Update on This Might be the Year

Well, the first round of antibiotics didn't cure the z-man's strep throat. Time to move to round two.

I found this article interesting since I was considering moving my family into a bubble house. I guess I better get all the correct permits before I start building.

Ten hours a day, every day, Elizabeth Feudale-Bowes confines herself to a galvanized-steel-and-porcelain shed outside her house. Inside are a toilet, a metal cabinet, a box spring with the metal coils exposed, and a pile of organic cotton blankets. Aluminum foil covers the window. The place is as austere as a prison cell — but it's also her sanctuary from an outside world that she says makes her violently ill.

She and her husband call the structure "the bubble."

This bubble, though, may be about to burst: A judge has ordered it taken down by the end of the month.

Some of the couple's neighbors in suburban South Whitehall Township complained that the 160-square-foot building is unstable and so unsightly it could drag down their property values. The couple also hooked up electrical, water and sewer service without securing permits.

"For the wife's medical problems, there is sympathy. For the owner's defiance of the township's lawful directives, there is no excuse," Judge Carol McGinley ruled earlier this month.

This might just be the year

Remember the movie " The boy in the Bubble?" Ya know, the one about the boy who has a damaged immune system, so he's forced to live in a very sterile environment inside a plastic bubble?

Well, every year I threaten my family that this year will be the year. The year that I force my family to live in a plastic bubble.

Usually the threats don't start until sometime around Dec., when all the snotty nosed kids at school start infecting my angels with all their nasty little germs. Schools are, of course, just one big petri dish of disease.

This year, however the plagues have already started.

Last week my oldest son was home for 2 days with an incredibly disgusting cold.

A few days later, the z-man stayed home with a slight fever and was feeling "blobby".
( he likes to make up words to describe his various illnesses).

Then, yesterday, the z-man gets a fever of 103 and white pus on his tonsils. He slept ALL DAY. The boy was one sick pup.

I hate, hate, hate it when the kiddos are sick. Especially when they use words like weak, shakey, blobby and dying to describe how they are feeling. And when they feel so bad they start crying. That's when my imagination goes into overdrive. I become convinced that the sick child is becoming severely dehydrated, has meningitis or perhaps polio. That's right, I am convinced that my child will be the first child to contract polio in 50 years. Or maybe it's whooping cough or scarlet fever or pneumonia, or mad cow disease, or the asian bird flue or perhaps they're the victim of biological warfare.

I'm a mom. It's my job to worry about the worst case scenario.

So, with three illnesses already in the books since school started, I'm predicting that this just might be " the year".

Just in case I think I'll start collecting supplies...bubble wrap, plastic wrap, tarps, air filtration systems and LOTS and LOTS of LYSOL.

That's right, I'm a Trophy Wife

From 1989-1993 I had no problem telling people what I do. I'm a Physical Therapist, I would reply with some pride and could then go on and make small talk about where I work, what kinds of patients I work with, if I like what I do...etc.

Then, in 1993 with the birth of my first child, I dropped out of the workforce temporarily to nurture my child in those oh so important early years. I kept up my license and could still tell people I'm a PT but am staying at home for awhile with my child untiland this is where things got tricky, because my until timeline kept chaninging; until she's done nursing, until she starts preschool, when she's in Kindergarten, after grade school...

For about 5 years, I kept telling people I was a PT and planned on returning to work. Then somewhere, around the 6th year of being a stay at home mom, with a 6,5 and 1 year old at home, I thought " who am I kidding?" I am officially a...gasp..STAY AT HOME MOM. NOT a HOUSEWIFE! I'm NOT MARRIED to my HOUSE. And I'm not one of those 1950's mom's either..oh, no...I have OTHER interests besides cooking, cleaning and child rearing. I just don't have time to do anything else at the moment.

Ever since then, I've been trying on new titles for my stay at home status. Here's a few I've tried out:
1) Family Manager
2) Mischief Manager
3) Stay at home everything
4) artist ( hey, I've sold a few things!)
5) entrepreneur ( see above)


None of them seemed to fit for very long.

