our gender reveal

If I based my life on Pintercrack I would be neurotic and know that I am a failure at most things when compared to the talent that is out there.  Five seconds on the site and you know you can't cook, can't refinish furniture, and can't re-purpose stuff in a cool way anywhere near good enough to be considered crafty.

Gender reveals, in all their awesome balloon and cake color glory, seem to fit right up there on mandatory boards everyone has even if not in that life-stage.  Its like weddings, even single or 20-year-happily-married people have chic barn house style wedding pins somewhere.

But between how I have been this pregnancy and how much I am not gifted with the Pintercrack gene, I wasn't about to bake a pink or blue cake.  Instead I went shopping.  I bought some clothes themed in the right color, a box with a cute label already on it that I just had to write on (thank you Target, I will love you always for making one stop shopping possible!) slapped it all together and BOOM, we had a gender reveal.

Simple, and I think cute.  This once I will share pictures that include my kid's faces, because ... well, their reactions were priceless.  Again, recalling how not super duper I have been feeling I wasn't so thorough as to get them dressed cute or have a cute background ... something I am sure I will regret yet forgive myself for later.  Life is all about choosing battles, and that wasn't a battle I was up for after a run to Target when I barely make it out of the house anymore.

So without further ado ...

This is the outside of the box.  Target had the blue box with a chalkboard tag on it already.  I just used metallic Bic markers I already had to label it.  Then I bought the pink ribbon and bow also at Target to make it be both pink and blue.

That is Meatball and Beans.  Yes, Meatball is holding Beans back because I wanted one before picture.  Picture quality diminishes greatly after this because they went FAST!

Remove the bows and stuff ...

Take a peak inside ...

Meatball is thrilled ... Beans is processing ...

Now we are both excited!

Celebrate a bit! Oh but wait, what is it, a boy or girl?

Its a little sister!

That is what the inside looked like when they opened it.  This is also how we did the gender reveal to our parents so they saw the same thing.  

Under the #1 little sister onsie were some other onsies I found at Target.  I think the sister onsie I had bought already somewhere else, but I wanted there to be more in the box holding it up.  So I suffered greatly and bought some of my first pink stuff.  ;)

And here she is ... Beans has named her Pinkie Pie.

He also calls her Dookie Bus, but I am sticking with Pinkie Pie and pretending that other name didn't happen just yet LOL  So it is a girl, many of the theorists were coincidentally right, which has less to do with her being a girl and more to do with the nature of HG in general.  Either way, we are pretty excited here.  

P.S. If you are curious why I suddenly started watermarking my pictures I will explain in an upcoming post.  

its a ... disappointment? NO!

Hopefully this time you get your girl!

I have heard the above phrase more times than I can count in these weeks of pregnancy, when I actually am up to talking to people.  Especially with how the pregnancy has been going, people are just sure.

Nearly everyone has said some variant of it.  From the polite "maybe it will be"s to the down right annoying "you better have gotten it right this time"s that baffle me.  I am pretty sure everyone who knows us is certain we only broke the two children standard the American world seems to hold so dear because we had not yet had a girl.

Its a ... oh my!

Truth of the matter is I'd rather a boy.  

I won't throw it back if its a girl (that was an attempt at humor, if you missed it, seriously chill).  But I know boys.  I have only had boys.  I am fine with boys.  In fact, I down right love 'em.  I relish being a mom of boys, I love that I can refer to my household as "my men" with a hint of humor but no need for qualifications.  

Even back when I babysat I only ever had boys.  Come to think of it, I do not think I have ever changed a girl's diaper.  The thought actually terrifies me.  Let's be frank here, I know for sure how unpleasant a diaper change can be with the anatomy of a chubby little boy.  There are some wrinkly, foldy parts there that poop just makes a mess of.  But it is not a *glances over her shoulder* vagina.

I mean seriously, WTF do you do with that?!

No, don't tell me.  I don't want to know.  

Not unless I have to.

Its a ...OMG!

Which I may have to, I have a strong feeling I am having a girl, and it terrifies me more than may be rational.  

