I had no idea scraped knees could be so debilitating

My three year scraped her knee yesterday. She wanted to be sure I didn't forget so she went ahead and held three refresher courses on the subject at various times throughout the night. The first was about how limping can slow you down on the way to the bathroom. The second involved her blanket touching her knee. And the third was more limping followed by exhausted crying and inability to form sentences. Midway through the third session, I about lost my mind. I think it was during the debate about which new pair of pajamas she should put on. None of them being even moderately acceptable. I had to leave the room to keep from shrieking at her.

Tired. So very tired. Me. Her. Ugh.

The situation being sufficiently out of control by that point, I called my husband long distance and put him on the phone with her. She immediately put on the nearest pajamas and climbed right into bed. She even smiled and told me she was going to sleep.

I wish I could do that. I wish I had the ability to change the whole tone of the moment just by talking to her. But truthfully, at 3 am, it was enough that at least somebody did. Yet another reason I would be lost without my husband. Not to mention a shrieking lunatic apparently.

If your boyfriend is a manwhore, you should dump him

I stayed up late last night finishing The Man of My Dreams by Curtis Sittenfeld. I hadn't started out liking the book that much. Fifty pages in I actually caught myself zoning out wishing I was done with it so I could hurry up and start another book. But then the girl got to college and she was socially awkward in a way I totally understood. I’m very good at awkward. Then a really nice boyfriend turned up. The sort of boyfriend that's so nice you want to take his girlfriend aside and tell her not to ruin him for other girls by screwing him over because you just know he’s one cheating wench of a girlfriend away from never being that nice again.

The thing that lingered with me about this book was the ability of smart girls to be really stupid about boys. One of the other boyfriends in the book is a total manwhore. He even tells her he is. Seeing that he will never be faithful she makes up a list of rules for him to sort of make his cheating more palatable. Like he can sleep with any girl except a hooker but never more than twice. And he's supposed to shower afterwards. Hygiene being important while fidelity is optional. Right. So I guess the rules helped her feel better about things. A little more in control. But she's a really bright girl. How did that seem like a good plan? I’m like stupidly incapable of grasping how you talk yourself into that. I’m not saying I haven’t talked myself into some stupid stuff. Because I have. I once watched a tourism ad for South Dakota and for like three full minutes had myself completely sold on the idea of just up and moving there. And three days ago I bought a useless 4 foot long 3-D foam alligator at Target. Talk about stupid. But this girl obviously had low self esteem. Which is fine. Whatever. We’ve all had moments. But come on. Does the chick not watch Oprah? It boggles the mind.

Please don't ask me to explain voltage

Our dishwasher waited until my husband was out of town to stop working. I verified this by slamming it shut repeatedly and mashing all the buttons. It still didn't work. Nice. My husband handles the repairs around here. It doesn't make me a bad feminist to admit that. I'm just not mechanically inclined. I once revealed this to my husband in a shockingly idiotic discussion about voltage by asking if maybe you could just charge something twice to get more voltage. I know. He thought that was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard, too. Again, not mechanically inclined. I'm okay with it.

I've been putting off calling a repairman for two days now. First, because it was a holiday weekend. Second, because I sound like a moron every time I have to deal with a repairman. The previously cited voltage stupidity being a fine example of what I'm capable of. Despite putting off the call, I'm actually praying the thing can be fixed. The only thing more pathetic than me talking to a repairman is me picking out a new dishwasher by myself. I'm guessing "cute" isn't an important selection consideration.

Ikea sells plates that are microwave and dishwasher safe. They also sell many other products I firmly believe I cannot live without.

Ikea. You are awesome. Why do I not shop with you more often? I am silly. You understand me in a way other stores do not. For example, these plates. They're microwave and dishwasher safe. My mother-in-law sent me these after I told her about my plate crisis. They are great. She is great. Ikea is great. I am happy. She even tossed in the cups and bowls and utensils too. I was unaware spoons could be so cute. I was also unaware of the addictive properties of Ikea's website. I can’t seem to stop finding stuff I firmly believe I need. Like this lamp. And this rug. And pretty much all of the kitchen cabinets. Okay, maybe not the cabinets. At least not until we get the new house I secretly shop for on Realtor.com while I’m at work.

