Since it’s Saturday and I don’t usually post on Saturdays anyway (heck I barely post anymore period) I thought I’d go with something light on brain power.

So, as requested, here is a picture of the shoes I ended up going with for the promotion ceremonies:

And the recipe for the chocolate cake shots:

1/2 oz. Frangelico hazelnut liqueur
1/2 oz. Vanilla Vodka
1 wedge of sugared lemon.

Shoot it back and then promptly suck on that lemon.  The lemon part is what (inexplicably) gives the chocolate cake vibe.  Seriously.  Don’t overlook the lemon.

And last but not least, the picture (courtesy of Gram via Gramps) of us rednecks after having imbibed a bit.  I was mistaken in that ex #2 sat this round out so he’s not pictured.

From left to right: my one time almost father-in-law Mike, Jeff, Mom, one time almost mother-in-law Carol, me, Torri’s dad Shawn, brother Luke

There are plenty of reasons why I like to shop alone.

1. I don’t have to search for my children as they hide within the racks of clothing.

2. I’m free to take all the time I want in deciding between two shades of the same shirt.

3.  There are no strollers to impede my maneuvering in tight spaces.

4. If I am inclined to stop for an iced chai at Starbucks I don’t have to break the bank in buying four creme frappuccinos.

All great reasons don’t ya think?  But the number one reason I prefer to shop alone?

So that when I go into the fitting rooms to try on a bathing suit (which, if I’m being honest, is brutal enough already thankyouverymuch) I don’t hear snickers coming from the other dressing stalls in response to my toddler son proclaiming, “those your boobs mommy?”

Yes son.  Those are my boobs.  I’m so glad we had this talk.

Remind me not to take you into the bathroom stall with me, m’kay?

Hello Such the Spot.

No.  I’ve not forsaken you.

It may seem that way.  But really, I’ve been busy getting things back in order after our super-fly promotion weekend.

The day started out innocently enough.

Really.  It did.

See.

I told you.  Completely innocent right?

But sitting through not one, but two promotion ceremonies, and the obligatory reading of names, and long, drawn-out slide shows takes a toll on a gal.  Kwim?

So by the time the gang (and by “the gang” oh do I mean the gang) came together for a big celebratory shindig at the house afterwords, we were all ready to cut loose a bit.

I should pause here and explain the gang.  The gang, in this case, consisted of my grandmother, my mother, two exes, a set of ex in-laws, our mightaswellbeadopted daughter, and her mom and grandma.

Quite a motley crew, wouldn’t you agree?

Lots of people questioned whether inviting two exes to an event that included a fair amount of alcohol was a good idea.

Oh ye of little faith – it was fine.  Fine I tell ya.

Especially after Jeff’s house specialty margaritas began a flowin’.

We all got along swimmingly.

See.

I know the picture quality isn’t great but those of you with a keen eye will recognize that yes, that is my husband, piggybacking my ex around our recently vacuumed grass in the backyard.

It’s really rather unfortunate that I didn’t capture the other memorable events on film.

They included:

-my other ex and my grandmother making their way around the patio table as they rocked the “row your boat” dance moves.
-my ex father-in-law serenading my brother (on one knee, as they held hands btw) with a romantic love song.
-my mom calling my dad (from whom she is recently divorced) at nearly midnight to ask if she had permission to stay out past curfew.
-countless rounds of chocolate cake shots had by all, glasses raised in rambunctious toasts every time.
-our neighbors wondering what the occasion was as they were subject to our rowdy “drink…drink…drink” chant every so often.

And you thought I led an upstanding life.  Ha.

In actuality all of the aforementioned instances were part of an uber fun party game that Jeff and I created a couple of years ago.  Because it’s sort of reminiscent of truth or dare (and because I had two exes in attendance) I wasn’t sure that the venue was an appropriate one for the playing of our twisted little game.

With truth categories like, “MILF,” “If This Vans a Rockin’,” and “Caught In The Act,” you can understand my hesitation.