But most of all, I hate that if I have a girl people will exclaim"finally" like I accomplished the real goal.  Or if I have another boy they will sigh and say "will you try again?" because for some reason the fact I have only had boys is a failure.  Like my sons are insignificant.  

Um, no. 

If I have a girl, then I have one.  If I don't and I have another boy, then I have another boy.  Neither is a failure, and technically both were the goal.  We didn't plan this pregnancy with the purpose of having a girl OR a boy.  We planned to have a baby.  A child.  A sibling for the kids we have.  A person.  That was it.  No need for a specific gender, and I have never understood that.  

Its ... THE BABY!

I am frankly offended by what the "finallys" imply about my existing children.  Like, damn, that one has a penis and it just isn't what we were hoping for!  Crap, there is another one with a penis, what a waste!  No, "that one" is a person I am amazingly proud of and honored to watch grow.  He is a beautiful miracle that takes my damn breath away with his brilliance, complexity, and glorious heart.  He happens to be a boy, but I refuse to allow societies expectations of him force him to be something he doesn't want to be.  Or I will try anyway.

I would be as passionate a mother of a daughter, but it saddens me when people undervalue my sons simply because I already have them and especially because I have more than one.  I don't need a matched pair or a set, I need a child that is here and healthy as possible.  You're over complicating and over thinking things if you go beyond that.  

Parenthood is complicated and terrifying enough.  Why add more stress to it, especially with something that I have quite literally NO control of.  

Bras.

Tampons.

Dating.

Deep breathing now ... I am not going to worry about any of it until I know I need to.  

bladder capacity & toy baths

I may not be a real scientist, but I play one on the internet.  Hello, I am a "rocket surgeon" y'all!  So being all scientific-ey the other day I realized I can visually represent the Beans' bladder capacity for you visually.

Before we get to that, have you seen this?

Or hows abouts this?

So true.  So very, very true.  In my case, the Beans did not actually escape his prison, he just decided to punish me for putting him in it.  I should have been alerted by the sudden silence.  I should have, but I wasn't observant enough.

Now to the scientific bladder capacity part -- just how much pee can a two and a half year old's bladder hold?

Enough to contaminate all of this when he puts his mind to it.

To be fair and maintain scientific transparency, there was smearing action before I realized what was happening.

Of course, my giving his toys a bath was so cool, so he naturally added more to it.  Dumped a whole bucket of Duplos before I could stop the little monstrosity.

This is totally the crap that should be in parentage books, but is strangely absent ...

Ghetto Wipes

So immediately following the making of my Ghetto All Purpose Cleaner I started butchering a roll of paper towels to make wipes because it appeals greatly to my inner lazy biotch to just have that around.

But let us start at the beginning.

I am a teaching supply hoarder.  Whether it is Sharpies or random containers that I insist on keeping while my husband rolls his eyes and tells me I am nuts, I just cannot help myself.  It is a compulsion.  One that behooves us more than my husband will EVER admit.

Point is, every time he goes through the garage and asks me "can I please throw this out now?!" I find a use for something that saves us money.

So the cylindrical cleaning wipes containers I insisted on keeping because YOU NEVER KNOW wound up being not only insanely useful but also part of saving us money!  Take that Bunyan!

I had my Ghetto All Purpose Cleaner ready to go, so I just needed the container and the "wipes."

This is where it gets messy.

First off, I had a roll of paper towels that are select a size, and I really thought I would like that.  I was wrong.  I may be getting ahead of myself here in reviewing my "product" before I tell ya how to make it, but in case you don't read the whole thing and try to walk in my footsteps (are you mad?) let me tell you now -- your wipes will be tiny!  Do not use the select a size towels if you use a dispenser like I am unless you want tiny wipes.  How tiny you ask?  Let me show you:

So I would prefer, and will do this next time because it is the only complaint I have at present, to use the full sized towels.

Reason being, step one with the paper towels is to cut them in half.  The whole damn roll.  Have you ever tried to cut a roll of paper towels in half?

It is a messy process.

