Chilax!

I don't know why I go through a writing drought and then have a sudden burst of blog blurts. It's like I have to vomit out my thoughts every once in a while, and you guys are unfortunate enough to get hit.

I have a million things I should be doing right now including getting caught up on emails, painting, cleaning, sleeping, etc.

Instead I have to get off my chest that today was the final day of Torture Me Toddler Tuesdays. Thank you, God! I never knew that my two year old son had a completely different personality he reserved just for public settings that required him to follow instructions and participate. I will never do that again. We can be prisoners in our own home just like always and live a perfectly content life. I have no desire to be subjected to any type of mommy and child class ever again.

We went to six classes total. Alex NEVER warmed up to the concept. He NEVER wanted to join in. He only wanted to play with all of the balls and fun equipment in the gym. The structured games of "duck, duck, goose" and dodge ball were not at all appealing to him. And honestly, I can't blame him. He completely takes after his mother in that respect. I dreaded those games as a child. To this day, I still don't want to touch strangers until they chase me. And I have zero desire to be hit with balls. Go figure.

The twisted thing about toddler dodge ball is that you don't have a wide open area to run. They put the toddlers in an enclosed area--a rectangle surrounded by cones--with parents guarding the outside perimeters so toddlers can't escape. Then you give one kid a ball and tell them to hit other children with it. My tiniest daughter was the first one ordered to sit down. She had never played the game before and had no idea what was about to happen. All of a sudden the teacher said to begin and a little boy pegged her with a ball first. It's a "nail the weakest first" approach. She sat down as instructed and fought back the tears wondering why someone had just hit her and why I'd subject her to such asinine "fun." We pay for this?

Anyway, Alex was a holy terror disappearing into the coach's office, closing doors to remain open, and playing with balls that weren't supposed to be played with. Toddler Tuesday is nothing but an hour of me telling him no and threatening him within an inch of his life. Having been a teacher myself for seven years, I CANNOT STAND disruptive behavior in the classroom. The basketball court was Teacher Steve's classroom, and my son was a monkey running from one corner to another. DROVE ME CRAZY! And I'm the one all cocky after taking my children to a restaurant so proud of their superior behavior. Whatever! That flew out the window when we joined Toddler Tuesday. It apparently doesn't apply there. The girls are still good, but that boy child! Oh, GAH!

So anyway, I'm wound tighter than...something that's wound super tight. And I'm sleepy. And I'm wondering how it is that I can walk into a public restroom with as many as 8 empty stalls, and I always gravitate to the stall with the toilet that hasn't been flushed. I feel I am literally a sh*t magnet.

I also feel really stupid when it comes to public faucets, soap dispensers, and towel dispensers. I'm the idiot going from sink to sink waving my hands in various patterns in front of the sensors in attempt to get them to squirt out a little water. Once I finally get my hands wet, I go for the soap which is usually still manual operation in our small city. I soap up and begin the hand dance again around water sensors only to finally get one to squirt out just enough water to wash half the soap off. And then the motioning and waving of hands begins all over again. I look like a street cop on acid trying to direct traffic. Or some psychotic catcher in a baseball game sending signals only my friends, the aliens, can understand. I hate it, and it's completely exhausting looking that stupid for that long. I feel lucky when the towel dispenser is manual. I like something I can grab onto and rip off. I hate the ones you have to pump because the towels always bunch up inside instead of coming out. By the time I leave public restrooms, I feel covered in germs and have the need to talk to someone about my inadequacies as a human being.

I don't trigger automatic doors either. It has nothing to do with weight. I'll walk up to stores like the automatic door is eventually going to open for me. I've come close to hitting glass on more than one occasion because I was wrong to assume the mechanism would surely be triggered by the time I made another step or two. What is it about me? Do I not really exist?

I have two stupidity stories to share with you...one is on the subject of public restrooms. I was at Home Depot last night. I walked into the empty restroom facility, walked into the stall with the nasty toilet, walked back out, chose a clean one I had passed up, put the seat protector on the potty lid, did my business, MADE SURE THE AUTOMATIC TOILET FLUSHED, and went to wash my hands. I was checking out my scary hair in the mirror as I started the darting hand movements all around under the faucet. Continued to move this way and that way and side to side as I contemplated how horrible I looked. Still no water. Thank goodness for small favors and that I was all alone because it was a normal faucet that had a handle. That's stupid story number one.

Stupid story number two is a painting story from Saturday. I had just had our carpets professionally cleaned the day before. I put down plastic under one wall because I didn't want to get paint on the carpet. When it was time to move to the next wall, I was too lazy to move the plastic. I decided if I rolled the paint on slowly, the splatter wouldn't be so much of an issue. I wasn't confident that paint wouldn't drip from the roller as I walked to the second wall, so I picked up the paint tray and held it under the roller just to be safe. It's important to be cautious. I stood close to the wall trying to be very careful not to get drips or splatter on the carpet. I don't know what made me look down, but as I was reaching really high with the roller, I realized my left hand was tipping and paint was pouring out all over the floor. That's stupid story number two. I think I got most of the paint out of the carpet. It's not that noticeable.