Jeff rocked the ultimate husband role though and insisted we give our game a go.

It all worked out in the end.

Honestly.

Even Grams stayed up till the last baby daddy had left the building.

And we unanimously decided to do it again in four years.  When Torri graduates high school.

No doubt she’ll seek the solace of her bedroom once again when we pull out the game and she shudders to imagine what her parents’ answers will be to those colorful questions.

Who says I can’t keep it real?

And PS.  If you ask really nicely in the comments, I bet we can convince Gram to email me the group shot she took of all of us toasting our third round of shots.  Not that you’d want to see such a thing.

I love my husband.

I really do.

But he leaves me scratching my head sometimes.  And if I’m not left scratching my head I’m left banging it against a wall.  On a nearly daily basis.

Case in point:

Today he saw these shoes in the garage as he passed through there when he arrived home from work.

He met me in the kitchen where we exchanged pleasantries and hugs and inquiries about our respective days.

A few minutes into the conversation he asked about the shoes in the garage.  It went a little something like this:

Him: Whose shoes are those in the garage?
Me: (admittedly perplexed because I’ve recently stopped memorizing inventory of garage items) I’m not sure which shoes you’re talking about.
Him: Those reddish shoes.  In the garage.
Me: Yeah.  I got the garage part.  Reddish shoes though?
Him: They look like they might be Torri’s.  Or Kennedy’s.  And I think they’re wet.
Me: Oh (instantly realizing he was referring to the PINK tennis shoes Kennedy left in the garage to dry after they got soaked during field day).  Those are Kennedy’s.
Him: Oh.

Why he had a burning desire to know whose shoes were in the garage is beyond me.  And precisely which part of those tennis shoes he considers “reddish” is a mystery I’ll probably never solve.  In this case, a one sentence answer to his pining question was eons easier than a lengthy explanation as to the differences between “reddish” and PINK.

See?

Scratching my head.

His color blindness is just another of those things I chalk up to his MBS.

Man Brain Syndrome.

His freakish lack of anything that even resembles a memory falls into the same category.  As does his tendency to piddle.  And procrastinate.

All symptoms of MBS.

I’m holding out hope for a cure.

Um, hello?  Is this thing on?

Oh good.  The blog still works.  Not that you’d know seeing as how I may as well have fallen from the face of the Earth.  I’m still here though.  Just swamped.

I have a few tidbits for you though:

- (Excuse me for a moment while I knock on virtual wood).  Alrighty then, here goes: we are officially five days post surgery and there have been no bleeding incidents.  For this I am extremely grateful.  Two days to go before we emerge from the risky zone.

- It’s a big week around here.  Friday marks the last day of school.  Not to mention two much anticipated promotion ceremonies.  And a rather large celebration bbq hosted by yours truly.

- Today I called Jeff and told him that he’d beat us home because we had doctor’s appointments to attend to.  Rather than leave him with idle time on his hands I offered up a chore suggestion that would seriously alleviate some stress on my part as we prepare for our guests.  I asked that he vacuum the grass.  Only after the words came out did I consider how odd that would sound to someone who hails from any other part of the country where artificial grass isn’t so commonplace.  But now that I mention it you’ve got to admit that the ability to simply vacuum the lawn and have it look worthy of a Better Homes and Garden spread makes you green with envy.

- Here’s the remedy for that envy: On the way to the doctor’s office I spotted two (YES – TWO) rather large snakes along the side of the road.  Both were dead.  I happen to prefer them in that condition.  But the snake thing makes the perfect grass thing a whole lot less appealing doesn’t it?

- On Friday I had stripes put into my hair.  And by stripes I mean highlights.  I prefer the term stripes though because that is exactly what they look like.  As opposed to my husband’s hair.  The “stripes” in his hair would be more appropriately referred to as salt flecks.  Silver strands.  GREY HAIRS.  They’ve invaded with a vengeance and he’s kinda apprehensive about it.  But just between you and me, I think they’re kinda sexy.  Shhh!

