Fringe Benefits

Speaking of the perks of mothering sick kids, another one popped up today(ish) that I had nearly forgotten. Since it now appears that Suzie managed to catch a monster case of the Dread Gomboo that's been making the rounds, I decided the best plan was to just hunker down in the living room and try to ride this bad boy out. That's how I ended up propped up on 2 bean bag chairs at about one this morning and wishing for death to arrive and take me away. This was partly due to the mind-numbing/soul crushing fatigue that has me in it's grip, and partly due to the fact that we were on hideously dumb movie #712 with no end in sight. The specific movie playing during this particular moment was Princess Protection Program. It's a Disney made for t.v. movie and lemme tell ya it's a doozie. It's all about a girl that learns to behave like a princess and a princess that learns to behave like a girl. Both learning the requisite lessons along the way about self-esteem and not judging a book by it's cover. Oh, and rich girls are selfish beeyotches and boys that drive nice cars are self absorbed jerks don't you know. It was at about the time that Selena Gomez is telling off said jerk that I started to think that it would be nice if there really were little mice that came by and poked your eyes out with upholstery needles if you needed them to. Unfortunately, this was not the worst movie we watched-it was just the straw that broke the camels back as it were. Actually, the worst movie honor(so far) goes to Tremors 3:Back to Perfection; another movie I hadn't been forced to see until today. Usually, if the kids are watching a movie I can't stand I just go in my room and watch what I want. Or, if I want to hog the living room I send them to the girls room to watch whatever lameness strikes their fancy. Hence the reason why I am so terribly out of practice in sitting through crap not of my choosing. The fact that I watched every single one without one snide remark proves how much I love my kids. I don't care how much evidence you have to the contrary.      

Through the fog.

Yesterday I took a mental health day. I knew I had no chance of improving my mental health so, I took a day. Har. It's so cool when I say something dumb like that and it is indistinguishable from something my Dad would say. I love being Marv. I should have saved it for today. No, not the joke(loosely defined of course). The mental health day. Suzie was up all night tossing her cookies and everything else she even considered eating in the last year. I'm pretty sure she puked things she was supposed to eat next Tuesday. You know that means I was up all night too.  I tried to sleep when she did today but she hasn't managed more than maybe an hour and a half at a stretch. But, thanks to my lack of ambition yesterday I'm sitting at the computer-squinting through one eye and the screeching headache that has been pinging around in my head all day, trying not to fail spectacularly(again)this year. Truth is, I'm not used to this crap anymore. When I have a really bad night and end up this tired, it just means that I don't accomplish that much and the kids are in charge of their own dinner. The kids are just old enough that I rarely have to take care of someone when I'm this foggy. And boy am I foggy. For example, this morning I got some almonds out for a snack and lost them before I could eat them. I just found them on Tim's side of the bed-under the covers no less. I have been eating crackers all day because that is the only thing that seems reasonable, effort wise, when I wander into the kitchen. I went to Smith's to get some Gatorade etc... for Suz and got kinda lost. Not lost exactly but I had been up and down the Valentine isle and was in the corner looking at eggs and milk before I realized I was supposed to be over by the pharmacy getting pain meds. I stood staring into space in front of the cold drinks by produce so long some guy came up to me and asked if I needed help. I'm sure it was obvious to everyone there that I did indeed need the kind of help you don't find in the grocery store. I also stopped in front of the wrong line at the stop light and had to back up while the lady behind me shook her head at me. This was par for the course when the kids were little but not anymore. It's one of the little things that no Mother can warn you about before you have kids. Like parenthood itself, it's one of the things you have to experience to really get. I don't think I've missed it one bit. I'm going now. Did I mention I was tired? I can't remember.     

Looks like I've found my Magnum.

I grew up watching Magnum P.I. with my Mom. If truth be told, watched it even after I was married until a regrettable incident when I was super pregnant with Turner. I made the mistake of watching the episode where he thinks he's going to die and remembers his Dad dying that had me sobbing while being laughed at by my sweet husband. Since I still can't live that one down, the show kind of lost it's appeal. But, my mom on the other hand, still watches it and anything else with Tom Selleck. She loooves him. We still tease her about how hot she thinks he is. I was watching A Single Man today and realized I have found my Magnum. I also realized that I couldn't help comparing it to Brokeback Mountain and how it made that movie look even clunkier in it's love story than I thought possible. It also doesn't make me want to yell, "I wish I could quit you Ennis!" every time the kids watch Prince of Persia but that's another problem entirely. Going back to A Single Man; it stars Colin Firth, which is the whole reason I watched it in the first place. The whole time I was watching it all I could think was,"Aww I love Colin Firth!". Yes, even when he is kissing another man. Doesn't matter. He was the only reason that I watched The King's Speech even though he started showing his age in that one. Still doesn't matter. He is also(along with Hugh Grant a little) the only reason I watch the problematic(to say the least) Love Actually.  He could probably play a cross dressing serial killer/rodeo clown and I would sit there happily. While he was tottering around in heels dismembering cowboys or whatever I would just be happy I was watching him. I blame Pride and Prejudice. He will be 82 and gumming his carrots as someone's grumpy grandad in something and I'll look around and say, "that Mr. Darcy sure is a handsome man!". I have indeed found my Magnum. I am so sighing right now. And thinking it's time to watch Pride and Prejudice. Again. Sigh.     