HOWEVER I think I've come up with a keeper.

Now, when asked what I do I proudly reply, "I'm a Trophy Wife". That ususally shuts the asker right up ( although I strongly suspect that some if not most silently pity the poor man that won me).

Anyway, isn't that a cool piece of art in the above photo?

If you have any great answers to the all too often asked question of what do you do, I'd love to hear your reply.

Teetering on the brink

After being without power for 4 days last week and spending the last several weeks deciding whether we should build on the lot we've had for 2 years ( we've decided to keep trying to sell the lot) I was REALLY, REALLY looking forward to some coffee and gab time with my friend, Deb. Deb and I have so much in common and we actually have intellectually stimulating conversations ( as opposed to the ongoing dialogue about the latest wii game or high school drama I have daily with the kiddos). The truth is, Deb is my ONLY friend. I mean, I have aquaintances and some other moms I make small talk with, but Deb's the only friend I have that I share the down and dirty stuff of life with. I feel somewhat deficient because I only have one friend. I envy the blogs of other women who have several girlfriends that get together regularly. I suspect something about me is deeply flawed and that I am missing out on what every other woman on the planet seems to have. But I digress.

The point of this all is that my coffee times with Deb keep me sane and my sanity is teetering on the edge as of late. So, I was totally stoked about coffee with Deb.

So, OF COURSE, the z-man wakes up this morning and declares that he is TIRED and has a BAD HEADACHE. I tell him in my most nurturing voice " that's too bad, you're going to school, I'm sure you'll feel better". ( You're NOT going to ruin my coffee date).

In the car on the way to school, he's still complaining. I give him half an advil and assure him that he'll feel much better by the time we pull into the school parking lot. ( Please, God, let the advil work)

So, I'm practically pushing the boy out of the van when he appeals to me one final time. I reluctantly kiss his forehead and sure enough the little guy has a fever.

The poor guy is sick and all I care about is my fragile sanity. I very reluctantly and with a bit of resentment bring the boy back home. HE BETTER NOT EVEN THINK ABOUT A REMARKABLE RECOVERY IN A COUPLE OF HOURS. And may god help him if he refuses to take a nap.

Coffee and gab time will have to wait for another day.

Diary of a Power Outage

Day 1
Wind has been picking up all day. Electricity has been flickering on and off. Pray outloud " God, pleeeeaase don't let our electricity go out"

6pmish- God answers my prayer with a resounding "Ha, No!" as the lights go off with a loud SNAP! I strongly suspect that He has decided that some lessons in patience, humility and gratitude far outweigh the temporary comforts of electricity.

6:15 - discover that the neighbors across the street still have their electricity. Ever since we moved into our home 7 years ago, the same 12 homes lose power anytime someone sneezes while the rest of the families in our little community have power. I try not to hate them.

7:30pm- have dragged out all the lanterns, candles and flashlights. We are prepared! I feel quite smug and know that I am the best mom in the entire world. ( well, except for the fact that I claimed the best lantern for myself which I feel a bit guilty about, but I AM the Queen PUBAH of my home after all!)

7:35 -husband and I decide to go ahead and go to bed ( operating on our favorite coping method of " just sleeping through the crisis")

Day 2
6:30 am - wake up to sound of hubby's annoying watch alarm after long night of no sleep. We had to sleep with the windows open do to the heat which set off hubby's allergies. He sneezed and blew his nose ALL NIGHT! I decide to vote him off the island. Light candles, turn on lanterns. Discover that kids have no school due to no electricity. Tell teenager who has already showered to go back to sleep.

7am- 10 year old z-man wakes up. I encourage him to go back to sleep. He won't hear of it.

7:01- z-man announces that he is booored. Brace myself for a loooong day ahead and pray to God for patience ( one of His ongoing goals for me, I believe)

8:30 - house is bombarded by 3 other 10 year old boys. They are quite loud at the prospects of a no school day ahead. Teenage daughter grumpily emerges from cave and yells at boys for being so loud.