Not long after getting the Ikea plates in the mail, I discovered a couple other places that sell microwave and dishwasher safe plates. And none of them are made of melamine. Because MELAMINE CANNOT BE MICROWAVED. Tupperware has these. Every piece of Tupperware I've ever owned seemed like it could withstand a wood chipper so those are probably awesome. I also found these super cute ones. Or you could always just call your mother-in-law and let her pull a rabbit out of her hat like mine did.

Updated 5/26 - Target sells some, too. I saw them with my very own eyes. Circo brand. Next to sippy cups. It's pretty much raining plates at this point.

Four years ago today I shoved cake up my husband's nose

My husband is not perfect. He loses things. He curses. He shears my one year old’s hair while I am at work and leaves him looking uneven and raggedy all day. And one time while I was throwing up in the bathroom at 3 am he left me there and closed the door behind him so he could go back to sleep. But other than that, he’s irreplaceable. I wouldn’t trade him for anything. I don’t just love him. I also like him. My day is better when he’s in it. Especially today. Because today is our wedding anniversary.

My husband feels bad he’s not actually at home for it. I think he should just pretend he’s at home and do what he normally does. Wait until I’ve gone to bed and then go to Wal-mart to buy me a card and leave it on the counter for me to find the morning after our anniversary. Or skip the card entirely. Like I did. Instead of a card, my husband gets the following montage of my favorite photos:

That’s us smashing cake on each other four years ago. Scott claims he was just going to put a cute little touch of icing on my nose. Look at his face. That face does not say cute little touch of icing on the nose. That face says “I’m here to raze your village.” So I preemptively shoved cake up his nose and in his hair. Here's a more normal wedding photo:

I like how mellow I look. Like maybe I just finished watching a good movie or something. Scott on the other hand looks all proud of himself. Like maybe he knows something we don’t. Wacko. Speaking of wacko, here's him giving me a Hannibal Lecter kiss:

Dude’s nuts. But in all the best ways. He has a total zest for life. I admire it. Like this grainy rollercoaster shot:

That’s him in the Coors Light shirt. The man clearly lacks fashion sense. But the full on hands up leaning forward bring it on attitude is all him. He doesn’t just enjoy life. He eagerly runs ahead to meet life and pull it to him. Our life together is all the better for it.

Happy anniversary to us. From me.

He doesn't know it yet, but my husband just bought me $38 worth of flowers for no reason

My husband bought me flowers tonight. From three states away. Without lifting a finger. He put 54 cheery little flowers in my cart at Sam's. He must have known I was having a long hard day. He must have known I was tired. He must have known the world's most annoying dog was at home doing this while I was gone:

I am so over that dog.

Happy but slightly suicidal

It was a good news/bad news sort of weekend. The good news being that I got the assignment I interviewed for last week at work. Speaking coherently and having a point are, apparently, attractive qualities. The new assignment is already sparking my interest and seems super positive all around. I can’t believe I ever regretted putting in for it. I really am insane.

The bad news is my husband left yesterday to go out of town for work. Again. This time for five weeks. The training is part of a recent promotion for Scott. It’s a long awaited step up for him and a really awesome opportunity. Five weeks is a small price to pay for all that. That's the pep talk I'll be giving myself for the next five weeks when the kids are climbing all over me while I try to make dinner. And fold laundry. And wash my hair. And take the trash out. Seriously, kill me now.

