Yeah, that’s right.  No funny title to this entry.  No play on words.  No hidden meaning.  Just the truth served hard and cold.  I. Hate. School.  It sucks.  There is no Amy at school. There is no Daddy at school.  There is no Mommy at school.  And you actually have to wear clothes.  What the baa boo baa boo is that all about?

Did I lose you with the ‘baa boo baa boo’?  Well you see, I am still in speech therapy.  That’s part of the reason I have to go to school.  I’m not even three, folks.  Close (so birthday cards, presents, money, spaceships  etc. are welcome), but not quite.  And I don’t even start ‘real’ school until 2012.  But oh no, I can’t stay at home and enjoy this special time with my Mommy and Amy.  You know, the days that we’ll never have again where we can run around in diapers (don’t even go there with potty training. I’m not interested!) and give each other hugs or ‘cuggles’ whenever we feel like it.  Nope, instead they are shipping me off to jail.  JAIL, I tell you.  Three afternoons a week.

Apparently I am supposed to learn to socialise and become more verbal.  Well so far all they’ve got out of me is that I like Buzz Lightyear and I can cry really loudly.  Oh and I kind of like farm animals.  But I haven’t started to speak in paragraphs or add words to my vocabulary that I don’t feel like using right now.

Sure, I like Carol (the lunchtime supervisor) and Holly (my team leader) and Ruth (the manager),  but can’t I just meet up with them for lunch once a month?  Why does this need to be so often?  And why the clothes?!  I mean, you tell me which is cuter …

The Uniform (just the golf shirt is mandatory):

Thrilled - Can't you tell?

Can I take this off yet?

Or

The Pirate:

Arrrrr Matey

Aren't I so cute.. even dribbling milk..

You don’t even have to answer it.  It’s totally the pirate.  You know why? Because I like being a pirate and I do NOT like being a student.

So there.

It was a chilly Tuesday afternoon, that 4th of January was. I was on the phone with my Momma and aunt (as I am every single day around noon) whilst I fed and dressed the midgets and got Noah ready for school. As we were getting our coats on there was a knock at the door. This always leads me to a fork in the road. Do I actually acknowledge that I heard the knock or do I tell the midgets that we are going to play a game where we all freeze and pretend we aren’t there.

Unfortunately, Amy decided to open the door and blew the second option out of the window.

So hear were two people with a mic and a camera at my door asking about the lack of garbage pick up in our area and whether they could talk to me about how outraged I was about it all. Only I wasn’t outraged, just wondered when the heck they were going to pick up the garbage since we hadn’t had seen a garbage truck since pre-Christmas. But since Lee is a master garbage putter-outter, they really wanted to film our garbage and begged for me to talk to them.

Ugh. I caved. Got off the phone and left my Momma and aunt wondering what the eitch ee double hockey sticks was going on and stepped outside. We talking for a long time about the disorganisation, the lack of communication, the fact that people didn’t want to take it off the curb since they didn’t want to miss the trucks when they did arrive and I mentioned how my neighbour always seem up on the right day to put out the garbage when the week gets altered from holidays, etc.

They shot me actually talking and then they shot the garbage with me talking to the reporter about how I was in a rush to get Noah to school and she was all “oh, school’s started already?” and I was all “I hope so, since he hates it and is traumatised as it is that he is going there today”. She said “we’ll be on channel 3 at 6pm” and she went to look for more suckers and I hopped in the car to get Noah to school.

Only she was right and there was no school. Luckily, they were far enough down the street by the time I came back in a state of embarrassment that they didn’t see all three of us get out of the car again. I kicked my tire because had I realised school started on the Thursday (who starts on a Thursday?!?!), then the front door wouldn’t have been unlocked and I wouldn’t have had messy wet hair, no makeup and dressed in layers to make me look like the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man, when Amy opened the door.

On the other hand, Lee’s artistic garbage display masterpiece also wouldn’t have been the photo behind the anchors/presenters for the lead story on the 6pm news. Oh yes, our garbage is famous.

Trash Talking

The Garbage on your left... totally ours!

And Noah’s arm made it on to tv too.

Garbage Chic

We're going to be famous!!!

Lee will be handing out garbage stocking tips each Wednesday morning out front.  Noah and I are available for Weddings, Bar Mitzvahs and Conventions.

Sometimes I hear other parents talking about what they look forward to when their child grows up. Some can’t wait for the time of day after school when everyone is sat around the table eating and talking about their day. Others can’t wait for their little girls to be brides and go through that whole wedding thing (I dread it!). Some look forward to being able to play sports with their children or be able to share things together that the child will actually remember.

Me? I just look forward to the day where I am not wondering what exactly was in that poo I just had to dispose of.

Simple pleasures, people. All about the simple pleasures here.

Shock and Awe

“Oh, look how grown up she is!”  “What a cute little outfit!”  “Aww, look at her with her little baby/dollie.”

Yeah yeah yeah.  But did any of you stop and wonder “WTF?” I mean seriously, Why the face? (Oh the things I learn watching Modern Family!)