Really.

I couldn't fit a whole roll of paper towels in the containers because they are just a bit too narrow, so I had to set some aside.  I did have the sense to do that before I cut the roll in half at least.

After sawing the roll in half and making your work space look like a blizzard hit, you have to wiggle the cardboard roll out of the center.  This is a lot easier than I figured it would be.  Then squeeze the roll into the container and pour the fluid mixture on it.

Seriously, that simple.

Now I had to clean the front bathroom, the one the boys all use.  I did not take a before picture, frankly who wants to see that?  But the after picture?  Seriously, my toilet was sparkling like a moody vampire on a sunny day!

Did you "ooooo" and "aaaaaa" because you should.

Again, like I said in the last post about making the cleaner, it was not like I was scrubbing obsessively.  It was no more work than a usual cleaner.  I did have to wipe the space dry, so I had one hand with a wet wipe and one with a dry one.  I also can't do a cost break down because again I had to purchase none of this that day, but I am sure it comes out exceptionally cheap when you really figure it out.

Feeling pretty in control of things I set my sites on a bigger battle because something else was running low and I would need to buy more soon ... laundry detergent ... oh yeah.  Stay tuned.

I am on a roll here, maybe I should change the blog up to be about practical cleaning tips ... something like ...

Seems legit.

Top 10 Things That Used to be MINE

Last night the Beans was being a two year old.  The nerve.

Paul Bunyan decided to read something on his Kindle Fire in order to tune out the baby death shriek and repetitive chant of "no no bed."  But the second he pulled out that electronic device a gasp rent the air, followed by approximately 2.7634 seconds of rare and precious silence.  Then came "BABY'S BIG PHONE!" and the Beans grabbed it from daddy and expertly jabbed the screen a few times until the Lorax cued up and began wailing "How Bad Can I Be?" on full volume.  Appropriate, no?

This made poor Paul Bunyan sigh and bemoan that he wondered when he would get to read on his Kindle again.  I had about 2.7634 seconds of pity when I realized that if all I was lacking was Kindle access I might be a shit-ton more sane.

 Top Ten Things That Used To Be MINE

1.  My boobs.  Bunyan likes to think of them as his, but a nursing baby wins every time.  No matter what, even when the milk bags are no longer feeding a little vampire any longer they aren't MINE anymore.  MY boobs had some life to them.  They were small, but they at least seemed to not lack filling.  Since nursing children I apparently lost like a third of my boob mass because they are still small but deflated and droopy looking.  What the eff?

They are actually *mine* ... well, they once were.

2.  My Wardrobe.  I used to get dressed because I liked an outfit.  Or I looked good in an outfit or it made me feel good.  Occasionally I dressed in something because it was comfy.  I would even go, dare I say it, shopping for clothes for myself ... and enjoy it!  Now?  I wear whatever happens to be clean, roomy enough to cover this expanding version of myself, and often provides easy access for nursing, running after children, or cleaning something.  Bonus points to clothing that can cover the ridiculous number of stains I obtain in a day without obnoxiously announcing "LOOK this is strawberry applesauce!" and "Yup, that's a booger" whenever you look my way.

3.  My Phone.  I have more than 72 apps on my phone.  I tried counting them but kept forgetting what number I was on, so there are at least that many.  I use 7 maybe 8 of them for myself regularly.  Lets make it a round ten apps for ME.  That means there are 60+ apps that are simply there because I need to put the food on the conveyor belt at the grocery store without Houdini baby trying to escape the cart.  My iPhone is so full of kid apps and pictures of kids that I actually only have room for one playlist of music.  Only reason I get that is because my children haven't realized it is possible to load any of their music on the phone yet.  They do know about my Pandora app though.

The ultimate Mom Purse

4. My purse.  Oh wait, that's funny I don't HAVE a purse anymore.  I have a backpack/diaper bag/first aid kit/snack storage/changing station/toy holder/crumb hoarder hybrid with a monkey hanging off of it that also carries my wallet and chapstick.  When I can find them.  Yes, it is actual one the one pictured above.