Things That Make Me Happy: Pam’s face at the end of The Office last night

I swear I do other things besides watch television. You will not be able to tell that from this post, however, because I’m about to write about television for the second time in a week. But I don’t care. It’s the end of the season and the two or three shows I love are all having their season finale’s! For real, did you watch The Office? Tell me you did. I figured Jim and Karen would break up but I thought the ending would be something lame like Jim just going back to sitting at his old desk. I was so completely awesomely wrong! Yeah! Such the happy smile on my face! And Dwight’s paper training class was funny too. And Jan’s crazy. And I swear I’m done raving. Now that all my shows have ended, I’m going to attempt to use the television summer hiatus to return to reading books instead of turning my brain to mush. Yesterday I even discovered that Sarah Mlynowski’s new book finally came out. See what happens when you buy all your books at Target? You don’t always find these things out. But it’s okay. Because there is the internet and the internet is awesome. Like The Office. Only without the summer hiatus.

Sometimes I actually speak coherently and have a point

I was interviewed this week for a new assignment at work. When my husband asked me later how it went, I was happy to report that unlike previous interviews, this time I actually managed to get a few things out of my mouth that I had practiced at home in the bathroom mirror. For example, instead of wandering through my answers like a space cadet, I actually listed off all the reasons I would be a good choice and gave some insight into my interest in the position. The interviewers were still making notes a minute after I’d finished talking. I’m sure other people manage to do this fairly regularly. I appear to do this only on Tuesdays at 10:20 in the second floor conference room in the year of the pig when the planets align just so. Then I spent the afternoon at my desk scared I might actually get it and then it would be lame and I’d be sorry I even put in for it. Because I am insane. And never satisfied. And insane.

The dog is playing head games with me. And he’s winning.

The world’s most annoying dog got left out of his crate the other day when we left the house. Five hours alone with all our worldly possessions and he didn’t chew on anything. But an hour later I make a 3 minute bathroom pit stop and he shreds a pillow. He did it again yesterday. It's some kind of stupid mind game. Only Twister’s mind is the size of pea so why can’t I figure it out? Yes, I’m a good dog. No, I’m insane. Yes, I can be trusted. No, my soul is black and evil. At least it was an ugly pillow. Eventually, when we’re out of ugly pillows, I guess we can go buy cute pillows. And new chairs to coordinate with them. And then a new dining room to put them in. In the new house I secretly shop for on Realtor.com while I’m at work.

Excuse me while I pretend I’m a psychotic talking crotch

My husband and I like to play games with each other. Once upon a time, I regularly kicked his butt at Scrabble. Now that we have small kids, Scrabble sounds like a big freakin mess of playing pieces waiting to happen. Not to mention, I’m pretty sure giving birth sucked 73% of the brains out of my head to make room for all 19,000 verses of Wheels on the Bus. So now we make up our own games. They require little brainpower and absolutely no talent. The only object of the game is to crack someone up. It's okay if you're the only one laughing though. That counts, too. Scott’s favorite is impersonating me. Only instead of trying to recreate something I actually said he likes to impersonate what he thinks are the inner workings of my mind. It’s like me, only psychotic and really hostile. And I sound like Cartman. I enjoy that game as well. I like to do a psychotic talking crotch version of Scott. Nothing points out to your husband that you will not be washing your own Mother’s Day breakfast dishes like a talking crotch raving about lazy ungrateful women that need to get up off their lazy butts. But that’s not my favorite game. I prefer Together Thursday (or whatever day of the week you pick). The object of Together Thursday is to stick to your spouse like glue. I like to actually put my arms around Scott and sort of hang off of him for as long as possible while he makes a sandwich, flosses his teeth, walks down the hall, etc. When he watches TV, I’ll just sit next to him staring at him. That’s a really good one. Gets a rise every time. And when we had a shower with a door on it, I’d hop on the toilet and peer my head over the top of the door and just make random small talk. You know, like there’s nothing odd about your wife stalking you in the shower. Lately we’ve been using a shower with a curtain on it. On Mother’s Day (which it goes without saying is automatically Together Sunday) I stepped right into the shower fully clothed just holding the shower curtain out in front of me to keep dry. Scott opened his eyes from soaping his hair and I just casually asked if he needed anything. Priceless. The couple that plays together stays together.

