Just had a huge temper tantrum at the boys and threw all of their school crap in their room. Now I know why 2 year olds do it. It felt good! As I tell you this, I am aware that this is not something you should tell emotionally mature, adult type people. But, since I am little more than a giant toddler myself and regressing further each year, I'm fine with this confession. I still haven't decided whether or not I will run in, wildly hit them and go hide under the bed. 

Best Day Ever!

Today has been a pretty typical day for me. I woke up feeling kinda sloshy in my head so I took a decongestant. Except I took a decogestant without realizing it had diphenhydramine in it. Who knew. If you know me, you know that I can't take diphenhydramine if I want to be coherent at all. So-instead of vacuuming the living room and going to Emily's for a nice little visit, I ended up passed out on the couch. I was so out of it that my sister called the house and I didn't even know it. Anyway, to make a long story short(too late!) I was a little spaced when I took the dog out to potty. I was waiting for her to do her business, just looking around-when I look down to see what is taking so long. And discover that the dog has sniffed out a flattened mouse that has probably been there for months because the whole back yard was still snowy and frozen over until this week when the nice warm temps turned it into a big lake. Said mouse is now in her mouth and she is happily chomping away. The only thing I could see was the tail hanging down. Yum. So there I am-looking around like someone is going to jump out of the bushes and offer to take care of this for me. When that doesn't happen I tell the dog to LEAVE IT! She is still a puppy and is not very good at leaving things alone. Especially something she really wants. She had been obsessively sniffing in this same spot since things started to melt so I'm thinking she REALLY wanted that mouse by now. I grab her jaw and make her drop it but she gets it back in her mouth before I can take it. We do this comedy routine 2 or 3 more times until I realize there is only one option open to me. I grab the tail that is hanging out and give it a yank. The only thing that happens is that my fingers slide right off. And, now they're covered in mud and 3 month old mouse slime. So I grab it more firmly and wrap the nasty tail around my fingers and pull as hard as I can. That worked. But now I'm standing in my muddy back yard holding a distinctly funky old flat mouse. I throw the dog in the dog run, muddy paws be darned; and make my way over to the trash can and chuck it in. The dog got an extra 15 minutes of outside time while I scrubbed my fingers with every soap in the house and debated with myself as to whether or not I should just cut off the tips of my fingers because I'll never be  able to eat with them again. Don't feel bad for the dog though. She got a nice little piece of skin to enjoy while I was in the house. I think we can put this one down in the best day ever journal.

I attended a funeral last Saturday and, of course, the inevitable discussions about death followed. With Emily as usual. Being as morbid as we are, we have talked about dying countless times so that was nothing unusual but it got me thinking. Yes, it did hurt. But only a little bit. I got to thinking about the interesting demands people make when they talk about their death. Yes, I said death. I have never liked tip-toeing around the idea by trying to use "nice" words. Death, in and of itself isn't nice, so there is no use in trying to gussy it up by saying passed away or any of that nonsense. Dead, kicked the bucket, bought the farm, bit the dust, ate it, whatever phrase you want to use is fine with me. It is what it is. Anyway, there are people that insist on being cremated. There are people that insist on NOT being cremated. They want to be buried next to their spouse or they can't stand the idea of being buried on top of or under someone. And then there is the funeral. They want this song or that song. Tell so-and-so they can't come. Make sure so-and-so is there. Don't have a viewing. Have a viewing. Make sure I'm in clean underwear. Make sure it's happy. Make sure it's sad. I've even done it myself. Here is the magic secret to all of it-You're dead! You don't know the difference! Whomever you've left behind that loves you or even just gave a crap, it's up to them. Whatever they need to make them feel like they have said a proper goodbye is what needs to happen. So, it turns out I don't care if they burn me or bury me. I don't care if they put cowboy boots and a bathrobe on me and prop me in the corner. Bury me naked so you can pawn my clothes. If they could get away with it, I'd tell them to bury me in the back yard because it's cheaper. Even though I must admit I still can't stand the thought of everyone (And by every one I mean the three people that let the guilt win and showed up) standing up and talking about me like I'm Mother Teresa instead of admitting I could be kind of bitchy, I hated people and I cursed at my kids and pretty much everyone else that cared to listen. But that rant can wait until another time.

Merry Christmas!?!

