayon -- now melted all over the drum, just waiting for its chance to strike again -- and I've been in denial about my need to fix it. Nobody will have any underwear to wear to church tomorrow if I don't get it cleaned up tonight, though. Eeeew. And waaaah.

DH asked me to iron his clothes and I said yes (it's sometimes strangely relaxing), but they're still sitting in a wrinkled pile. Tick-tock-tick-tock.

DH and I were up until 3:30 AM last night, ripping up carpet and prepping both bathrooms for the vinyl tile we were supposed to lay today. But it didn't get done, for a variety of reasons.

Our house is a mess. It'll never be ready to show.

My head really, really hurts. And did I mention my head hurts? I need stronger drugs than the drugs I have.


~RCH~

Home, Sweet Home

Click on the image to see the plan details.

I love that it has built-in bookshelves surrounding the fireplace. I love that the living room is separate from the family room (and I'd put French doors from the foyer to the family room to hide any mess that got made in there). I love the Jack-and-Jill bath for the secondary bedrooms. I love that it's got two closets in the master bedroom, so DH can't hog up all the space (though I guess I wouldn't put it past him even still, lol). I love the rec room upstairs. I love that the garage doesn't look like a garage from the front of the house.

I think the only things I'd change would be to add a basement (I won't need to hide from tornadoes in the Potato State, I'm sure, but I'm still a big believer in basements) and to lower the ceiling on the family room so that it doesn't go up two whole stories (I really hate double-story rooms -- such wasted space!) and maybe gain an extra room up top in the process.

Comments from the peanut gallery...?


~RCH~

The sweetest thing

First off: Though they're both now toddlers (and have been for quite some time), I think I'll still refer to #2 as the baby. It's just easier that way.

And now the story:

So the baby has been sick since Friday -- fevers, congestion, difficulty breathing that seemed to get worse each day. It scared me to put her to bed at night in case her breathing got worse or (heaven forbid) just flat out stopped. (Morbid, I know, but it happens and there's no reason our family should be exempt from random tragedy. Ugh. I need to stop there. Too upsetting.) Anyway! This is extraneous information. Before you all get too concerned, she's turned the corner; she went all day today without a fever, and while her cough sounds nastier, her breathing overall sounds better. So no worries. She's fine.

DH brought home a humidifier for her room today. The girls ran to the door, chanting, "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" when they heard his car pull into the garage after work (seriously, he's like a rock star to those kids). The toddler saw that he had a big box tucked under his arm and got even more excited.

"Daddy, is that a present?" she asked.

"Not really," he said. "It's a humidifier for the baby."

The toddler gasped. With a mixture of panic and that bossiness that comes so naturally to her, she said, "Do not touch my sister with that fire! It's dangerous; she'll get burned!"

DH began a simple explanation of humidifiers, but I didn't pay much attention after that. I was too busy basking in the warm and fuzzy glow of my toddler protecting her little sister. I don't know about you, but her misguided indignation is the sweetest thing I've heard in a long time.


~RCH~

Getting the show on the road

Welp, we met with the realtor today. I spent all day frantically cleaning, folding laundry, organizing and throwing things out.... I didn't accomplish everything I wanted to (hard to do with two energetic monkeys around), but hopefully the house looked presentable enough when he came over this evening. I hope the house looks sellable.

He gave us a folder of information and forms, and talked to us for a good two hours or so (though I missed much of the conversation while trying to keep said monkeys occupied).

I hate this whole process. It stresses me out. Our yard still looks like crap; half the back fence has fallen down; the living room carpet has all number of nameless stains; I don't know how I'll ever keep the place presentable enough to show with these two crazy toddlers running around. DH wants to tear up the bathroom carpets and put down tile, but (no offense to him, of course) he's really not the most handy guy around. And when will he have time? He's been saying he'd do it for the last 3 years and we've still got carpet.

Waaaaaaah.

Please keep us in your prayers and send some good house selling dust our way. (Well, maybe not dust. We get enough of that in West Texas -- which reminds me, I also need to take down all the blinds and soak them....)


~RCH~

Another birthday non-surprise

DH's gift from me -- which he knows about, since he chose the style and color -- is a shirt from my newest Spreadshirt shop, Mormon Cliché (which, btw, isn't open to the public just yet; I want to add a killer MoTabs graphic before I go live, but you'll be the first to know).

I placed the order at the beginning of the week and received it yesterday -- wow, that's fast! I like it. I hope DH will like it as much in real life as he did on the screen:



The back has a quote from J. Golden Kimball, himself: "I may not stay on the straight and narrow, but I sure as hell try to cross it as often as I can!"

LOL. Pardon the bad pun, but that's DH to a tee.


~RCH~

*Psssssst!* A secret surprise

It took the toddler all of a minute and a half to spill the beans.

We went birthday shopping for daddy yesterday; the toddler and the baby (who toddles now, herself, and has for a while, so maybe I ought to just start calling her #2) helped me pick out three lovely neckties for DH, who has mentioned that he needs some more. I stressed to the toddler the importance of keeping the ties a secret because they're his present, and he can't know what they are until he opens them on Friday.

Honestly, I didn't think she'd have a problem. She knows all the rules of birthdays: Presents are a secret, and you get lots of them; you have to go to Chuck E. Cheese's; when the cake comes, you must light the candles on fire and blow them out; you get to have as many balloons as you are old (so by her rules, we'll have 35 balloons in the house on Friday!).

As I got the girls out of the car, the toddler reminded me: "Shhhhh, Mommy! Daddy's ties are a secret!" Exactly, I said, confident that my verbal little child could keep it to herself.

She ran over to Daddy, sitting on the couch, and gave him a hug. "Daddy," she said, "your present is a secret for your birthday!"

I went back to the garage to bring in some of the groceries we'd bought as well, so I missed the conversation in the middle, but as I came back in with bags on my arm I heard her say with excitement and pride in her voice:

"Daddy, we got you ties!"


~RCH~

The Price Is Right?

I caught the last day of a sale at the grocery store yesterday: Milk for $1.97 (I usually pay $3 a gallon); 10-lb bags of chicken legs for $3.90. I don't really know from chicken legs -- I usually buy the boneless, skinless breasts -- but my guess is that 39 cents per pound of anything is a good deal in this day and age! So I bought two bags. (If anybody's got any chicken leg recipes, feel free to post them for me in the comments section as I've now got 20 lbs of chicken to dispose of.)

It's a good thing I saved a few bucks on milk and meat, because I opened the cell phone bill this morning (the cell phone bill that generally runs between $60 and $65, and has once gone as high as $140, I think) to see the numbers -- brace yourself, kids -- $234.55.

I really, really, really hope that number is a mistake. I haven't looked into it yet -- I feel so daunted! -- but I hope we didn't talk a couple hundred dollars' worth during peak hours. Yikes.

That'll teach us to keep in touch, I guess.


~RCH~