We have this little problem in our family.  Everyone wants to go everywhere with everyone else.  I moan but I really want to be with all of them too.  Actually, I really want to be with my husband so I tolerate his clones.

So tonight we all headed out to pick up the combi double stroller we found on Craigslist and then off to the Apple store to rectify the problem that is my fat ass.  I know it’s shocking that Apple can fix the size of your backside, but it’s true.  No, actually they can fix the problems caused by your ass such as standing directly on your I-Phone as you get out of the truck.  Not good, People.  And because it already had 17 hairline fractures on the glass screen and I’m pretty much as irresponsible as they come, I offered to take my husband’s I-Phone that looks like it was purchased yesterday (even though today is its one year old birthday) and get him a new 3G I-Phone.  He says that life is sometimes unfair in a good way in your direction but it so rarely is unfair in his good direction.  It was the least I could do.

We were getting out of the truck and I finally just asked who smelled like ass.  In a house full of men, they pretty much all do but every once in a while someone carries his ass smell around in his diaper and I try not to propagate that smell at all cost.  Why should strangers be traumatized?

K:  I think The Baby smells.  Do you want to change him?
D:  Eh.  I’ll change him in the mall.

Fast forward to the Apple store, then the AT&T store and it was as if time stopped.  No one took The Baby to change him.  I think he still stank but no one was listening to me.  Derek then started to complain that Nate’s diaper had leaked and asked if I could go buy him pants.   I looked down and both Derek and The Baby were soaked.  It was weird.  He headed off to Cheesecake Factory where we were on the eternal list and I headed out to find sweat pants that did not cost 19.99.  WTH?  I’m sure people buy $20 sweat pants for their 2 year old but I am not one of those people.  I found a pair of pajamas for $8.99 and The Boy and I headed out to find the other two.  My new-used phone rang.

D:  Nate’s not wearing a diaper.
K:  WHAT????
D:  Nate has no diaper on.  That’s why the leak was so bad.
K:  What do you mean?
D:  Did you forget to put a diaper on him?

This is a valid question to ask a pregnant woman.  Along with, “did you make sure you took ALL the kids before you left the house?” and “did you blow out all the open flames before you left the house?”  Anything is fair game.

K:  I remember putting a diaper on him.  And he stank when we got out of the truck.  Was there poop in his pants?
D:  Nothing.

Maybe I should mention that Nate has been taking off his diapers after he “fills” them.  Somehow his clothes remain on but you’ll find a crap diaper under the dining room table.  It’s happened twice in the last three days.

K:  Dear.  God.  Where do you think he took it off?  OMGOMGOMGOMGOMG.  Did you leave him alone anywhere?
D:  Of course not.
K:  Where is the damn diaper?
D:  Um, Merry Christmas mall employees?

Because making minimum wage at a lousy job at the mall two days before Christmas isn’t bad enough, you now get to find a “filled” diaper under a rack somewhere at the end of the night.  Nice. To the people at the mall, I am so very sorry. So. Very. Sorry.

I went to a Holiday Cookie Exchange party the other night at The Cake Lady’s house.  It’s only been since I have moved to this house that I have “friends.”  Before I had “friend (Hi, B, Renee, Cath!!!  Singularly and never in the same place)”  Now I go places in packs like the rest of you popular people have been doing for years.  I pee with other people now.  It’s nice.

Of course I didn’t tell The Boy that I was going to The Cake Lady’s house because if he knew I was going to be with his lover Harrison then it would have been all over.  I just told him that I was going out with Wendy.  And the interrogation began.

E:  momomomomomomomom.  I want to go with you and Wendy.
K:  You can’t.
E:  Why?
K:  Dad would miss you.
E:  Dadadadadad.  You wouldn’t miss me.  Why can’t I go with Mom?
D:  How come you always put on makeup when you go out with your girlfriends?

Um, cause I’m hoping to pick up the guy who cleans out the fish tank across the street?  It’s a vag1na party, for heaven’s sake.  I’m putting on makeup to cover the fact that I am twice the weight of every person who will be at this party and will be nibbling on nothing, complaining about moving from a size 2 to a 4 during the holidays.  A juniors 4, that is.  Nothing says “Look at my face instead of my ass that can barely fit through a doorway” like harem red lipstick.

K:  You can’t come.  It’s just for moms.
E:  But MOM.  I want to go to Wendy’s house too!!!!
K:  You can’t go to Wendy’s house.
E:  So you are going to Wendy’s house?

Rookie, rookie mistake.  Had I been the interrogator, I would have given the suspect my best “SUCKER” face.  His father looked on in dismay.  The kid is 3 and he just flipped his mother.  This isn’t looking good.  Wendy showed up in the nick of time and brought a plate full of kick ass cookies just for the kids.  We left. Apparently their father let them have two and then they had to go to bed.  He put the tray up on top of the fridge.  We had an awesome time at the party and I talked too much.  That happens when they only let you out of the psycho ward every 6 months for visitation.

The next day the kids were being kinda quiet in the kitchen and there was some noise but I wasn’t paying attention because I was busy taking the 600 dead lights off the tree and putting on the new strands.  I love Christmas.  Because the lights had to work the first 20 minutes I put them on the tree and then put all that breakable stuff around them.  Dammit.  Suddenly I heard The Husband YELL.

It appears that The Baby (you read that right) decided that he and The Boy needed some of Wendy’s stash and he found a stool in the laundry room.  He brought it out and put it against the counter.  He climbed onto the counter, up on the microwave and began reaching across the top of the fridge from the top of the microwave for the cookies.  When he couldn’t reach them, he decided to just push the tray over onto the floor for easier access.  Why do all that work for one when you can have 20?  It was only then that The Dog decided that maybe he too should indulge in some reindeer games.  When The Husband entered the kitchen, he said there was a feeding frenzy on the floor, with the kids trying to eat faster than the 95 pound Lab.