Okay, I'm feeling a little more chilaxed now that I've blogged. I suppose I should start painting now...because I'm so good at it. And clearly a brilliant person in general.

That is all.

Pastel Drawings of the Kids

Okay! FINALLY! Here's the post about Ironman's Christmas present. It's also almost 1 a.m., so I'll make it brief. Long story short, I wanted an artist to do portraits of our children. In a round about way, I found out a fellow blogger is engaged to an artist! They live in the United Kingdom...hmmm...a challenge to get there and sit for the portrait. Luckily he works from photos.

Below you'll see the photo I emailed him, the emailed pastel drawing he sent back for approval, and the final framed drawing. It had its challenges, but luckily he was patient and persistent. He started over more than once. I think we worked with at least 3 photos of Gracie before we settled on one. There was a lot of back and forth.

I told him the budget I had to work with that had to include the shipping fees from the UK. I got quite a deal because he was interested in having his work in the U.S. I can't promise he'll be able to give the same deal again, but he did it all for an even $300. I tell you that out right because people always want to know but feel awkward about asking. It cost more to frame them, and I bought the pre-made frames at Hobby Lobby at 50% off meaning they were each only $40...but then you have to pay for glass, matting, etc. It was worth it (to us at least) to have what we consider to be family heirlooms. And it brought tears to Ironman's eyes which is hard to do. He loves them.

The artist is Darren Gouldsbrough. You can find him on Facebook and talk to him there. His email address is djgouldsbrough@gmail.com. His fiance is Greer Taylor, and her blog can be found in my blogroll....Little Nut Tree. Spread the word if you know of someone who would enjoy something like this. He does oils, abstracts, all kinds of stuff.

Okay, I'm super sleepy and unwilling to proof this. Hope it makes sense.

Update: I had to take down the pictures of my kids for safety reasons.

I Suck

Update: Photos removed for safety reasons.

This post is for Ironman.



Hi Ironman! I'm writing! Are you happy now??? He's been complaining for a couple of weeks now that I'm not consistently providing material, and he's tired of checking. (The picture of Big Ironman and Little Ironman is completely irrelevant. I just came across it and wanted to post it.)



I know. I'm not fulfilling my blog obligation...my blogligation. I thought I was back on a writing roll again, but then I got sick. And then I started painting a couple of rooms in the house....and ordering everything for a kitchen remodel. And it's all got to be done fast! I don't want this dragging out through the end of my third trimester which starts any time now. I have no idea when, but it's coming. I need closure on the nesting. I NEED CLOSURE ON THE NESTING!



But at least now I know that Ironman won't be pressured by my time lines. I had expected him to do a certain number of tasks before the twins' party this weekend. I had four unpainted and unhung doors in our dining room that I felt really needed to be taken care of at some point in a two week period. The party was the deadline. As of two hours before the party, all of the doors were still blocking access to our dining table. I think I'm supposed to consider myself lucky that he moved them at all to the wreck of a nursery which I had also wanted finished by the party. Silly me! So will I get closure on the nesting? Will my house be unlivable as I come home from a c-section with a newborn in my arms? Probably so...unless he cherishes certain privileges. If that's the case, he needs to find some motivation before the anxiety of it all makes me unbearable to live with, and I'm sure he would argue now that I'm already to that point. It's like he's never been pregnant before! Gah! Does he not get it??? DOES HE NOT GET IT???



And I am carrying his fourth child. Don't you think he could suck it up and do a little painting and hang a few doors...change out a few counter tops...install a couple of new appliances? He's a manly man. He can do it. You can DEWIT, Ironman! I believe in you!



Anyway, my twins turned four yesterday and I didn't get any good pics of them. Happy birthday, Twinkies! Here's the only cute one I got because my camera was dying. Luckily family members were snapping lots of pics! I edited it for red-eye and cropping, yet it won't upload the edited version. This reminds me of the old Blogger days! Thanks, Old Blogger, for rearing your incompetent head and eating some rancid butta!

And then there's this shot for those of you wanting to see the blobbity blob. I can't for the life of me get it to load right side up. Let's hope I look better on my side. In my defense, I was VERY sick when this picture was taken. I didn't even say a proper good-bye to my guests, and I proceeded to be miserable for the next three hours because, well, I'll spare you details.

I hope Ironman is satisfied with this post even though it was less than glowing about his participation efforts on the home front. :D I have to pack up the kids now and take them to their grandparents! Woo hoo! A night off!