5.  My Jewelry.  I used to wear some.  I now wear a wedding band, and not the nice one either.  The other day whilst changing a poo diaper someone (AKA Beans) thought it would be hilarious to start bouncing his cute little baby butt all over the place.  Thus getting nasty baby crap all over my hand.  This had of course happened on the one day so far this year I wore the pretty channeled band Paul Bunyan bought me for Christmas three years ago.  If jewelry isn't an effective way to cause me pain while getting my attention (earrings and necklaces) then it means I am washing shit off diamonds.  Screw jewelry.

6. My Anything-Below-the-Neck.  Hell, who am I kidding?  I have grey hair, wrinkles, and raccoon eyes -- screw it being just the belly I don't want to claim and the varicose veins that make my legs look even worse than before.  What the hell happened to me?  Thank goodness children are cute, because the side effects that come with them are hell.

7.  My Bladder.  Perhaps if we are going for anatomical accuracy it isn't the actual bladder but the muscles of my pelvic wall or floor or whatthefrickenhellever.  I held out hope with the first pregnancy that the whole wetting yourself when you sneezed thing would go away.  Since child number two I am realizing that this is a pregnancy symptom that may never abate.

8.  My Sleep.  I used to have some, with complete cycles and everything.  I can almost remember back that far, but deprivation being what it is I may just be hallucinating.

9.  My Sanity.  I swear, I used to have more of it.

10.  My Life.  I used to have one that revolved around me.  Looking back, I am not sure that it was entirely enjoyable.  This may be exhausting, I might have lost of my sense of Self, and there are moments that straight up suck (anyone claiming otherwise lies) but this is a gift and I am grateful.

Again, I may be hallucinating here though.

oil pan magnet board

My love-hate relationship with Pintercrack marches on.  Some days I want to kick the whole website in the nuts, some days I am not sure how I'd survive without it.

Today is a good day ... for now.

Have you seen this one?

While I don't see me posting my kid on the internet in nothing more than a diaper, I do dig the idea.  You can nab one of those oil pan thingies at Walmart for like $12.

So I did.  Then I had to figure out how to get the stupid thing home in a Corolla with two kids and a driver.

It wasn't pretty.

But then I brought it in the house and freaked Paul Bunyan out by saying I was just going to Gorilla Glue the crap out of it.

Eventually, he is going to realize how easy he is to manipulate, right?

Anyway, he took over the hanging of the thing (which involved pre-drilling holes and using bits I wouldn't have known existed so it was for the best I didn't want to do that anyway) and just wanted me to tell him where.

And taaaa daaaa...

Apparently there is something weird in our wall and the bottom left hand corner of the pan didn't hit a stud, so he had to do it over just a bit to the right, which left a ridiculously sharp metal hole in the darn thing.  The cure?

Slap a cute pirate sticker on it and BAM, all better.

Beans loves playing with his "numbers" ... they are letters, but hey, he is two and we are working on it!

magic cubes

The call them "the terrible twos."

Need I say more?

Beans has discovered that he has a tremendous ability and even gift at driving people insane.

And by people, I mean me.

We really start melting down about 4:30ish each night.  Hungry, sleepy (especially since he is willfully missing his nap 50% of the time) , and just grouchy, makes for an unpleasant evening.

So I have started trying to come up with things I can do that throw him for a loop and knock the grumpies out of him before we hit the full tantrum, from which there is no return.

Brilliant brain child number one: Magic Cubes.

Because it is warming up this one works pretty well, Beans doesn't mind a cool bath at the start.  I think we will also do this in his little play pool, though I will have to make more of them so that they last a bit longer.

What are Magic Cubes?  They are ice cubes, with food coloring.  Cheap, simple, and effective?  Love it!

You can see the patient Beans waiting in the background here

I have also tested this on my kid a few times and can tell you that I have not yet turned him into a smurf, though I still worry every time the water gets all dark ...

Once they go in the water they immediately begin melting and releasing the magic.  Once Beans is older we will use this as more of a color lesson, now its just a fun mess.