Another season of Survivor has ended

Last night was the Survivor season finale. Far more interesting to me than Earl winning was that Dreamz went back on his deal with Yau-Man. Dreamz previously accepted a $60,000 truck in exchange for promising to give Yau-Man the immunity necklace if he won it at the final four. He then won it and didn’t give it to Yau-Man. He covered his face and wouldn’t look at anybody and then he even voted Yau-Man out. He said he couldn’t pass up a chance at a million dollars. I was shocked. Not because someone lied. Because I have no problem with that. It’s part of the game. In fact, people who go on the show and refuse to lie annoy me. But the thing about this lie was that he accepted a $60,000 truck. You don’t accept a $60,000 truck and then go back on the deal. You just don’t. And if you do, you should totally give that $60,000 truck back. Because it’s not yours. It’s not even a matter of integrity at that point. When you buy a car and refuse to pay the purchase price, you don’t get to keep the car. It’s just that simple. Another point worth mentioning is that once you renig on a deal like that you stand zero chance of winning. No one’s going to vote for you after that. So you threw your integrity away for nothing. Seriously, I’m not trying to advocate selling your integrity or anything. But if you’re going to do it, could you at least do a good job of it?

Things That Make Me Happy: The next to last semester is over

This week for my Friday morning happy thought I was going to write about my newly detailed car. Because Scott recently got my car detailed for me. Because Scott is wise and wonderful. It’s like driving a brand new car. Worth every nickel should have done it long ago can’t believe I tried to be cheap and claim I didn’t need it. They got the lipstick off the backseat, all the dried lollipops off the rugs and the suntan lotion off the door. Even the cracker crumb explosion disappeared. My little Honda has been restored to glass slipper status. That makes me very happy. Only, this morning, clean car happiness cannot compare with end of semester euphoria. My husband is in school. He’s been there roughly forever. Last night his last assignment for this semester was turned in. There’s only one semester left. Can. Barely. Contain. Excitement. We both work full-time and we have two small children. Our children only go to a daycare part time. His coursework requires an effort from our entire household. Except maybe Twister. Because Twister is useless. But now it's the end of the semester! No more nucleotide protein synthesis codon transcription mitosis madness! Free time! For everyone! For projects! For shopping! For reading! For pretending like the next semester doesn’t start in three weeks! Yeah!

Melamine is awesome except it can’t be microwaved

I can’t believe I can’t find kid’s plates that are microwave and dishwasher safe. Who are the parents buying plates that can’t be microwaved? Do their children not enjoy the occasional hot dog? Do they not know that 30 seconds in a microwave makes a hot dog warm enough to be yummy but not so hot it needs time to cool off before serving? Do they not have a screaming toddler in the high chair waiting? What the hell. We bought the world’s cheapest and ugliest plastic plates to give Georgia to eat with back when we moved her from the high chair to the table. Wal-mart specials for $.50 a piece. But for $.50 a piece, they’re dishwasher, microwave and toddler setting the table herself safe. We’ve been using them for 2 years now. Even Scott and I. Because, for real, it’s handy to let a child set the table for you. But they’re starting to die off one by one. I’ve been shopping for replacements for a couple months now. I’m here to report that the plate makers of America don’t care if you can microwave non breakable plates. Specifically, the melamine plate makers. I don't care how many super cute melamine plates I fall in love with. NONE OF THEM ARE MICROWAVE SAFE. And just in case you think the manufacturer's being overly cautious telling you not to microwave them, we accidentally microwaved a melamine plate and it curled up. Yeah, you heard me, curled up. I found some cute enamelware ones. They seem especially durable except they have stainless steel on the edge. That screams “don’t put me in the microwave.” Is there no middle ground between cheap disposable plates and malamine? What. The. Hell.

