I haven’t been around much, I know. But damn have we been busy. The house remodel is sucking the life out of us, and I’m not even doing anything. Rob has been working there late meaning I make dinner later, and our schedule is just generally out of wack. I think the hardest part is just holding down the fort by myself. Dishes, and cleaning, and laundry, and kids, and snot, and more snot and oh hey did I tell you about the SNOT? Most of this is stuff I normally do, but I normally do it with an extra pair of hands to hold a kid or two. And honestly the kids probably wouldn’t even be a problem if they weren’t both sick. Also, if I wasn’t sick. And also if there wasn’t so much fucking SNOT! Everywhere I turn there is a fucking booger, and half of them are mine.

I have always appreciated my husband but man, these last few weeks with him gone I sure do appreciate him more. But, on the flip side I’m over the moon about him remodeling this house. I always secretly wanted a handy husband and mine was, well, lets just say don’t lift the frames in my house or you will find a lot of holes. I always dreamt about that husband who just went in the garage made some noise and came back inside with a fabulous homemade bed or something. This means every time I stop by the house and see him cutting, pounding, hammering, or air nail gunning something I get really excited and visions of headboards go dancing through my head!

I’ve spent a lot of time looking at my kids and noticing differences. Then I realize that there is so much about Brandon as a baby that I already can’t remember. I’m glad I have a few videos of him or I think I would probably forget it all. I hate that memories become fuzzy, and I find myself wondering if that memory was really of Brandon, or Codi, or some imaginary baby I’ve created in my head.

My sun burn has turned into a nice shade of leather with spots of peeling skin making it look like I have leprosy or some shit. It’s all over my chest and arms which are the only two places I can’t cover up in this heat. I’m really sexy right now, what with the spotting, and frazzled crazy eyed look on my face and did I mention the SNOT!

I’m trying to convince my son to eat his waffles right now. But when I pulled out the box of mini waffles he saw the picture on the front of all the different things you can do with them. One of them had “cream” (aka whipped cream) and strawberries. He then got pissed off at me because we didn’t have any cream. He then told me that he wasn’t eating his waffles until we went to the store and bought some cream. I tried explaining that the store was all out of cream which turned into him crossing his arms and stomping off exclaiming loudly about NO THE STORE NOT OUT OF CREAM MOM I WANT TO GO TO THE STORE NOW.

Well shit! Did I tell you guys that I had a raging hormonal 15 year old child trapped in an almost 3 year old childs body? His birthday is coming up and all the SNOT has really hindered going party shopping. I need to buy plates and decor and order his cake from the fancy cake lady here. We are going with a dinosaur theme. Since Brandon’s favorite part of cake is frosting (good frosting not grocery store shit) I am having them make him a giant volcano on his cake that is ONLY FROSTING. That will be his piece. Then we will have dinosaurs and rocks and who knows what else they will put on it. My aunt is having a party lady come who makes balloon dinosaurs, and plays games and goody bags and can I tell you that all I’m worried about right now is whether or not any of his preschool friends will RSVP and if so how strange will it be for that to be the first time I meet these kids parents. I found myself putting a lot of effort into his little invites because the sick part of me really wanted to impress the other parents and kinda be like, “my kids invites are better then yours.” I’m easily the youngest mom at his pre-school and because of that I feel like I have to bring my “A” game so I don’t get trampled by the BMW driving, slack wearing, hair blown out, fancy purse, caked on make up moms there. Every morning they all show up so perfectly put together and I roll in, in my denim shorts and flip flops and I’ve decided they must all think I’m the nanny because surely no actual mother would go out of the house in flip flops and DENIM!!!!!!

I have to go now. I have to argue with my child about brushing teeth. Every morning I have to fight with him and bribe him to brush his fucking teeth. Every day we are late over teeth. I wish he would just understand that brushing his teeth means that later in life lots of little girlys will want to kiss him!

To add to my frustration, it’s hot, and my boobs are big which = boob sweat. I think I should invent a boob deodorant or something, cuz this whole wearing a cute shirt with no bra thing, while it’s fun, it is so not worth the boob sweat people!