You tell them never to stand on the top of the microwave, but do they listen? No. You think you lock the stools up in the laundry room but does that stop them? No.

I’m so glad my husband is leaving me alone with these children tomorrow. Go to work. Really. I’ll be fine. I have to wonder what happened to that last pack of matches though…

Yesterday Derek took The Boy with him to the doctor’s office for his semi-annual skin check and then then off to give his final exam.

The man has lost his mind.

Apparently all went well at the doctor’s office because the doctor’s children had the audacity to move away with the grandchildren and the doctor didn’t seem to mind when The Boy insisted on checking out every single mole on his father’s body with the $3,000 scope.  Whatever.  I’m not sure if that is supposed to increase our payment to the insurance company since he could have broken the scope or to decrease it since a 3-year-old gave his father a clean bill of health from cancer in lieu of the specialist with 50 years experience.

They had some down time so they went to the Natural History Museum and then it was off to school to administer the final exam.  Apparently the hot college girls plied him with candy but he was unable to help them cheat since he didn’t understand economics or the law.  Which makes him qualified to head up the bailout.

When they got home, The Boy was already asleep but I could see that his father had something to get off his chest.

D:  I bought The Boy a book about the human body today at the Natural History museum today.
K: That’s great.  He needs one.  I heard you hit a wall in the shower the other day when you ran out of bone names.
D: Well….there’s something else.   He started to discuss how a baby comes out of a woman’s vag1na to be born as we were walking down the road.
K:  I’m sorry?????
D:  Well….I read the book to him.  Maybe I should just show it to you.

The book was only 12 pages long and it had some kickass organ magnets.  I flipped to the page where the woman was GIVING BIRTH.  If you were wondering what page it was on, it was directly across of the page describing, in detail, male and female reproductive organs.

K:  You didn’t happen to explain s–e–x  while you were at it, did you?  Because that’s information that I’m sure the kids at preschool will love to hear about tomorrow.
D:  NO, I didn’t.
K: I was just wondering.

So we are going to be THOSE people.  The people whose kid tells the rest of the kids about babies and vag1nas while riding on the tricycles at the preschool.

The Boy greeted me morning with the words, “Mom, did you know that a baby comes out of a woman’s vag1na?

Yes. Yes, I did. Technically, mine, but wouldn’t it be nice if we could redirect it to someone else’s vag?  And thanks for bringing up that downer that pregnant women everywhere are trying to ignore. I didn’t add the bowling-ball-through-the-hole-the-size-of-the-sharpie analogy.  I’ll save that for later.  Now I have to go into Santa-overdrive.  No use blowing birthing and the Santa myth all in the same year.

If it makes you feel any better, my husband told me the other day he isn’t reading my blog anymore because I don’t post enough.

Did anyone know he read my blog? Who knew?

So we went to the new practice the other day. They were really nice but I could see I was going to have some trouble. I mean, the scale is practically in the waiting room. Is there anyone out there on the street that can’t see what I weigh?

We went to an exam room and I begged off to the lav. And what did my wondering eyes see? A magical scale there had appeared.

K: Hey, I weighed myself when I was in the bathroom. I weighed (grumble).
Midwife: Oh, that scale isn’t calibrated. We don’t use it.

Damn. My husband looked at me in disbelief.

Then we were downstairs and I was on the scale. With my jeans and clunky boots on.

K: You know, these boots are really heavy and so are these jeans. They have to weigh at least three pounds. So that makes me (grumble). Which is great since I started out at (grumble).
D: WHAT??? (turning to the midwife, who was clearly no-nonsense and writing down the EXACT WEIGHT ON THE SCALE). You know she lies about her weight? At the last place they had the honor system. She “weighed herself” in the bathroom. And lied.

I looked first to see if Judas had stuffed the 30 pieces of silver in his pockets or if it was already strewn on the floor at my feet.

D: And that starting weight? Okay….

What.

The.

Hell.

He is so not coming with me the next time I go to the office because that’s my glucose test. You think anyone would notice if I gave it to The Boy? Kidding. I kid. I do. Really. I just think if I lie by TWO POUNDS to make myself feel a little better that the whole world SHOULDN’T COLLAPSE.

Sale today at Baby Brewing on EVERYTHING. 20% off with the code twitmas.

I mean, other than the fact that your head seems to be permanently up your, well, you know.

The post below?  About tradition?

How about the point of the whole conversation, which I left out?

When my husband said, “It’s VERY traditional” insert the following, which is what happened there in the middle.

K:  Traditional?  Traditional.  As in the first Thanksgiving kind of traditional?  So who exactly brought the pickle and olive tray to the first Thanksgiving?  Would that have been the Pilgrims or the Indians?  I mean, who stuck it down on the table beside the turkey?

See.  That’s funnier.  Then that whole Washington State thing crept up and it got out of hand.  Not in a good way.

On a side note, I’m a member of the Graco Nation.  Which I think means we’ll be taking over the world, one pack n play at a time.  Either way, do me a favor and head on over there to sign up for the Ready Safe Go Car Seat Club.  For every 10 people that sign up, Graco is giving a person in need of a car seat.

These folks are helping us promote things like The Ready for the Road Ahead campaign which includes the Ready.Safe.Go! Car Seat club that will be donating car seats to organizations helping families in need. We’ll also be listening to their ideas and input about various things including ways to better serve our customers.

I would like to be personally responsible for 10 given away car seats so just go over there and sign up already, you scrooges.  If we all do it, people who need it get free CAR SEATS.  And if you have bought a car seat lately you realize that FREE CAR SEAT is a good thing.  Now go.