As you read this I am frantically running around my house cleaning and getting ready to start cooking. Friends and family will arrive this evening and I guarantee that about now my kids are hating me for nearly doubling their usual chore list. At least I’m not having them clean the baseboards with Q-tips (my usual holiday chore when I was growing up).

In the meantime, while I’m writing this I’m listening to “Dazed and Confused” in the other room. OMG, I love this movie!

Alright, sorry I couldn’t do better than this for ya. But, you can bet, I’ll have pictures. Mike has shaved his head and there will be beer tonight! Let the scalp burns ensue!

Happy 4th of July, guys! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do…

and you KNOW this, MAAAAAAAAN.

*sigh* I love Friday. The movie and the day… but today I am totally looking forward to NEXT Friday. The 4th of July Blitz. WOOT. Where my friend, ED (a girl, no I am not kidding) and I will probably drink too much and dance too loudly and drunkenly in my garage (wide open in front of the entire neighborhood) to 80’s music while we attempt to convince ourselves we are in junior high again.

My kid will roll their eyes, Mike will undoubtedly imbibe one too many keg beers and scorch his scalp under the firework sparks (AGAIN) and we will all eat too much, drink too much and be so damn merry that it will be the best 4th of July since Bing Crosby tap danced with Danny fuckin’ Kaye.

Wait. Wait… wrong holiday.

Perhaps you get my point anyway, right?

*sigh* I freakin’ love summer.

Ok, so this post ought to perfectly describe how this week works for me. Yeah, it’s funny and only slightly exaggerated. The truth of the matter is that I dread this week with a passion only rivaled by Miss Britt’s addiction to shoes.

This is the week where I become convinced that my life is in the toilet, all is hopeless, and that my husband is an even bigger asshole than I was previously convinced he was. It’s a dark, sad, angry week. It’s oh so funny to imagine a stapler poking out of my husband’s head and wishing someone would invent a contraption that would allow me to send some sort of electric volt directly into each of my children’s butt cheeks by remote control, because let’s face it, shock collars are so “1980 called and they’d like their Judas Priest get up back.”

But, the sad truth is that I will undoubtedly pour myself a glass of red wine, climb the stairs to my sanctuary (aka bedroom) flip on a lovely, unemotional documentary and then attempt to forget all about back aches, bloating, migraines, cramps, acne breakouts, telephones, business, children, messes, laundry, the husband (unless he wants to provide that long promised back rub), and the rest of life’s little stresses that are just too much, no matter how insignificant, this week.

I’ll listen to some sad songs, cry, eat too many carbs, have another glass of wine and then fall into a, hopefully, dreamless sleep.

Last year I discussed with my doctor how horrible my PMS symptoms are. She suggested doubling my anti-anxiety, anti-depression meds during this week. Until I described the symptoms I have outside of that week, then she decided to double them full-time. Strangely enough, I don’t see much, if any, difference during this week - but the rest of the time I’m pretty cool.

*sigh*

I’m convinced that no matter how sympathetic they think they are - men have NO idea what women go through just to ensure the continuance of the human race.

Fuckers and their abilities to pee standing up, inability to bear children, and complete lack of PMS/periods.

I have been known from time to time to wake my husband up in the middle of the night whispering, “Michael!!!! Did you HEAR that?!?!?!?”

He wakes up, listens, doesn’t hear it, goes to check it out anyway, comes back to bed, teases me and goes back to sleep. Sometimes he acts grumpy and goes out to check and comes back bitching when he doesn’t find anything. Other times he says, “it’s ok, babe” rolls over and starts snoring loudly.

Except for the other night…

I woke up hearing some sort of drum beat that sounded very much like a tribe of cannibals were prepping for a feast. I shook Mike and watched as his eyes widened because, THIS TIME HE ACTUALLY HEARD IT!!! And, for once he was almost as scared as I was!

He crept downstairs (unarmed and wearing only his underwear) into the family room where nothing appeared to be disturbed with the exception of the keyboard that was on and playing a creepy (at least at 2am) drumbeat.

Liza must have been up torturing the bird and mouse partying and scared the living hell out of herself when she ran across the keyboard. Man, I wish I had a nanny cam in there or something!

The important thing here is that he finally heard the noise too.

Last night there was a cool breeze blowing and Mike and I sat out on the deck to enjoy the sunset. Maggie soon pranced her happy butt out on to the deck and began doing the “I really have to go potty but I’m so happy to be enjoying your company that I’ll put it off for a bit” dance.

I have to admit to briefly considering watching her prance to the point of no return and then calling Ethan to step out on the patio below for an impromptu evening shower. What? Shut up. You all know that I have an evil streak.

Instead I told Maggie to go in and go to the bathroom. She ran into our bathroom that has a small water closet with a window just above the toilet. The window overlooks the deck. Wow that sounds strange, but go with me anyway on this one.