- In spite of the random greys he now sports in his facial hair and sideburns, he totally whipped my behind on Sunday morning when he suggested we run sprints up a hill rather than our normal 2 mile course.  Whipped.  My.  Behind.  And I’m all about the ice packs today.

- I’m so not making the self-imposed writing goal I set for myself.  I fully intended to finish those novel revisions and get them sent back to the agent by the end of May.  Not. Happening.  But since the kids will be gone at Dad camp for a few weeks starting Saturday I should be able to wrap things up by the end of June.  And then I can get back to reading all of your blogs faithfully like I used to.

So that’s where we’re at.  What’s going on in your neck of the woods?

It’s official.  We are now a household that includes just eight tonsils.

Cass was a little champ for her surgery.  And there was only a fleeting instant during which I thought my legs might crumble beneath me.  It was as they wheeled her bed through the OR doors that we weren’t allowed through.  Jeff and I turned to head back to the waiting room and at the last second I heard her yell “Mommy…”

Tell me your heart wouldn’t have broke in two had it been you.  Because mine totally did.

I am such a weenie.  But I managed to reign in the tears.

The surgery only lasted about forty minutes.  And then we were escorted to the recovery room where Cass was waking up WAY more gently than she did from the tooth debacle.  She was in and out (mostly in) of sleep for a long while but when she was awake she kept asking me to “pet me” and by that she meant for me to rub her hair.  How cute is that?  Pet me.

It was really, really tough to leave her at the hospital with Jeff.  Part of me wanted to stay.  But the other part knew Jeff was much better suited for the job because at one point this afternoon Cass vomited and I about threw two nurses through the curtain because they weren’t properly reacting to what I just knew would lead to a choking/bleeding fiasco.

Turns out it wasn’t so much a choking/bleeding anything.

Just vomit.

My overreaction is the result of one too many memories of Cass being hooked up to scary beeping machines in the NICU.  Or the sight of her being taken by ambulance from one hospital to another as she fought a true respiratory emergency.

Thank God I had my level-headed Gram there to rein me in during both of those previous instances.  But she wasn’t here today.

So you’ll have to forgive my tendency to freak out.

I’ll just be happy when that risk of bleed out at days 5-7 passes.

Blissfully uneventfully.

Cassidy will fall asleep tonight with her tonsils intact for the very last time.  Tomorrow morning we will head to the hospital where a highly skilled doctor will remove them.  Ideally the anesthesiologist will be equally gifted and will successfully render my little girl unconscious during the surgery and then just as successfully wake her up when the time comes.  Both Jeff and I will be there holding her hand when she wakes up in recovery and acts so loopy it will surely scare the pants off me.  She’ll spend the night at the hospital under Jeff’s watchful eye (his as opposed to mine because I am oh so incapable of dealing with medical situations).  I’ll pick them both up the following morning and we’ll begin spoiling Cass with smoothies and mashed potatoes and ice cream immediately.

What won’t happen is we won’t be one of the few cases where the scabs “bleed out” causing an emergency situation.

That won’t happen because the mere mention of scabs and bleed out in the same sentence gives me hives.

Have I ever mentioned that I’m a little squeamish when it comes to blood flowing from my children?  When I know another adult is nearby in those situations I typically close my eyes and yell for help.  When I’m the only capable adult I’m slightly more proactive.  Only slightly though.

This is why I’m not a nurse.  Nor could I run a day care.

As you might imagine–what with my aversion to blood and needles and stuff–I’m just a tad apprehensive about the big event tomorrow.

So if you’ll excuse me I’m going to go take a valium now.  With a tequila chaser maybe.

Just kidding.

Sorta.

You might remember me mentioning that Jeff was gone all last week on a business trip.

Normally he gets the better end of those deals because while he’s dining out on the company dollah and coming “home” at night to a whine free zone I’m stuck wiping poopy tushes, cleaning spilled milk and refereeing countless screaming matches.

Not quite a fair trade right?