Well, I’ll tell you ‘Why The Face’!  If you can imagine, I got all pretty for New Years Eve .. because who doesn’t love wearing a pretty dress to sit on the floor and eat Caesar salad with their hands .. and in the midst of happily playing with my babies I overhear my parents talking about stopping the whole giving me boobs thing.   And I’m all like “WHAT?! Are you freaking kidding me!?!”.   I mean, I know I act like a bit like those ladies on COPS who are all “I don’t do crack. I mean it was only a couple of times.   Oh I forgot I got busted for possession last year.. and the year before and .. well, okay maybe I did it more than a couple of times, but I can stop. Really I can” when it comes to the whole boob thing, but is that so bad?  Hasn’t this really been a relationship of convenience all along?

I get my fix, my parents get me to be quiet/stop crying/go to sleep.  It hasn’t been all me.  They are enablers I tell you!!! I totally know how Lindsay Lohan feels now.  Except she got rehab and I got cold turkey on a silver platter.  And to make things worse, my mama is all “No more, all done. They’re finished” and I can totally see that they are still there.  First they think I am deaf and can’t hear their sinister plan and now they think I’m blind.   I may have had eye issues all through the year, but I can see!  And better than my four eyed mama, too!

So, I go to bed on New Year’s Eve hoping they’d see sense.  They even let me sleep on the couch which I totally took as a sign that they were going soft on me.  In exchange, I made sure not to wake up for a ‘hit’ until after 2am!  It’s all about working together.  But instead of being greeted by cuddles from my mama, my daddy comes along and whisks me upstairs.  What?! This isn’t right!! And then he tricked me even more because instead of taking me to my mama, he walked around with me until I fell asleep.  Only I refused to sleep in the crib, so he had to take me to the bed where my mama was.

I gave her about 30 minutes sleep before I tapped her gently (sort of) and cried a bit saying ‘bahbah?bahbah!’ in case she couldn’t understand what I wanted.  And she told me to be quiet.  No “Happy New Year My Sweet Baby Girl Who I Love Oh So Much And Wouldn’t Ever Want To See Cry”, not even a cuddle.  But I am nothing if not persistent, so I tried over and over from about 2.45am until 7.20am.  I thought if she didn’t get more than 4 minutes sleep at a time she’d just give in to make shut up.  Well, I found out where I get my stubbornness from that morning. She didn’t give in.  Not once.  And not once since then.

To make matters worse, she keeps moaning about how sore she is and asking when this will stop hurting.  If she’s looking for sympathy, she can keep looking because I’ve got none here (something else I inherited from her).

All I know is 2011 is not looking to be a good year for me.  And if I’m not happy, well……

Hellllllllloooooooooo!!!

.oO(hello hello hello hello hello)Oo.

So, I am sitting eating peanuts and liquorice torpedoes and wondering a) why am I not paying more attention to what I am picking up out of this container because both of these in the mouth at once are … gross.  b) should I risk possible blistering of my mammaries and stick those cabbage leaves in my bra to help alleviate this ridiculous pain and c) should I acknowledge the whole Haven’tBeenAroundForOhAlmostAYearBecauseApparentlyI’m … and well if I finish that thought then I guess I’d have my answer.

The thing is, the majority of those of you who ever took a look here either follow me on Twitter or are my friends on FaceBook  so you know what happens in my life  .. on a daily basis.  And those of you who don’t fall into the categories above  obviously didn’t miss me too much or I would have heard somehow.

And that thinking is what helped me put off writing this entry for days and weeks and months.

While we’re here and sort of being honest and upfront with each other (I like to think that if this wasn’t a one sided medium of discussion then you’d be honest back) I have a confession to make:  GrumpyPumps and BoxofSquawks are no longer.  It saddens me to admit it, yet at the same time it fills me will a sense of relief that I cannot explain.

Three blogs were too much.  Three blogs, when you add in other social medias and the actual raising of the little balls of crazy behind the two other blogs, was way over-reaching.  I mean, I barely kept one up to date before the pregnancy brain and subsequent baby brain settled in.  And 34 months or 19months later, depending on which child you favour, that affliction seems to have taken a firm hold on my already previously marshmallow brain.

There is some good news though.  Nooooooo, you silly fool, I’m not carrying the final part of a midget trilogy, but it is midget related.  Noah and Amy have been given the thumbs up to make posts on this account when they feel the need to vent, boast, complain or just say hi.  Trust me, Amy has a lot to say at this moment.  Or would if she hadn’t cried herself to sleep.  Don’t worry, we’re not letting her ‘Cry It Out’, I was lying down right next to her while she did it.   Oh, and all of their previous entries are available in the archives.

So with that, I welcome myself back and I welcome a whole new year to promise to frequently update the blog and of course mange not to do so.

Here is hoping 2011 is a more productive – not reproductive – and prosperous year for everyone and may we spend less time in hospitals (after this month when I’ve got an appointment), more time with each other … and may this bastard of a house finally sell.

Cheers, Big Ears!

Chin Chin

And for the midget starved in all of you …

Woody 1

Woody 2