It could have been worse

Our power has gone off 3 times in the last week. The longest stretch of no power lasted 10 hours. The shortest lasted 3. Apparently our transformer is held together with duct tape. I have informed my husband that I cannot be held responsible for anything I might say or do if the power goes out again. Three is my limit per week. I was alone at home with a three year old and a one year old. Do you have any idea what it’s like trying to entertain a three year old and a one year old by candlelight? And when was the last time you did a diaper check by aiming a flashlight down the back of your baby’s diaper? Big fun. The first night was pandemonium. We cover the windows in the kids’ rooms really well so the night lights going out left them in endless darkness screaming wildly to be saved. It took an hour to get everyone back to bed and I spilled hot wax everywhere. Except on my children. Although it was close because one year olds find candles very intriguing and they know how to climb. When we lost power early the second night I served cold hot dogs for dinner and announced bath time at 5:30. Then wet headed children ran around tearing up our house while I laid on the floor contemplating the injustice of only one side of the street losing power. I also thought of a lot of mean things to say to the power company if I ever got a live human being on the phone instead of voice response system that swears my power will be on very soon because the voice response system is a BIG FAT LIAR. The third night, the lights went off in the middle of the night. The under 4 crowd noticed immediately and promptly notified us. But I wasn’t even annoyed. Not even a little bit. Our three year old had thrown up in her bed two hours earlier. It was a horrific scene. I almost gagged at one point. As I stumbled around in the dark delivering flashlights, all I could think was thank goodness the lights weren’t out for the puke. How exactly does one even go about identifying all the puke in the dark. By feel? By smell? Please stand by while I gag. No really. I remember the smell. I may very well gag.

Bathroom Etiquette

If a bathroom has 10 stalls and only one is occupied, why do girls insist on using the one immediately next to the occupied one? I understand we all kind of get used to using a particular stall and there’s an element of habit involved. But seriously, there are plenty of others to choose from. No one blames you for not wanting to use the third one down on the right. We all know the flusher sticks and you can’t get the thing to stop flushing. That’s a hassle. I’m with you. But what about one of the other 8 identical stalls? Wouldn’t one of them work for you? Am I the only girl in America that enjoys a little moment to themselves in the bathroom? A quiet moment where you put your head in your hands and clear you mind. Not for a long time or anything. Because it's a bathroom for God's sake. But a moment. What’s a girl got to do to get a moment? And yes, I’m talking to you lady from the first floor bathroom with the turquoise sandals who apparently didn’t get the "don't wear hose with sandals anymore" memo. Give a girl some space.

There’s no chance in hell you’d confuse Baked Doritos with the real thing but they’re still really yummy

Scott bought us a bag of Baked Doritos over the weekend to go with the Subway sandwiches we picked up. He actually insisted on stopping at the grocery store to run in for them on the way to the Subway. I’m gonna let that cheapskate move slide without comment since the Baked Doritos turned out to be really good. I’m not saying you’ll forget how good the real deal is. But by baked chip standards, nice job Doritos. What I’m going to do is go ahead and inhale the entire bag thereby negating any health benefits I got from eating baked. Kind of like when I'd eat SnackWell’s mini chocolate chip cookies straight from the box like Goldfish crackers because healthy translates to calorie free inside my head. Only nothing is calorie free when you eat the entire box.

Envy is occasionally okay

A girl I work with recently returned from maternity leave. She looks smaller now than she did before she was pregnant. And she was like a size 2 to start with. She looks rock star awesome 4 months out from having a baby. She’s super nice too. And not fake nice. Sincere nice. So why does it annoy me to think about how fabulous she looks? What does that say about me? Clearly, it says I’m feeling down on myself for not being where she is. I’ve flaked on my big diet plans. I’ve let everything else slide while I got used to a Dr. Pepper free existence. Which is kinda pathetic but there it is. Fourteen days later drinking water is finally starting to feel like a habit instead of a monumental sacrifice. And I think I finally feel capable of more. Yesterday I started walking again. I used to walk everyday. I know this is something I can do. I know it will be great for me. Best of all, this morning my number was 161. That's even more inspiring than a fabulously skinny new mom six cubes down.