TMI Dude. TMI.

I know I promised an inspirational poem about bacon today but the relationship I have with my sweeeet bacony bacon seems too special to share in such a public way. Which brings me to the talking point of today. I know there are usually talking points-plural-but I'm feeble minded and can only handle one at a time or I get confused and just sort of trail off into...

Anyway, I was raised by a Mother that was big into over sharing. Not just about herself, but about all of us. Seriously. Every grocery store checker in Pleasant Grove knew that I needed braces(new underwear, a bigger bra, a good psychiatrist or whatever) before I did.  You know I love you Jean but, you crazy. As a result I have developed an abhorrence for sharing with just anybody. You know, the I have 1200 Facebook friends and they all know when I had explosive diarrhea last week and I sharted in Starbucks but like, I don't think anybody noticed because I was wearing brown pants, kind of sharing that seems to be the norm these days. When I'm scrap booking and it's after nine then of course all bets are off but all my cropping buds have made their peace with this. I have such a problem with this that it is starting to interfere with my little experiment here. I already feel like I've overstayed my welcome by putting a link to these posts on Facebook. Now, I know you're thinking, "Hello! you're writing on a blog you idiot!". I know but, it's not like I'm one of those mental cases that is convinced there are thousands of eager readers out there in cyberspace breathlessly awaiting my next scintillating revelation about what a crappy mom I am. As nice as it is to vent and feel like you're venting to someone even though it's just you and your keyboard, I meant it when I said I am doing this for what it can teach me as much as anything else. So, 16 posts in and the paralyzing fear that I am turning into one of those asshats has me scrolling through all of the blogs here on Blogger and being too nauseated to write anything coherent. Maybe that is the other thing I get to develop here. I guess by the end of the year I will be telling everyone when I had to clip my toenails and feeling good about it. You know that puts me one step away from being a chronic hugger and/or someone that cries in the movie theater don't you?   

Cheater cheater...

It is 11:34 p.m. I just got home from a super-dee-dooper crop night with Carrie and Em. I sat down at the computer more out of habit than for any other reason and then thought "HEY! I could still blog something lame and it still counts!" It's still technically Saturday sooo, here I am, sitting in front of the computer listening to Turner wallow the floor and bitch about being tired. And wondering if this is sort of cheating. Not cheating per se but more like out of the spirit of what I've started here. You know, the whole follow through on something deal I'm trying to pull off. Does posting some rambly drivel just in the nick of time really count? Especially now that it is 11:44 and the most interesting thing I have to say is that we managed to get Turner headed into wallow her bed instead of the living room floor. Maybe if I promise to post a really good poem about my special feelings for bacon tomorrow, I can let this one slide. Good night. Don't let the bedbugs bite. And if they do, don't let them bite you somewhere that you can't scratch in public without looking like a pervert and/or unwashed weirdo. 11:53. Victory Mr. Floyd!  

It's a girl!

No no no no, not for me. Don't be absurd. I know I'm crazy, just not crazy enough to think that I should mother more than 4 children into mental illness before I kick it. My even crazier than me sister Carey(I had to specify because I have an even crazier than she is sister named Annie)had her 7th this morning. And, in keeping with the Carey/Lumpy baby tradition-coming in at 10 lbs 10 1/2 oz and 22 inches-she's a chunky monkey. She also looks to be the spitting image of her Dad(another tradition actually) but since you never can tell for sure this early on, we'll leave the jury out on that one. Also, I know this isn't really the point but, YAY! I get to use pink and flowers on the announcements. You have no freakin' idea how much I was hoping.

Welcome to this crazy mixed up world Samantha Kathleen Hyde!



Already has more hair than Dad

And apparently has the same size feet. Check those puppies out.

