A Dingo Ate My Baby

As I have said previously, life in my house is nowhere near perfect. Case in point: my seven month old nephew has just begun to crawl. And he is fast. After 6+ months of him being a lump, albeit an extraordinarily cute lump, I forget sometimes that he is mobile.

So, all hell breaks loose at my house. I've got the phone ringing, the Schwan's man at the door, the dog barking, my brother in law coming to pick up my nephews, JP trying to leave the house to pick up Cameron from his cousin's house...get the picture?

I'm trying to help my brother in law get the boys scooped up, and...I lost the baby. My house is not big. All the doors to the outside were shut tight. I do not see the baby anywhere. I tell my brother in law that I have, indeed, lost the baby. He looks at me and says, "he's not in the crib?" Crap! Did I put the baby in the crib? Nope. I look in the bathroom (the only room with an open door). No baby. I come back to the dining room where my brother in law and the Schwan's man are standing.

While I am racking my brain about where the baby could have hidden, the Schwan's man (who is used to the craziness in my house) looks up and says," you're looking for the baby? He's right here by the back door." Very helpful.

I may attach a homing beacon to the baby tomorrow. Just in case.

How Does Your Garden Grow?

Mine grows in spite of me. Dirty little secret #794: I hate gardening. Hate. it. I love gardens. I admire those people who can spend hours upon hours with their hands in the dirt making their gardens show pieces (my across the street neighbor is like that. Luckily, she put up an eight foot privacy fence in her backyard so I don't have to see her slaving away in her gardens all day).

Don't get me wrong, I adore flowers. I've even grown pumpkins from the jack o' lantern that fell off the front porch into the untended flower bed. I'd just rather stick nails in my eyes than do the gardening. One of the major problems I have with the gardening is that I always get poison ivy when I do any sort of yard work. It doesn't matter what sort of yard work (raking leaves, pulling weeds, picking up sticks). I get poison ivy every time. Every.flipping.time.

I also hate to get dirty and sweat. This is definitely problematic when it comes to gardening. Nothing could be less relaxing or therapeutic for me than spending my day up to my elbows in dirt. That being said, I do have flowers in my garden...and various shrubberies and plants that I haven't killed through my neglect.

Nothing thrilled me more than to see the first crocus pop through the soil after the 6 months and 47 feet of snow we had this winter.* The daffodils and lone tulip that bloomed made me smile every time I walked by. The lilies that have exploded throughout my garden with all the hot weather brighten my day. The hydrangea (that had purple blooms when I planted it) survived being buried under all that snow, and it is bright pink and thriving. In spite of me.

I have been sorely tempted to dig everything up and just quit. I mean, I could plant fake flowers...or rocks...or a flock of plastic flamingos. I figure my garden is a metaphor for my life. It's not always perfect, things are sometimes way out of control, but there are bright spots that make it all worth while.

*Length of winter and amount of snow estimated only

Patience is a virtue...

...It's just not one of mine. I know, for those of you that know me, this is a shocking revelation. I'll wait a minute while you pick your jaws off the ground. Better? Let's move on. I hate reading directions, manuals, rules, etc. I would much rather figure things out on my own than read about it. 95% of the time, it works out just fine. Sure, it might take a few more minutes (hours), but really, I saved all that time by not reading, right?

My sister gave me an ice cream maker. Since it's been hotter than Hell's Hinges here, Jason & I thought it would be perfect to make some ice cream after dinner the other day. Awesome. So, we get the box out, start setting it up, and one of my boys (who does read directions) announced woefully, "for optimum results freeze insert for 6-22 hours." That sure took the wind out of our sails. I don't know if I can wait until 2 a.m. for ice cream...even homemade ice cream.

Me being me, I said, "but do we HAVE to? It says for optimal results. I could live with less than optimal results." So, we put the insert in the freezer and waited...and waited...and waited. Last night, after a long day of mini golf and boating, we finished dinner about 8:30. I ran out to the store to buy whole milk and heavy cream so we could make ice cream. Cameron got some Reese's Peanut Butter Cups to put in the ice cream, too (excellent decision on his part).

I mixed everything up, and poured it into the machine. And I waited...and waited...and waited. At 10 o'clock last night, we ate ice cream. I don't think Ben & Jerry's need to lose any sleep about me overthrowing their ice cream empire (yet), but it was good. I put the leftover ice cream into a little container so I could wash & refreeze the insert right away. I didn't want to be caught unprepared again, afterall.

The insert is ready to go (I checked it this morning first thing. It's frozen solid). Of course, I need to wait until after breakfast for ice cream, right? Maybe I can read some ice cream recipes to kill the time...recipes are much different than instructions.

Can Music Save Your Mortal Soul?

I may not be able to play an instrument, but I love music. I always have. You name a song, a singer or music group and I probably connect it to a moment in time. Shaun Cassidy's "Da Doo Ron Ron?" Yup, I used to request it on WNAV and listen to it on my transistor radio (you young 'uns can go Google all that).

"Country Roads" by John Denver? That would be driving through the hills of Pennsylvania in our Blue Van with my father singing (he'll probably deny that, though) and smoking cigars with the windows rolled up.

I remember when we got cable tv. The remote control was bigger than my foot, and it was tethered to the cable box with a wire. You had to punch the numbers in on buttons that looked like a calculator. And if the wire got unplugged, all of the "preset" channels were lost.

But that box, that magical cable box brought me MTV. Oh, what a channel. Nonstop music videos, bands I had never heard of, clothes I had never seen, Duran Duran Simon Le Bon... New music videos were an event. I ate it up. The "Thriller" video was epic...Madonna singing "Like a Virgin," the Beastie Boys fighting for their right to party....Headbanger's Ball, 120 Minutes...I even watched Yo, MTV Raps. I couldn't get enough music.

