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    I had complete and utter faith that this man can care for my children while I’m gone

    July 15, 2008

    Then I went to mow the lawn last night.

    Kristen, why were you mowing the lawn last night?

    Because, Internet, this man will not stop until I sweat blood before I get on the Virgin flight on Thursday morning at oh-dark-thirty. He knows I owe him for those four days of freedom, also known as Blogher. But the man is going to make me pay until the bitter end. Do NOT be surprised if you see pictures of me rerunning the brake lines on his truck before Thursday.

    At least he’s subtle about it.

    “Hey, Baby, we are going camping.”


    So after YESTERDAY, I went outside and mowed the lawn when my husband got home from work. He said he would, and I quote, “watch the kids.” Pretty easy to do if one is in a backpack, right?

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    I often wonder if it is more amazing that they survived the day or I survived the day

    July 14, 2008

    PBS got me one of those funky Flip Video cameras so I can do interviews this week at Blogher (hunt me down if you are there and want your video on the soon-to-be-launched PBS Super Sisters blog). I’m supposed to be practicing my vlogging skills. Luckily I have evil, yet willing subjects.

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    It wasn’t my idea to take a 1 year old and a 3 year old camping

    July 13, 2008

    On Friday, The Husband decided we were going camping this weekend. On Friday, specifically. Like 4 hours before he got home from work.

    I am not a fan of camping. Heck, I’m not a fan of the great outdoors. You’ll probably never actually see me with makeup, but girlfriend understands the importance of bathing. Even with these crazy kids, I find the 90 seconds needed to scrape the scum off my body every day.

    So spending the night in a muggy tent with three smelly men and a dog and no hope of a shower beyond a bird bath in the sink of the less than sparkly clean bathroom with the rice cooker plugged in under the vanity? Not. So. Much. But my husband? He comes by his persistence honestly. If he says we are going camping, there is nothing left to do than to pack the bug spray, the 600 thread count sheets for the sleeping pads and pray to God they’ll be enough light when you show up so you can at least read up to the swim suit fashion page in the latest US Weekly that arrived 10 minutes before you left because God knew your children didn’t want to be fatherless.

    His desire to go camping? Because it was the first weekend without rain in nearly a month and a half. Bless his heart for not saying the first “nice” weekend in a month and a half because 94 degrees does not represent “nice” weather in my book. The park? Perpetually full. The man had no worries. Nothing says having faith in your decision like driving 130 miles one way to take a shot that there will be a spot at the campground available.

    Oh, Baby, there were THREE spots left. Two on 40 degree slopes and one in between a family of 7 and 2 tents which never seemed occupied the entire time we were there.

    The ride was relatively quiet. Quiet because The Boys decided to sleep the entire trip. I can’t think of better preparation for a camping adventure than having your 3 year old who gave up naps altogether about 8 months ago sleep for 2 1/2 hours (from 5:30 p.m. to 8:00 p.m.) on the way. The Baby was sporting a fever and cried until I set up his crate in the tent. I know. Who brings a pack-n-play on a camping trip? Um, people who tried to leave it home the last time and had a baby screeching like a banshee for 9 hours.

    It was about 9 o’clock when The Boy started to really wake up. It was right about the time my husband handed me a stick to use to roast marshmallows. A stick that I spent the next 30 minutes envisioning as the recipient of numerous bathroom breaks by all manner of dogs and boys.

    TB: MomMomMomMomMOM!!! CAN I HAVE A S’MORE?

    Have you met my child? His inside voice? Doesn’t exist. I would like to apologize to anyone who went camping the other night within 2 miles of us whose purpose was to commune with nature. The Boy? He scared nature away.

    Two hours of flashlight play, nearly falling into the fire 4 times, giving the dog lots of water, flashing the light in his brother’s face two times, breaking the lantern, eating a half a box of graham crackers, repeatedly asking to pee outside and being “shushed” 9 trillion times, he finally went to sleep.