Spencer, Mitchell, Marissa holding Samantha, Serena and Celeste





My prayer for the day

I pray a lot. Not the kneel by the side of the bed every night kind of prayer that I SHOULD be doing but more like the "oh please, not that" to the Universe at large general type prayer. The hope against hope kind. You know, "please let my sister's ex get eaten by a bear" or "please don't let the maintenance guy come in just as I'm getting out of the shower". That kind of thing. Due to several conversations with a few of my sisters about the hopelessness of our genetic situation, the one that has been going around in my head this week is something along the lines of: "oh please don't let me be old and crazy!" Now, I know everybody is crazy but I'm not talking regular crazy. Not just weird talks to yourself sometimes because I had too many kids crazy but all out, balls to the wall bat-shit crazy. The hubs is a big believer in Karma and he is always telling me to knock off this kind of stuff. So, right after I think these kinds of things I immediately go "shouldn't have said that. Karma is gonna bite me in the ass now". What with the numerous things I've lined up for which Karma can pay me back, I suppose I should change this particular prayer to, "oh please let the following conversation happen as far in the future as possible!" I'm pretty sure it will go something like this:

Suzie, "Turner, I have to talk to you about Mom."

Turner, "What now you stupid idiot? I have very important things to do. And you all suck. Call Thomas."

Suzie, "He thinks he's somewhere in Russia and he lost his phone and wallet again."

Turner, "Again huh. Try that jerk Sam."

Suzie, "I knew you would say that. I tried him but he's in the Bahamas or somewhere with one of his girlfriends and I can't remember which one he's with this week."

Turner, "(heavy sigh)Okay okay. You have 2 minutes, so talk fast or I'll give you a titty twister over the phone."

Suzie, "You know how Mom used to say Grandma was crazier than an outhouse rat?"

Turner, "You know I blocked out everything she ever said because she never got anything right but whatever. Sure."

Suzie "Well, she's living in the outhouse and they're fighting over the last chunk of cheese if you catch my drift."

Turner, "I knew it would happen eventually."

Suzie, "What do we do? She's interrupting Daddy's shows and I can't have that. You know I love him best."

Turner, "We don't do anything. Just tell Thomas and Sam we are off the hook for the annual Christmas phone call."

Suzie, "Okay but I hope she doesn't burn down the house or even worse, do something embarrassing in front of me!"

Turner, "Dial tone."

Now that I think about the way I've been going lately, I've got a good 3-5 months before Karma knocks on my door. It's good Turner has been practicing her heavy sighs alot lately. 



White trash confession #731

WARNING:contains salty(ish) language

Don't tell anybody but-I swear. I know. Shocker. You had no idea. Yes, I know cursing is the exclusive domain of the lazy. I do believe we've covered my gargantuan lazy streak. In fact, I swear kind of a lot. Even around my kids. Well, even at my kids. The truth is, curse words and really inappropriate words of any kind amuse me. And, since I have decided to die having never been too serious another day in my life, this works for me. Now, I try to keep it fairly clean around kids that belong to other people. I admit to being white trash but haven't managed to sink that low yet. I do STILL wear a bra to Walmart thank you very much. I also try to control myself around the lily white members of the Friends and Fam that can't handle somebody saying shut-up without having a fit of the vapors. Which brings me to the point of this unsolicited confession(always the best kind!). I was talking to my sister last Saturday and referred to the children as being "little bastards anyway". A phrase I use often. A phrase on occasion I believe to be true. I was overheard. And the rest is history I suppose. Ask any of my kids and they'll tell you they believe in their legitimacy and are okay with it and the fact that I'm a crappy mother. Which is why if you start getting cards from us signed The Bitch, the Jackass and the little bastards you should just smile and be cool. We are.        

This is how we Paartay!!!

Last Saturday was the 3rd Annual Worthington Winter Party. Turner was in charge of documenting it for posterity. She got busy or something and sorta kinda didn't get much. I just cleared her memory card and picked out the best of what she did get. In spite of the fact that we didn't have much from which to choose, I think they really do give you a sense of how things go when we get together. Already can't wait for next year people!!!     

Con wanted us to see how he can eat half a roll in one bite. Ellie is laughing because she was the first one badass enough to break Annie's NO UTENSILS rule. That's just the way Ellie rolls. 

Taela is calling all of her Demon familiars to help her finally take care of Ray once and for all. Note Aiden trying to remain inconspicuous behind the piano just in case he's next.

The only picture of Mike. Luckily it's one of him walking AND eating. Bonus! Annie was really mad at Jon and is laughing because she knows how gassy all that extra turkey will make her by bedtime.

Inspite of the imminent threat, Joe was laughing because he knows Thomas forgot it was Saturday and he had no lunch money to hand over.

This wasn't a pose. Jared kept his hand on Courtney's leg the whole time in order to keep her from bolting. Good man. Good man. From Courtney's smile I would say he was gonna lose an ear before the day was done.

Miss Q and her new 'do

In the interest of my sanity, Grandpa Marv is kind enough to drag the boys out to get haircuts every so often. Last Saturday Suzie went with them and came home with a new 'do. I had her point at it just in case you got confused.