8:35- I suggest that the boys go to one of their houses that actually has electricity. I had previously come to the conclusion that all the 10 year old boys within a mile radius of our home gather here because of the computers, wii and playstation. I was wrong. They want to stay here, despite our lack of gaming. I cannot fathom why they insist on staying here with a hormonally homicidal mother.

9:00 - boys play their 30th game of hide and go seek. Doors slam, boys shriek. After calmly asking them to go outside and play, I lose my patience ( I know, God,)and yell loudly " GO OUTSIDE, NOW!"

5pm- husband comes home after work. Announce that the electric company says we will have electricity in 4 more days. WHAT!!!!!!! Remind myself that at least we have a home and hot water and food. ( see God? I have gratitude!)

7:30- I head to bed again hoping to sleep through the next 4 days.

Day 3

Yippee!! kids have school. Look forward to quiet day ahead.

Enjoy a day of reading and yardwork uninterrupted by kids. Convince myself that this whole no electricity thing isn't so bad after all.

3:30 pm- kids come home. 10 year olds descend on house. Hide and go seek games begin. My hope fades.

6:45pm- It's already dark. I go to bed. Don't fall asleep for 4 hours, don't get up cuz what's the point?

Day 4

2 girl teens have picture day at school today. Insist on getting to school 30 minutes early to put on make-up and straighten hair. I don't understand why it should take that long since it only takes me 20 minutes from shower to ready to go. Make the mistake of passing on this observation to teens. Am met with rolling eyes.

I have now had 3 mornings without my early morning coffee. Order the Large coffee at the drive through. Pick up a couple of Dr. Peppers at the gas station. Days without electricity require vast quantities of caffeine. It's a scientific fact.

Day 5

Let me share some power outage tips:
1. when all lit, variety of scented candles produce a very nauseating stink.
2. Tapered candles give off best light
3. don't wait until day 4 to look for power generator. The other 200,000 people also still without electricity had the foresight to snatch them up on day 2.
4. libraries frown upon teenagers trying to charge their cell phones in the library bathroom.

I see fleets of electric trucks around the nearby city of Lancaster on way to school. Ask oldest daughter if she has a gun. Wonder if I can hijack an electric crew with a ball point pen.

8pm - electricity restored!!!!!!!! 10 year old immediately turns on tv to watch spongebob. Teens reconnect online. Hubby asks if I had cleaned out fridge of rotting food. Ummmm...I thought about it a couple of times, but kept putting it off. The stink that ememrges from the fridge gags the whole family including the poodle who likes to roll in her own poop. Family votes me off the island. I'm o.k. with that.

Oy, with the hurricanes, already!

This is the one time of year when I'm grateful to be tucked safely in the middle of the country. Other times of the year, I long to live in a cute little cottage along the shore in Maine, or own a cozy beachfront property along the gulf. I picture long days of collecting shells and sea glass, lounging and reading to the sound of waves breaking against the rocky shore.

But not this time of year. I may not have access to a beach or fresh seafood but I can be pretty sure that I don't have to worry about 25 foot waves crashing into my living room. For any of you who live on the east coast, I'm praying for your protection. And if you're reading this and don't believe in prayer, well then I can't help you, you're on your own.

I really wish they'd give up with naming the hurricanes with people names. I have a niece named Katrina. I don't imagine there are very many girls with that name now. Poor kid, from now on her name will immediately be associated with the most devastating hurricane in our country's history. I don't imagine she'll have it easy if she ever wants to get a job in New Orleans.

So I'm sitting here wondering ( because I have dishes to do and am stalling) WHO EXACTLY gets to name the hurricanes? I think I'll google it....BRB.

Oh how I love to Google. Look what I just learned...