Since I use all the colors it makes the water a dark teal when they are completely melt.  Just pull the plug, drain the tub, and we usually fill the tub and take a real bath at that point. 

I also let Beans play with the tray in the tub, which gets it clean.  Yay!

Neither my bathtub nor my child have been dyed in the process of making these or using them.  I will warn you that you need to be careful when making them, however.  You will smurf up your hands if you aren't careful.

Figures, if someone was going to get tattooed in the process it was bound to be me.

Allergy-free Easter

Easter.  I know, it was like forever ago, but I am also ridiculously behind so hang with me!

So, the whole may be deathly allergic to eggs and all the candy worth eating (*sob* Reese's Eggs, I miss you!) totally altered our approach to Easter baskets this year. We wound up wanting to do the eggs hunt and all that jazz  but craving a way to do it sans Epi.

So we needed to keep it allergy free.

This means, because our family is uber speeeshul, that we had to pack plastic eggs (the irony isn't lost) without any traces of real eggs, dairy, nuts, honey, latex, food dyes, soy, and wheat.

So basically, food wasn't happening because I'm pretty sure I'd have had a mutiny on my hands had we put grapes and radish bits in baskets.

Sooo, here is a list if ideas, completely worthless for this year as it is long over but that may be of some use to someone later.

How To Stuff Plastic Eggs Without Killing Anyone I Love, Myself Included:

1.) toy cars
2.) silly putty (dude, it's already in an egg!) *note: Play Doh is cool but be careful with wheat allergies!*
3.) sponge capsules that get slimy and might expand in the water
4.) magnetic letters or numbers
5.) Legos
6.) beads and string for a bracelet
7.) spare change
8.) fun shoe laces
9.) tattoos (do I need to say temporary?)
10.) stickers
11.) little bubble bottles
12.) small figurines, action figures, transformers
13.) tokens or tickets to a fun place (allergens may be present, depending)
14.) glow bracelet (make your hunt glow in the dark!)
15.) notes leading kids on a scavenger hunt

If I had children that liked that sort of thing, I'd have looked into things like hair clips, little nail polish bottles, jewelry, nail stickers, etc. As it is, I really didn't think my dogs deserved that kind if torture.

Ultimately, we didn't use all those ideas. The dollar store is a great resource all things considered here. The point isn't to spend a fortune in the name if bunnies (or even the Resurrection), rather I wanted to not make my kiddos feel like they had to miss out on yet another thing because our genes are a tad whack.

I can attest to this much, it worked. Kids had a blast, no one died. Yay parents!

its a passing phase

Productivity comes in cycles for me.  Sometimes I have like zero ambition, and that can even be an ambitious estimate, while others I seem to be a bit obsessed.

I have to make the most out of the obsessed times because they are usually short lived and often followed by stretches of lazy lostness.  Yes, I make one fabulous housewife.

At any rate, I've been more productive than usual.  I am referring to my in-person-life here because my blogging alter ego has been pretty much worthless lately.  In so doing, I have also developed an abnormally large sense of self confidence, which I figure will either translate to shit getting done or a whole lot of writing material.  I call it a win-win either way.

I have heard that in order to be really truly accountable you have to tell people what your goals are.  If you don't share them, then you never really need to admit you failed.  I usually have no problem castigating myself over my own failures, but what the heck, lets make a list here and see how I do with the public thing:

I have birthdays, summer, and in-law visits on my horizon ... I gotta get crap done ...