But this trip was a little different seeing as how he was held up in rainy Baltimore working a gazillion OT hours.  Yeah, I was still on tushie duty but at least I had the weather on my side.

Not to mention National Mom’s Night Out to look forward to.

He made it home on Thursday and I turned promptly around and headed out the door to hang with my two favorite Tucson bloggers, Nicole and Stephanie.

Nicole {Apron Strings Aflutter} was a perfect hostess and served up the most fabulous munchies.  Her coconut cupcakes were SCRUMP-tious and can I just say that she was a little Martha-esque in that instead of putting out sugar packets for her iced tea she whipped up a fancy simple syrup and served it in the cutest mini pitcher EV-er.  If you’ve not stopped by Nicole’s blog you simply must.  I totally dig her.  She’s technically gifted for one thing so if you’re looking for a new design for your blog she’s the girl to call.  She’s honest and kind and responsive.  And what’s more is that she’s got a super cute (testosterone filled) family and a little Chihuahua named Nacho who wants me to adopt him.  But shhhh! I promised Nacho I wouldn’t tell.  He’s afraid Nicole will turn him into taco topping if she hears about it.

Miss Metropolitan Mama herself was there too.  Stephanie is one smart chickadee let. me. tell. you.  I’m not big on degrees and stuff so I can’t speak very intelligently about that sort of thing but Miss Metro is, like, brilliant or something.  And she is a great resource for learning all about the buisnessy side of blogging.  Seriously.  But all that stuff aside she is one of the nicest people you’ll ever meet.  For real.  I’ve never heard her say an ill word about anyone and I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if her nose literally grew if she ever were to tell a lie.  She’s got two beautiful little girls to whom she is completely in tune with.  It’s the cutest thing ever.  Totally reminds me of how I was as a mother before I started letting the kids play in the freeway and stuff.  Oh c’mon.  You know I kid.  But really, Stephanie is a very inspiring blogger.  You should check her out if you haven’t already.  At the very least cruise over and look at her picture.  I discovered last night that she has the most flawless skin I’ve ever seen.  Honest.

Yeah, so that about sums up my night out.

It was well-deserved and much appreciated.

Maria Bailey (MomSelect) deserves a huge pat on the back for thinking up such a brilliant excuse reason to celebrate.  Heck.  Forget the pat on the back.  Someone buy that woman a martini.

Yeah, so teacher appreciation week.

I have a great deal of respect for teachers.  Especially Cassidy’s teacher because Lord only knows how she manages Cassidy andtwenty other kids.  Heck.  Cassidy alone is the equivalent of twenty kids.

So, like I said, I’m all about the teacher appreciation.

But then this afternoon I got an email asking that I bring in a homemade or store-bought food item for the staff appreciation potluck.

Um, hello?  Staff appreciation?  Really?

Because here’s the thing.  The staff?  I’m sort of picky and choosey with which of them I appreciate.

The inclusion specialist?  I think she would be considered staff and I have the utmost of respect for her.

The crossing guard who gives me a friendly wave and tip of the hat every morning?  He’s A-Okay.

The librarian?  I’m totally diggin’ her.

The school nurse though?  I have to take issue here.

This chick drives me batty.  Like, as in, Robin could totally be my trusty sidekick batty.

And it’s weird because I really like her on a personal level.  We’ve chatted a bunch of times and I’ve always found her to be pretty cool.

I just don’t like that she calls me every time Cassidy has so much as a hangnail, kwim?

A couple of weeks ago she called because Cassidy’s eyes were red.  She called at freakin’ 7:54 in the morning.  I had just dropped Cassidy off at 7:15 mind you.  The conversation went something like this:

*Names have been eliminated to protect the obnoxious.