There are actually six lists of names in use for storms in the Atlantic. These lists rotate, one each year; the list of this year's names will not be reused for six years. The names get recycled each time the list comes up, with one exception: storms so devastating that reusing the name is inappropriate. In this case, the name is taken off the list and another name is used to replace it; there will not be another Hurricane Andrew, because Andrew has been replace by Alex on the list.

Without further ado, here is the list of hurricane names for 2008:


Arthur
Bertha
Cristobal
Dolly
Edouard
Fay
Gustav
Hanna
Ike
Josephine
Kyle
Laura
Marco
Nana
Omar
Paloma
Rene
Sally
Teddy
Vicky
Wilfred



Wow! Cool! I did not know that! Best of luck to all of you with those names. May your name not become a historically, devastating hurricane. I think I'm safe with my name- Lennea. UNLESS, the hurricane namer is a frequent reader of this blog~ then I'm screwed. But since I stronly suspect that I'm the only one who reads this blog, I think my name will be ok although still unpronouncable my 99.9% of the general public.

O.K., let me just cut to the chase. I want to be the person that names hurricanes. AND I'll do it for FREE!

So, here's MY proposed list for 2009:

Amen!
Bam!
Crud!
Duuude!
Evildoer!
Fudge!
Gobsmacker!
Homewrecker!
Insurgent!
Jeesh!
Killmenow!
Liverspot!
MyGoodness!
Nutcraker!
OhNo!
Pestilence!
QueenBee!
Really??!
ShutUp!
Twister!
UhOh!
Vandal!
Whoa!

I mean, wouldn't you just love to hear Katie Couric say " and now more devastating news about Hurricane DUUDE..."

Why You should never get a White dog

BEFORE



AFTER

OY! WITH THE POODLE, ALREADY!

I got my first pair of Bifocals today

And now the world looks something like this.






Yup, yet another sign of my gradual decline as my body slowly succumbs to the aging process until I disappear completely from the planet.


The opthamologist calls is presbyopia. This is what WIKIPEDIA had so say about that.



"Presbyopia (Greek word "presbys" (πρέσβυς), meaning "old person") describes the condition where the eye exhibits a progressively diminished ability to focus on near objects with age. Presbyopia's exact mechanisms are not known with certainty, however, the research evidence most strongly supports a loss of elasticity of the crystalline lens, although changes in the lens's curvature from continual growth and loss of power of the ciliary muscles (the muscles that bend and straighten the lens) have also been postulated as its cause.

Similar to grey hair and wrinkles, presbyopia is a symptom caused by the natural course of aging. The first symptoms (described below) are usually first noticed between the ages of 40-50. The ability to focus on near objects declines throughout life, from an accommodation of about 20 dioptres (ability to focus at 50 mm away) in a child to 10 dioptres at 25 (100 mm) and leveling off at 0.5 to 1 dioptre at age 60 (ability to focus down to 1-2 meters only)."

Did I mention that I HATE WIKIPEDIA! Like, I get it already. I'm getting old. You don't have to be so BLUNT about it! GEEZ.

What I can't figure out is why the solution to my focusing problem is to have me wear a pair of glasses where the clear visual field is the size of pin head.

The good doctor says I should get used to them in a month or two. A MONTH OR TWO?? REALLY! ARE YOU KIDDING ME????? He doesn't even wear glasses. Isn't there some law that opthamologists must wear glasses - and not the kind for twenty somethings - the kind for OLD PEOPLE, like me? I would tell him all this except, did I mention that my eye doc. is REALLY good looking??? I mean, the type of good looking you only see on reality tv. For him, I'll give it a couple of months.

The Pop Tart Inquisition

If you live in a big family, especially one with 3 teenagers, then you know that food is a hot commodity.

I have very scientifically, with charts, complicated stats and a team from NASA determined the following shelf to stomach life of food in my household.

bag of chips - 3 hours

sugary cereal- 24 hours

fibery cereal - 3 years

oreo cookies - 5 minutes

anything chocolate - 24.2 seconds

can of green beans - 5 years and counting

pop tarts - 18 hours


As you can tell, anything with zero nutrition and 5 million grams of sugar per serving has the lowest shelf to stomach life.