    And then we were UP WITH THE SUN. A mere 12 hours after arriving, I was forced to put The Boys into the truck because they were being so damn loud. I could hear them yelling in the truck. I peeked in the window to find them eating the last of the Altoids, slamming back my leftover Dr. Pepper and chewing gum. I hurriedly took the tent down as The Husband loaded up the 9 camping chairs he had positioned around the fire. 6:59 a.m.

    The horn blew.

    Again and again and again. I broke into a dead run and flung myself into the truck, yanking a feisty 3 year old off the horn.

    TB: Mom. You didn’t say we couldn’t blow the horn.

    No. No, I didn’t.

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    Go win a free $25 gift card

    July 10, 2008

    Things are happening around here.  Trena and Susie Sunshine have graciously agreed to help me out over at Mommy Needs a Review since it’s so much fun to check out new stuff. 

     So in order to give them a big ol’ Mommy Needs a Cocktail welcome, we are giving away two $25 gift cards.  You can use it, just like Trena did, to get the Muppets.  My kids?  Freak OUT over the Muppets.  Which officially makes them unnatural children.  I mean, who doesn’t like Kermit?  It’s easy to win.  Just leave a comment on Mommy Needs a Review.  If only to make the girls feel welcome.  We like it that every one of our video purchases helps the Boys & Girls Clubs of America.  Go over right now.  This contest is getting shut down at midnight.

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    Signs you can’t survive on 4 hours sleep a night.

    July 9, 2008

    K: The Boy has been depressed all day.
    Cake Lady: Why has he been depressed?
    K: He’s depressed because his name doesn’t have an “H” in it. I have an “H” in my name.
    Cake Lady: He DOES have an “H” in his name.
    K: No, he doesn’t.
    Cake Lady: E-T-H-A-N.
    K: Eat, your name has an “H” in it.
    TB: No, it doesn’t, Mom. You told me it didn’t.
    K: It does.


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    Twitter has officially gone to hell in a handbasket

    July 8, 2008

    Oh, if you twitter, I’m sure you think this post is going to be about the Fail Whale.  It’s not.  I would like to say that I’m feeling a little snotty about twitter lately.  Kinda like, last in, first out.   Don’t be telling ME that you are over capacity.  I want a gold card twitter membership.  If I get a gold card, I do solemnly swear I will learn how to reply to people. 

    What this is about is that my damn husband is now on twitter.  Seriously.  DamnHusband is my husband.  I have NEVER referred to him as DamnHusband.  Wait, there may be that one time.  Um, yeah.  No, I take that back.  Anyway, it appears that my DamnHusband has been keeping tabs on me via twitter.  It’s a free country.  I’ve learned not to tweet my lattes at the coffee shop because then my phone will invariably ring.  That being said, I got a notice today saying “damnhusband” was following me. 

    Currently I am over capacity for following people.  Way back my sister peer pressured me into following everyone that was following me because it was the nice thing to do.  Except once you have more than 12 people you are following, you receive 30 tweets a minute.  And half of those are yours.  I went to a party and got my ass handed to be about being a terrible twitch.  I never reply, I have no idea what’s going on, blah, blah, blah.

    People, I have no idea what is going on with twitter ever.  I’ve missed job offers, free offers, appointments because I can’t keep twitter straight.  My friend is all, “did you see my tweet last night about my husband making me walk home from the restaurant and I needed a ride?” and I didn’t because Bob from Thailand is tweeting every 3 seconds about his monkey’s staph infection.  I can’t unfollow Bob because apparently Bob gets notified when you unfollow him and I don’t want to hurt his feelings.  He is already in a really low point in his life.  But my friend was walking down a major road alone.  In traffic.  Okay, I don’t think she really was but you get the point. 

    But there are certain things you should keep tabs on, even it it means going into information overload.  DamnHusband is one of them.  He’s feisty, that one. 

    And if I’m not following you on twitter, let me know who you are so I can remedy that immediately.

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