Ahhh, Christmas. That magical holiday. Also one of my favs as you may well know. Now that we have made it through the all important CHRISTMAS MORNING, I have had time to reflect on what makes Christmas so great. In no particular order, my little list of the best holiday traditions-

The annual doing of the Christmas laundry because you haven't had time to do anything normal for a week.

Being forced to listen until your ears bleed to Christmas music sung by talentless hacks that are only trying to cash in on the holidays.

The annual fighting of the children when the lack of sleep kicks in.

The annual cursing at the children because you stayed up until 2:00 a.m. wrapping presents and filling socks and you're too tired to take their crap.

The annual picking up of the approximately 50,000 pices of trash all over the house.

The annual cleaning of the Kitten puke because you inevitably miss a few hundred or so and they decided it looked like something to choke on.

The annual paranoia from knowing the dog got at least 2 pieces of chocolate that the kids left around and is going to have diarrhea in the most inconvenient place possible.

The annual running out of ibuprofen due to the fact that you've had a month-long headache.

The annual nervous breakdown brought on by your 4:00 sugar crash and REALLY needing that promised nap that never materialized.

The 7 1/2 pounds you gained by managing to eat nothing but chocolate and/or cookies for breakfast and lunch for the last week. 

The annual fist-fight of the children when the second wind wears off and they realize they hate each other.

The annual crying of the children when the 4:30 sugar crash hits and they realize you have ruined their life by not caring unless they can show you copious amounts of blood.

The annual reconciling of the Christmas bills.

and last but not least,

The annual realization that you have to do it ALL again in 12 short months.

Rant

Team Edward or Team Jacob. Hmmm. Really people? This is the best you've got? So, I have to choose between the pasty, malnourished British guy that usually looks(and I'm positive smells) like he slept under a box at the train station or some barely legal supposed stud muffin with more teeth than two horses put together and probably a propensity to bite you with 'em because he's just out of the nursery. Both of which are supposed to be running after one of the homeliest people on screen today(we won't even mention the case of oral diarrhea she can't quite shake.) Oh. Oh Wow. Maybe we should add a peg-legged pirate with 3 teeth and oh, I don't know, an asthmatic twelve year old chess wiz to the line up to make it even harder to pick. I know, I know, since I AM a woman of a certain age, I am supposed to be running after these boys like they're hiding estrogen pills in their underwear or something but I just can't work it up. Sorry. You're on your own. Can we have a third team? How about Team I am going to puke on your shoes if I have to hear any more Twilight crap. And, since we have to have 2 teams how about Team Stephanie Meyer shouldn't come out to play until she has taken a writing class or two. Now those are some teams I can get behind.

Damn you Katy Perry and your irresistible pop hooks!!!

Pop Quiz

Showering by the light of one not very bright, kinda crappy candle is:

A. a good way to break your leg
B. better than a party
C. a good way to still be dirty at the end of a shower
D. making the best of a bad situation
E. a good way to burn down the house
F. all of the above

Earth Day

New Earth Day policy: Every time someone tries to shove more political tree hugging Earth day crap down my throat, I am going to go out directly and kick a tree. Really hard. Sorry Earth. I actually do believe in taking care of you and all but you shouldn't be so damned pushy about it.

Sweet

It's an incredible, journal worthy moment when the realization washes over you that you have created the nuturing kind of home environment that FBI profilers tag as being perfect for raising serial killers.

What

Up at three to help bundle the kids into the car for their trip out west. Now that Tim has taken the kids off to the land of sun and morons (excepting the in-laws of course), I find myself in a pickle. If it's 4:30 in the morning and you can't sleep and you've got the house to yourself, what do you do? Do I watch Rutger Hauer harangue Mathew Broderick in the last half of Ladyhawke? Try to catch all of the tattooed freaks on True Life: I'm Bisexual on MTV? Do I start on the DumDums until all 50 or so are gone just because no will know that I did? Do I eat boiled eggs and old bananas until they're gone because no one else is here to do it for me? Do I clean the kitchen even though I would have to invite the neighbors over so that I had witnesses to that fact that I actually did housework? Do I take all of the quizzes on Facebook so that I'll finally know what Smurf I am and whether or not I'm a true american/utahn/80's trivia genius? What to do? What to do? I guess I'll go lay on the couch and stare at the ceiling until it comes to me. Because I can.