Which is why, being the good mother that I am, my pantry is not always stocked with sugary, hyper-kid inducing foodstuffs. Living in such a household, you learn to eat the "good stuff" quickly and in abnormally large quantities, knowing that the early bird gets the pop tarts.

My husband and I of course HIDE any food we want to actually eat. ( which is why you'll occasionally find a snickers bar in the sock drawer). We don't feel guilty about this - we consider ourselves higher up in the food chain.

Anyway, this is just a long way of explaining the pop tart inquisition that took place in our home this morning ( ONCE AGAIN, BEFORE I WAS FULLY CAFFEINATED!)

teenager 2 - " WHO ATE ALL THE POP TARTS". THERE WERE FIVE POP TARTS IN THE BOX YESTERDAY!

"Z-MAN" ( poor guy, he gets blamed for everything) "DID YOU EAT ALL THE POP TARTS?"

z-man- ( cowering on the couch)" no, I only had one"

teenager 2- "HOW ABOUT ALL YOUR LITTLE FRIENDS?"

z-man - no, none of my friends ate any pop tarts ( which of course is a high crime in our home- you DON'T feed friends the good stuff)

teenager 2- "DAD????", "MOM?", "teenager 3?" WHO ATE ALL THE POP TARTS?

then, with the same look she used when she found out I had destroyed all her binkies when she was 2, she declared " IT WAS TEENAGER 1!!!! HE ATE ALL THE POP TARTS"

teenger 1 has already left for the bus and was therefore unable to defend himself - however having seen him consume and ENTIRE box of cocoa puffs in one sitting, I have suspicians myself.

Determined that justice must be done, teenager 2 proceeds to look for evidence of pop tarts ( wrappers, crumbs) in teenager 1's bedroom, under the bed, in the trash can...

No evidence of pop tart foul play is found.

Court proceedings will commence after school....

The invisible Zit

"I HAVE A ZIT!!!!!!

Yup, those were the first words my bleary ears ( yes, EARS can be bleary) heard out of the mouth of #2 teenager this morning. BEFORE I'VE HAD MY FIRST CUP OF COFFEE.

Now, my children have long known to avoid talking to their hormonally homicidal mother before she is fully caffeinated. They know, unless a limb is dangling by a thin piece of skin, to wait to converse with me until I have a bit of a coffee buzz.

Apparently, teenager#2 thinks having a zit ranks right up their with discovering someone has stolen your liver while you were sleeping.

Fortunately for her, she has caught me on one of those rarest of days when my adrenal gland is actually working and my brain has an adequate supply of serotonin. " I can do this" I think to myself. I can show my daughter motherly concern over her zit.

Me- "Let's take a look"

teenager- "It's right HERE!" pointing disgustedly to the side of her nose.

Me- " I don't see anything"

teenager-" sigghh... RIGHT HERE" ( more exaggerated pointing)

Me- "Let me turn on the light...bring your face closer...nope, I don't see anything"

At this point teenager rolls her eyes as only teenagers can do and stomps up to her room.

A few minutes later, she reappears and triumphantly proclaims that she has successfully covered up the gargantuan zit.

"Terrific" I say. "I don't see a thing" ( not to mention I didn't EVER see a thing).
Problem solved.

10 year old Z-man enters the room. to teenager- "EWWWW! You have a BIG ZIT on YOUR FACE!"

My heart warms. Awww... the love between siblings.

Complaint of the Day

The Complaint of the Day comes from no other than the Master Complainer...Z-MAN!!!! He gets extra points for originality, obscurity and leaving me with a loss of words.


From the Z-man:

"My bellybutton hurts"

What? How am I supposed to respond to that? Guess I'll have to google it...