Mike got a sort of evil grin on his face and since I was really enjoying the beer I didn’t feel the need to inquire and/or possibly stop him. He tip toed over to the open window.

“Oooooooo, oooooooo, I’m the bathroom ghost… woooooooo.”

I heard a scream and two little feet slam down on the tile. I guess that’s when she looked back and saw Mike at the window.

“MIKE!!! You don’t say bathroom ghost!!!!”

Mike laughed and I guess that made Maggie mad.

“I’ll kick your ghost ass!!!!!!”

Yep, you can go ahead and overnight that Parent of the Year trophy, folks.

But, I have a hard time thinking I’m as off as someone might have me believe.

This is my house (shortly before we moved in) I would have taken a new picture but a nasty dust storm has blown in and I am not going outside. Ok, so picture:

See the three windows (with the oh-so-helpful red circle?) right in the middle above my front door?

That opens on to an entry that is open to the second story ceiling. A lot of heat (during the summer) comes through those three windows. Lots of options (even inexpensive options) are available to handle this issue.

Yet, someone (who shall remain nameless to protect his/her anonymity) suggested painting a panel (perhaps cardboard?) and using a stick to put them up there in the windows.

When I objected (probably with a more horrified and offended look than I should have used) to this suggestion, I was told that no one else cares what I have in my windows, that no one else (other than myself) pays that much attention to other houses.

So, I ask you:

Do you pay attention to other houses and what things the owners may or may not have done to them or am I just strange?

How would you feel about having some sort of home made panel put in your windows that face the street?

And, yes, in case you are wondering, we DO have an extension ladder.

I’ve decided to name the caterpillar, Slinky. Cuz, ya know…

“Everyone loves a slinky… ya gotta get a slinky… slinky SLINKY… GO SLINKY GO!!!!”

And, I think Slinky is fairly unisex too.

Mike says I come up with bad pet names. Pfft.

If one of those chickens ends up being a hen (please, God, PLEASE!!!) then I’m naming her Bitsy. I don’t see how you can have a chicken and not name it Bitsy. I lived for years with NERO (named after Nero Wolfe character). Ok, I totally encouraged that name. Hee hee. But, a girl chicken named Bitsy? OMG! That’s just CUTE!

Mike is still steamed at me for letting Ethan name the dog Alexander Hamilton. He was studying history and had just gotten back from a trip back east with my mom… SHEEESH! Besides, he goes by Zander anyway. I notice Mike doesn’t get ticked when I call Zander, “Zandy.” I think that’s cute… it’s like Andy with a “Z” which makes me think of Funny Farm with Chevy Chase. I love that movie.

I need to run around the house with a camera attached to my face or neck or something…

Maggie just ran into the kitchen, stuck her head up Mike’s shirt and slowly reached her little hands up…

and HONKED HIS MAN BOOBS.

And, come on, y’all KNOW the thing he has about his nipples.

Had a post. It was pretty funny, at least I thought so.

But, then some people are worried that other people (non-bloggery type people) will read it and… well, it will totally blow the plans to start a porn factory in the garage. Just wait until my husband sees the guys I’ve hired to re-enact that scene from Pulp Fiction with him!

For the first time in about two years - we were child-free.

As in…

Zero children.

The whole house to ourselves. Peace and quiet.

So we left.

We went out and cruised a couple of nursery sections of what may or may not have been chain nursery/home improvement type stores. Then we went out for drinks.

Not dinner. We were feeling wild and free… we went out for drinks.

We had a couple of dinner salads (need that fiber) and some guacamole (it’s the good kind of fat) and we had a few margaritas. And one or two of these:

A Mauricio’s Slammer

Then we came home and I hopped on my computer perusing Ebay while Mike hopped on his computer and perused the local Craig’s List. We were two wild and crazy human beings!

So we had a couple more drinks and my mind began to run with many splendid thoughts of child-less fun; Drinking, smoking cigars, voting… and then it occurred to me, something I hadn’t done in years… if ever! Yet, this was not the time to lament the past. Nay, this was the time to sally forth, or perhaps it was, “ride, Sally, ride…” either way, it was the time to be wild, reckless, and recover a moment of our youth!

We could *gasp* go out to breakfast!

Yes, YES! It could not BE more perfect! Party all night, get loaded with carbs and grease and go to bed, curl up to the sound of the television murmuring softly in the background (home improvement shows, of course!)! It would be the perfect ending to a wild, wild night!!!

My heart raced, my mind was ablaze with reckless abandon… I felt young, wild, and free… I looked at Mike, sitting there so strong and sexy, silently sipping his vodka gimlet (or tequila? I can’t remember if we had run out of gin by this time) and I knew that it was time to tell him of my wild yearnings. My deep desire was about to bubble forth with my wild and crazy idea when I glanced up at the clock…

It was 11:45pm and suddenly, I was very, very tired.