Nurse: Hi Darcie, this is *that nurse from the school office and I have Cassidy here with me.
Me: (thankful that the roll of one’s eyes is a silent gesture) Hi *school nurse.
Nurse: Cassidy’s eyes are really red today.  And very goopy.
Me: What?  I just saw her, like 20 minutes ago and she was fine.
Nurse: Well, she’s goopy now.
Me:Hmm.  I’m telling you that she was fine all weekend long and when I washed her face and put sunscreen on this morning I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.
Nurse: Well, she’s rubbing them like crazy.  Oh, and did I mention the goopy?

“Goopy” is clearly a code word in this case for pink eye.  The nurse thinks Cass has pink eye.  Thus the repeated dropping of the G word.

Long story short: We determined her eyes were red from having rubbed sunscreen into them.  The goop was disputed and could not be verified by a third party.  Case dismissed.

And then last week Nurse Hypochondriac phoned again.

Nurse: Hi Darcie, this is *that nurse from the school office and I have Cassidy here with me.
Me: (beginning to wish that the rolling of one’s eyes maybe wasn’t so silent) Hi *school nurse.
Nurse: Cassidy’s para says that Cassidy is complaining of a tummy ache.  And she had diarrhea.
Me: Oh.  Well she was fine thirty minutes ago when I dropped her off.  How about if you keep her in the office for twenty or so minutes and see if she gets to feeling better.
Nurse: Well, she has diarrhea.
Me: You mean, loose stool?
Nurse: Yes, diarrhea.
Me: Well, how many times has she gone?
Nurse: (asking the para)….just one.
Me: So not diarrhea.
Nurse: Yes, it was diarrhea.
Me: No, it was just a loose stool.  Diarrhea is something that is ongoing.  Like, as in over and over.  Cass just has loose stools.  It’s normal for her.
Nurse: Well, as per district policy you’ll have to pick her up and she’ll have to be symptom free for 48 hours before returning to school.
Me: Oh.  See now, that’s a problem because the symptom to which you keep referring is loose stools.  And if loose stools are in violation of district policy, poor Cass will be a lifetime offender.  She’ll never be allowed back.  Like I said, it’s normal for her.

UGH.  I ended up having to talk to the inclusion specialist who promptly made the whole thing go away.  But seriously, how annoying can this chick be?

So, as much as I’d love to shower appreciation on the staff, somehow, I’m just not feeling the love.

Unless…

Unless maybe I bake a batch of special Ex-Lax brownies.  Teach her a thing or two about diarrhea.

Oh I kid.  But it’d be funny though.

You’re probably familiar with Murphy’s Law right?  You know the one: Anything that can go wrong will.

Seeing as how I fall on the glass-half-empty side of life I tend to be a believer.

And in the course of my thirty-one point five years I’ve garnered insight into other laws of the universe.

In honor of Jo-Lynne’s weekly “What I Learned This Week” carnival, I thought I’d share.

Pay attention now, these will come in handy for you sooner or later.

1. On the eve of your husband’s business trip to Baltimore, your car battery will go kaput.  But only if you’ve recently opted not to renew your AAA membership.

2.  Within moments of having your windows professionally cleaned, your peanut butter faced toddler will most certainly try to give you a smooch through the closed sliding glass door.

3.  The neon yellow flier the school sends home on Friday to remind you about teacher appreciation week will undoubtedly be lost beneath a stack of other papers and it will remain there until Monday morning.  It will, however, be discovered in the nick of time.  And by the nick of time I, of course, mean three minutes before you have to be out the door.  Leaving you precisely enough time to slap a sticky note thank-you on a Tazo tea bag and send your poor unsuspecting child off to school with it.

4.  Once you return home from dropping the kids at school (and ducking out quickly before your child presents her sorry teacher appreciation token) you will sit down at your computer to peruse your favorite blogs.  You’ll notice that your overachieving friend Heather went all Martha for the occasion and leaves you looking like a ghetto impostor.

5.  Thanks Heather.

6.  Your teenage daughter will approach you late Monday afternoon and inform you that she is required to go to the high school to register for classes on Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday evening.  You will be left with no choice but to bring four children to registration night because, you remember?  Your husband will be in Baltimore.

7.  Things always come full circle.  See number 1.