Ugghhh! I should no better than to Google symptoms. Now I have to worry about THIS:


The main symptom of appendicitis is belly (abdominal) pain. The pain can feel like indigestion or like you need to have a bowel movement or pass gas. Many people feel the first pain near the belly button. Then it moves to the lower right side of the belly. But the pain can be in different parts of your belly or even on your side. The pain may get worse if you move, walk, or cough. You may also have a fever or feel sick to your stomach.

Many people who have had appendicitis say the pain is hard to describe. It may not feel like any pain you have had before. It may not even be a very bad pain, but you may feel like something is wrong. If you have moderate belly pain that does not go away after 4 hours, call your doctor. If you have severe belly pain, call your doctor right away.

I REALLY, REALLY am NOT in the mood for the z-man to have an appendicitis. God help us all if he ever needs any kind of surgery...

Turd Soup

I'm not sure I would read a post with this title- but I assure you, if you have read this far, no descriptive language will be used. So go ahead and eat that sandwich while you read.

So, anyone who has boys knows that they are FASCINATED with bodily functions. The funny sounds and things that come out of the body make up approximately 98% of a 7-12 year old boy's conversations. ( The other 2% involves ways of blowing up things)

Anyway, my 10 year old son is an absolute genius at coming up with phrases that evoke me to respond using his full name, ZANE KENNETH CLARK TRUESDELL!!!! while giving him "the look". "The look" given along with the full name uttered an octave below my normal speech is supposed to let him know that if I ever hear this offensive phrase again, my head will explode and he'll have to clean up the mess and will no longer enjoy the blessings of having the best mom in the whole world. However, this method rarely works and he will continue to use the offensive phrase until he's thought up a better ( and more disgusting) one.

The latest phrase is "turd soup". DISGUSTING! If he forgets something- "Oh, TURD SOUP", if he doesn't get his way - " Well, TURD SOUP". And since nothing is ever quite right in his world, we get to hear "Turd Soup"...23 times a minute.

So, I was shopping with the kids yesterday and just as I was ready to checkout, I realized I had forgotten an important item clear on the other side of the store and I say..." Oh, TURD SOUP!". Loud enough for ALL THREE KIDS to hear. I thought they were going to pee their pants from the laughing.

So what does every good mom do when she utters something not so wholesome? I apologize for using inappropriate language and take the opportunity to pull out lecture # 53 on how if you hear bad stuff from other people enough, it's bound to come out of your own mouth at some point which is why it's not ok for your friends to have bad language OR YOUR CHILDREN.

I'm sure I'll be hearing about this slip up at every family get together from now until eternity.

The master complainer

My youngest, the Z-man has always been a bit of a complainer and very dramatic. Thank goodness he's cute as a button and a super snuggler. Otherwise it would be pretty hard to laugh over the following:

Z-man's list of complaints this morning ( in a span of, I kid you not, five minutes)

1. I'm REEEEEAAALLLLY TIIRED and REEEEAAALLYY WEEEAAAK ( he's known to pull this one when he doesn't want to go to school- and I have to give him credit- it's nonspecific, a symptom of many different illnesses, impossible to disprove and allows for a "comeback" later in the day where he feels better to play playstation and Wii.

2. Something just STUNG my PINKY TOE! ( yup, my kids call their little toe a pinky toe and their big toes, thumb toes- drives me crazy.)

3. My belt's too long. ( the kid has a 4 inch waist, EVERY belts too long)

4. I can't find any socks to wear. ( funny, I found 5 of your socks under various pieces of furniture just yesterday)

5. I didn't get ANY sleep last night. ( yeah, well welcome to the club. I haven't had a good night's sleep since 1992)

6. I hate the zipper on my backpack. ( the same backpack you BEGGED my to get cuz your perfectly good backpack from last year isn't cool anymore???)

7. I'm having a bad hair day- it's REAALLY TALL - like a FOOT off my head. ( Not a problem, where's the clippers?)

8. I can't find my toothbrush. ( Now, this complaint's actually encouraging- it means, he does, on occasion BRUSH HIS TEETH!)