(in no particular order)

1. Clean ceiling fans, because I rarely have them off and notice how dirty they are
2. Organize the growing box pathetically labeled "pictures and keepsakes"
3. Finish the 11 year old's baby book *hangs head in shame*
4. Clean house thoroughly closer to visits, not halfsies clean
5. Finish the "measure the kids" ruler thingy that has been half-done for like a year and a half
6. Clean out Meatball's closet
7. Clean out the Bean's closet
8. Clean out toys ... purge the hell outta toys ...
9. Make a Goodwill and/or consignment shop run to ditch some crap
10. Make my kitchen cabinets look less blah
11. Make my/our bedroom not be the one with the door always closed in shame
12. Do something with the bathroom walls, b-o-r-i-n-g!
13. What are we doing for the Beans' birthday?
14. Hair cut, its pathetic and been like a year since I did that
15. Garage -- make the parts that are my problem look less like a bomb test site
16. Garage -- urge and support Paul Bunyan to deal with the rest of the garage
17. The backyard will only be a livable space for a couple months, make it look nice for them
18. Make my Command Center wall so I can at least appear organized!
19. Shave the dog.  Yes, I said that.
20. Come up with an item # 20 because you can't have a list of 19 things!!!

There, that is a start.  I have no real hope of accomplishing all of that in the ridiculously short time frame I am giving myself ... which is like 2 weeks ... but let's see what we can do, eh?

Insanity will commence in 5, 4, 3, 2 ... aren't you glad you don't live here? ... and 1 ...

They're getting to me!

I've made no secret about my being out numbered by males in my clan. Usually it's a source of bemusement, annoyance, and occasional disgust or frustration. Today? No, today it was something much darker, more horrific.

You see, they're getting to me. Like some kind of gross-boy-cooties-water-boarding, they're wearing me down.

I was gonna tell you the whole story with a bunch of justifying and pleading, but the truth of the matter is that I just can't. There's no defense ... beyond, perhaps, understanding the psychological need for developing coping mechanisms.

To the point, today I actually said the following. Don't judge, you can't know my pain.

Oh my gawd, after the last three days 

I could squat and shit on the kitchen table 

and I'd still be doing better than you!

All I will offer up in my defense is this: no child heard me and Paul Bunyan nearly peed his pants laughing at how the mighty (me) have fallen.

Maybe there is still hope for me?

Damn, guess not.

the !@#$% chore sticks, done!

Okie dokie, so these chore sticks that never seem to get done and just hover in my semi conscious demanding I finish them with the intoxicating promise of being helpful ... yeah, I want them done.  I have mentally attached the completion of these sticks to the success and smooth running of this household, so I am feeling a smidgy desperate.

So I gave you the massive list of chores, and I showed you how to make the sticks, and how to take a really ugly picnic utensils basket and make it be something you'd actually want in your home.  So now, how to use it!

Here is the gist of it:

There is the section for the chores not being used this week.

Then there is the section for the regular chores that are always expected and never a commission.  This is the daily stuff that Meatball has to do every day.  We don't think that he should be paid to take care of his basic responsibilities and contributions to the house.

Then there is the section for the 20 chores that are available this week for commission.

I will put the chores in on Sunday and they will remain there all week.  We do not control Meatball on when he does the chores, when and how many are entirely up to him.  There are only 20 chores here per week because he can only earn a maximum weekly commission of $5.  This doesn't sound like much (as far as chore numbers) but with Meatball's other responsibilities -- his daily non-commission chores, school, sports, being a kid -- it really is pushing it for him to hit all 20.  At least, we think it will be.  Obviously we will adjust as needed, and I know that during school breaks we will have to develop a plan of some sort.

Each stick is worth twenty-five cents.  This may sound steep, but Meatball is 11 and we didn't want him to have a max earning of $2.  When the Beans is older and he starts getting chores the amount per stick will be much less and will grow with him.

The very last section on the basket is the "done" section, which is divided into two parts.

One is for the daily non-commission ones, the other for the weekly commission ones.  This makes it easier on Meatball to start each day by grabbing yesterday's done dailies and just putting them in the section he still is working on.  When they mix together it takes longer, which means he just skips it and defeats the whole dang point.

Oh and the container that Meatball insisted that he needed because four sections in the basket wasn't enough?

We have no use for it currently, so it is just sitting behind the chore basket with the "I'm Bored" sticks ... which I don't think I ever posted about either ... I will get on that.  So here it is at a glace, I didn't bother to label the dog kennel or my Scentsy warmer, but I think you get the idear!

So, now they're done, is my house clean and organized yet?  Am I hoping for too much?