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- Scott is going to kill me for this one.
- Just another Monday, hiding from the fuzz.
- Someone bring me some pizza, I'm busy.
- This post is for the bloggers. If you're not a blogger come back next week and find out why the Dept. of Family and Child Services is after me. Again.
- I'm just one Super Nova away from creating my own black hole.
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I'm pretty sure Parker wants to get into the movie making business.
The very lucrative Pee-Oh-R-En movie making business.
This is the flier she made for her auditions:
I can tell it's a Pee-Oh-R-En because the stick figures doing the acting have little hearts drawn in connecting their mouths. There are two scenes apparently. First, when the dishwasher repair man shows up at the house of the lonely housewife. And second, when they hit the bed. Except she drew the scenes out of order. Because it's an art film.
I think Parker is behind the camera. Sheesh. Everyone wants to direct.
.
I completely forgot that I was going to tell you people why the Department of Family and Child Services might be after me. As soon as the wounds heal the whole story zips out of my head apparently. But I was going through pictures this weekend and remembered. Ahh it's so fun to the the mom....
Ok, so the cool thing was that when Tempel was running and slipped and smashed her head on the stairs the wound actually spurted blood. Yes. Spurted. Horizontally to the floor. I mean nothing bleeds like a head wound and all but that little feat was unexpected. She freaked the eff out too. I don't blame her, it was pretty scary.
Blood's pouring down her little face and I'm trying to put pressure on the wound and Parker's crying (out of sympathy, not guilt) and Scott's screaming, "Stop pushing on it! We need ice!" and I'm going, "But I'm trained in girl scout first aid and we're supposed to push!" It was an interesting few minutes.
So her eye swelled up grotesquely, the cut on the eyebrow looked bad but not stitch worthy, and the bruising began immediately. If I had an eye patch I would've sent her to school the next day with it as a pirate. Argh. I really am long overdue for owning my own eye patch.
So anyway, the next day I got a call from the Vice Principal. Because she had seen the eye and it looked bad... Um yeah right. I think they were just checking on me. You know, a not too subtle we're watching you kind of thing. Hello! I did not hit my kid in the face and give her a black eye.
The third day her eyeball went red. It was pretty gross. And my pediatrician said to take her in. It was too late for his office so we went to the Clinic. Where they made a point to separate her from me twice to check our story. Awesome. She was fine by the way.
But the best part of the eye fiasco week was when I picked Parker up from soccer practice...with a budding shiner. Yep, she had a black eye too. So by Friday it looked like my kids had gotten on my last nerve and in a fit of red hot rage I grabbed each one on the back of the head and smacked their skulls together Three Stooges style.
Do you think it would be weird for me to make them wear a helmet around the house? Just til this thing blows over?
On another, non violent note, I'm guest posting over at The Mouthy Housewives today. Some poor girl needed some love life advice. I suggest a threesome. What? Not what you would've said?
My blog is moving. I don't know the details exactly. It's kind of like the Witness Protection Program. They're going to swoop in and wisk me away to a designated location and I'm just riding in the back of the van with the cute agents and their US Government issued sunglasses.
I'm busy. Busy. Busy. Please send pizza to feed my family.
Actually, Desperately Seeking Wordpress is doing all of the work on the blog transfer. That's not why I'm busy.
I'm busy because my very mean friend Becky gave me the Twilight books for my birthday and I accidentally started reading and now I can't stop and it's just a sick and frantic flipping of pages for every spare hour I can find and I'm pretty sure that Scott is so sick of me living with my nose in a book that he will at some point this week put a pillow over my head and put me out of his misery.
So while I'm reading, and then gasping for breath, can you go in and change your subscriptions to Carolyn...Online? Technically I'm moving from CarolynOnline dot Blogspot dot com to CarolynOnline dot com. See? I'm ditching the "Blogspot" part.
Basically if you're subscribed to Carolyn...Online in any way - either getting it in your email or through your feedreader - you need to resubscribe. I'm sorry. What a pain in the ass right?
I'm sure this will cause untold issues and the mess will be months in the fixing and the growing pains with be quite intense. I hope I don't lose any of you. If I do I promise to be like that dog and cat in that Disney movie that chased their family across the Rocky Mountains when they got left behind after the family vacation.
Ok bloggers, most of you know about a little manic daily blog thing in November called NowGoBloMe. Wait that's not it . . . NoMoreBloPops.
Oh I kid. It's called NaBloPoMo = Nationl Blog Posting Month. And there's it's little bastard cousin called NaNoWriMo = National Novel Writing Month.
I'm not participating in either of these November events because I'm lazy. But if you are then good for you and keep it up and mainline the coffee and all that.
But I have decided to create my own little November event in solidarity with this frantic blogging month. I'm calling it NaBloCoEmFxFrGdsSk = National Blog Comment Email Fix For God's Sake. I think it has quite a ring to it.
My goal is to get every blogger who reads this to fix their email comment reply settings. Why? Because when you leave me these funny comments I read them on my 'berry and I giggle and then I reply to you and your funniness. Then I realize that you have your comment reply settings set to go to the land of lost emails: "no reply at blogger dot com." And our whole line of communication is lost. I just can't have that.
So I'm instituting NaBloCoEmFxFrGdsSk.
I'm not even sure which setting controls the email monster. But I'm going to let you look at my settings because I'm all sharey like that.
Ok so I'm sharey but I'm not very techy so you can't read these images very well. But you'll get the gist of it
First, if you're on Blogger log into your account. Go into the Settings Tab (see the big fat red circle I drew to draw your eye to the Settings Tab?)
Second, scroll down until you see the two places where you can put your email address. I have no idea which one of these actually controls the comment email address so I would suggest you just change both of them to your real email address. And that's that. Go forth. Participate in NaBloCoEmFxFrGdsSk and let the conversation begin!
You know what's weird? Aside from your obsession with all things vampire and my dog's ceaseless ball licking?
Gravity.
Gravity is weird because there seems to be a rift at my front door. Really. Gravity is stronger just after you pass over the threshold into my house. It's so strong in fact that it manages to pull things off of my children and onto the floor.
I don't see another explanation for it. They walk in the door like normal bipedal backpack carrying mammals and then swoosh! the second they cross the threshold their backpacks fall to the floor. Their shoes fly off. Their jackets are sucked to the earth. I see no other reasonable explanation.
Gravity, it seems, is stronger at my front door.
It's probably hard to get the better of a gravitational pull all drunk with power and running amok in my foyer like that but I'm going to try. I've decided that everything that gets sucked to the ground by this errant gravity field will be my booty. Because I'm like a Gravity Pirate. Arrgghh.
So I will diligently gather up my booty every day and take it to the caves where I will bury my treasure. Half of my stash will go into the cave known as Tempel's Bed and the other half will go into the cave known as Parker's Bed.
Tempel's Bed will conceal a bountiful treasure comprised of dirty Uggs, smelly Tupperware containers with sticky strawberry juice, candy wrappers, one red fuzzy sweatshirt jacket with the sleeves turned inside-out, and a backpack heavy with Pokemon cards.
Parker's Bed will be ripe with stinky shin guards, muddy soccer cleats, reams of papers and file folders, one Tupperware container filled with the crust of a peanut butter sandwich, and a backpack heavy with ill-begotten colored pencils.
I will tuck these treasures in their beds - I mean caves - under their pillows and stuffed animals and blankets. Then every night the girls can keep watch over the stinky sticky smelly loot to make sure it doesn't get sucked through the black hole in our foyer.
A mother's work is never done.
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