I have passed my love of music on to my kids. They have just as impressively eclectic collection of music on their iPods as I do on mine. We took JP & Russell to see Buffett when they were itty bitty (unlike my first concert - The Bangles when I was in college). I thought I had done a good job instilling a sense of music history into the kids until one of my children (who shall remain nameless to protect his pride) asked me,"Was Ringo Starr in KISS?"

OMG. I about spewed Diet Mountain Dew out of my nose. I answered that no, he was in the BEATLES, and the boy child said, "really? Are you sure?" I almost fell out of my chair. Am I sure?!?! Yes, child, I am sure. I'm no fan of KISS, to be sure (all those years of nuns telling us we'd go to Hell if we listened to them had a little effect...that and I thought they were untalented and ridiculous, but I digress).

This is definitely a black mark against me and my children's musical education. I think I'll make him watch all the Beatles movies then make him watch "Kiss Meets the Phantom of the Park." That should do it.

Yes, they're ALL mine.

I don't view my family as larger than normal. Four kids, in my opinion, is not a lot (most days). I certainly pale in comparison to the supersized families (Gosselins, Octomom, Duggars, etc) that you see in the tabloids and on tv. However, it almost always amuses me when people's eyes bug out of their head when they see my demon brood coming. When the six of us flew to Florida, you should have seen the people praying that they were not going to sit next to us. There was a mad scramble to get away from us (and for the record, the children were absolutely well behaved, with only a minimum of muttered threats and bribery).

Many moons ago, we did the Bay Bridge walk with all four kids. Paige & Cameron were still in strollers. We got halfway over the bridge, and JP was done. I mean, he was really, really done. He looked at me and asked," Can't we just turn around and go home?" As I was explaining to him that it would actually be faster to keep going instead of turning around, we were approached by a reporter from the Baltimore Sun. She had heard the conversation, thought it was funny, and she wanted to interview us. She talked to the kids, and then she turned and asked me, "do the kids all have the same baby daddy?" (Well, maybe she didn't ask it quite like that, but I was so taken aback, all I said was yes, and the interview went on). Never again have I been asked if they were all Jason's kids.


Now you add three or four cousins into the mix, and it's game on, baby. Any one of my nieces or nephews could be interchanged with my kids. There is definitely a family resemblance. Try as I might, I can't deny any of the little buggers (I mean darlin's). So, when I have extra kids in tow, you can imagine the looks I get. One time, years ago when the kids were little, I was with my sister in law, and all 6 of our kids, at Sam's Club. There was a little old couple who watched us (with their mouths hanging open) as we disgorged ourselves from my mini-van. I could see them counting...and their eyes kept bugging out of their heads. I had the kids hold hands, and we walked like ducks in a row past them. Oh, did I mention my sister in law is teeny? I mean, she is really, really petite. I heard the couple muttering some thing about my "seven kids." Yup, they thought my sister in law was one of my kids. Since she is just a little bit older than me, we had a good laugh. And by we, I mean her, obviously.

When my nephew (and godson) was in preschool, I used to drive him and pick him up. This went on without incident for almost two years...then one day his mother (the petite one referenced above) picked him up from school. Now besides being teeny, she also has brown hair. Not that there is anything WRONG with brown hair. One of my very own children has brown hair. Brown hair is perfectly lovely. Her youngest son has blond hair. I mean, knock your socks off platinum blond hair. The color hair I had until my children sucked it out of me. The color blond that I now pay my hairdresser good money to recreate. Can you see where this is going? My sister in law was waiting in the carpool pickup line, and a teacher said, "Who are you here for?" When she told her the name, the teacher asked her,"And you are?" My sister in law answered as frostily as her sweet self could muster, "His MOTHER." So, thankfully they released him. To his mother.

Another time, we were at a local restaurant celebrating Jason's Aunt & Uncle's Wedding Anniversary. The kids were getting restless, so I volunteered to take them out to look at ducks and boats. Again, the looks and whispers about "all the kids" were buzzing about me like so many annoying bees. I just smiled and went about the business of making sure no child fell into the water...or got his or her eyes pecked out by a rogue duck.

Are they all mine? You betcha. They are all mine.

Barefoot and Bonkers - An Introduction to Me

Well, I'm not really. I do have cute flip flops on. You get my drift, though. The bonkers part, well, that's pretty much spot on.

Summer vacation is finally here after the longest, coldest, snowiest, most awesomest (yes, I know that's not technically a real word, but cut me some slack) winter ever.

I'm not an expert on any subject, nor do I pretend to be. Well, maybe I pretend just a little bit. My opinions are no more valuable than anyone else's, but I'd like to think they may be a tad bit funnier. As the Mother of 4, Aunt to 11, Sister to 2 and friend of some, I do have a unique (read: totally skewed) viewpoint on family, friendship, food and fun.

My life is crazy, and I wouldn't have it any other way. My house isn't always immaculate, the socks don't always match, dinner some nights is Domino's or Cocoa Pebbles, but if I can't laugh about it, what's the point?

I like watching the crazy "reality" shows on VH1...I love all things 80's...I love Barry Manilow...I believe cold pizza is still a perfectly acceptable breakfast...I was put on this planet to be a mom...I have made my children cry with just a look...My bloodstream is probably made up of 3/4 Diet Mountain Dew...and lastly, if you don't have anything nice to say about somebody, come sit by me.

You may be asking yourself about the name of the blog...I'm not always crabby, but I do live on the Shore, and we're known for the crustacean type crabs. That's my story, and I am stickin' to it.