And that's why I'm the bestest mommy in the whole world. I listened to his whole tirade with motherly tsks, you'll be fines and grunts and DIDN'T LOSE MY TEMPER ONCE! Let's see Michael Phelps do THAT!

Pet Peeve no. 1

I fondly remember a 2 month period of time in my life when my hormones weren't making me crazy. During those blissful 2 months, I don't recall having any pet peeves. Stupid stuff just didn't bug me. My estrogen, progesterone, testosterone and brain chemicals were perfectly balanced. Other people weren't irritating planetary cohabitators consuming precious oxygen. That was back in 1979.

Then I got my period.

Since 1979 my number of pet peeves has increased gradually at times and exponentially when pregnant, post partum, and when I turned 35 at which time my number of PMSing days increased from 1 to 32.

Now, I have approx. 573 pet peeves. 1 of which I feel compelled to share with you today. AREN'T YOU JUST THE LUCKY ONE!

MY PET PEEVE #1:
1. Stupid people working the drive thru window at fast food "restaurants". Now, I am a reasonable person and realize that not every window worker has the IQ of a slug. I personally know 1 such worker that should be working for NASA.

Several times a week I go through the drive thru of a coffee place where the conversation inevitably goes something like this:

"May I take your ord" ( they always cut off too early)

"Yes, I'd like 1... honey wheat bagel... toasted with butter,... 1 cinnamon raison bagel... toasted with cream cheese,... 1 sausage breakfast sandwich,... 1 chocolate milk,... 2 apple juices,... 1 coffee with 2% milk,... 1 cream filled chocolate doughnut... and one chocolate glazed doughnut. ( hey, I have 4 kids)

" ummm, what did you want on your honey wheat bagel?"

" I want it toasted...with...butter."

"O.K., that's one honey wheat bagel toasted with butter, will there be anything else?"

Sigghhhhhhhhhhhhh.....

My child may starve today.

7:40 am. The kiddos are on their way to school with their dad which is about a 30 minute drive. The Z-man (10 year old son) just called in his most panicked voice "I FORGOT MY LUNCH!!!!!!!" I reply very kindly " No problem, just eat the school lunch". Z-man " BUT IT'S RAVIOOOOOLI!" in a whiny voice sure to shatter car windows within a mile radius. Me- " Well, I'm not making the hour round trip into school just to deliver your lunch, what with gas prices the way they are, I'd have to sell a kidney, not to mention I have more important things to do (like drink a few more cups of coffee and watch reruns of Spin City) than spend and hour delivering your lunch to school." Z-man " OK, THEN, BUT IM NOT EATING RAVIOLI, AND I'LL STARVE AND YOU DON'T EVEN CARE". Me- " well, my sweet child, if you're hungry enough, you'll eat it, I love you, have a good day, goodbye" Cuz I KNOW if I don't get off the phone NOW, his whining will get so loud, he'll shatter my ear drum.

Now, where's that sandwich he left in the kitchen- I'm hungry.

Welcome to Hormonally Homicidal

Frequently Asked Questions ( rather, questions I imagine I may be asked if this wasn't the first post and someone had actually visited this site)

Q: Have you actually ever killed anyone?
A: MUWahahahahahahahahah...no.

Q: Do you have plans to kill anybody?
A: No, but if you tick me off YOU'LL BE THE FIRST TO GO

Q: Why does blogland, which is already inundated with 300 million blogs need another blog?
A: Because no other blog represents the hormonal, angry, Christian wife, mother. You'll find blogs about parenthood, Christianity and hormones written by angry people BUT NOT usually in a one stop covers it all blog.

Q: You claim to be a Christian. Isn't one of the ten commandments THOU SHALT NOT KILL?
A: Let me clear this up once and for all. I HAVE NOT BEEN CHARGED CONVICTED of HOMICIDE.

Q: How many days of the month are you hormonally homicidal
A: 32

Q: I don't believe in all the PMS/ menopausal hype. I think it's just an excuse for my wife to act like a b***h 32 days a month.
A: Honey, get off the computer and go order take out. NOW!