Thissss.....is.... the way I live....

I have a tune wedgie. It's "The Way I Live" by Baby Boy Da Prince. If you haven't heard the song, you can click on that link and go hear it on his MySpace site. Be careful, though. It might become your tune wedgie!

Every time my life takes a detour down the road I didn't intend to travel, that song pops into my head.

Like two days ago.

I picked up my 3 youngest children from school. My 4 year-old was playing on the playground, which is right next to the entrance. As soon as I saw him, I knew something was up (or, rather, OUT). He was standing off to one side of the playground by himself, grasping his behind with one hand.

"Oh, great. PLEASE, God, don't let that be what I think it is."

I went inside, picked up my 6 and 2 year-olds, and met the 4 year-old in the lobby as he was coming off of the playground with his class.

As soon as I saw my son's teacher, I said, "I think Quinn had an accident." Her reply? "Yeah. I know."

Huh? IF YOU KNEW, why is he still outside with dirty drawers on?

(There are other teachers out there to watch her class. I don't see why she could not have brought my sweet boy in and helped him clean himself up. He even has extra clothes in his classroom cubby for such a time as this! My son is potty trained, but he is painfully shy and will not tell a teacher he needs to come back inside to go potty. The teacher KNOWS THIS.)

My son was crying, and had been for awhile. Bless his heart.

I took him to the car and cleaned him up. He continued to sob and apologize for soiling himself. I was furious with the teacher. The poop was dried and stuck to my son's sensitive skin. I had to scrub hard to get it off. I was almost in tears by the time I was done, because I knew I was hurting him.

(On a funny side note: The only clothes I had in the car were my 2 year-old daughter's bike shorts. I put them on my son, which made him look like he was wearing a Speedo. I wish I had my camera!)

So anyway.... I got my son cleaned up. I just threw the dirty pants into the trash can I keep in the car. I wasn't going to bother cleaning them. No way.

I got back into the car and I couldn't find my car key. I keep it separate from my key ring because it's one of those big keys that has the remote unlocker doohickey on the key. I had set it down in the melee and couldn't find it.

The kids were roasting. It was so hot in the car (which has black upholstery... not my first choice, but we bought it used...)

I found it! And we were off to get my daughter.

On the way to her school, I stopped off at the gas station (did I mention my gas gauge is broken just like the one on the van we traded for this "new" car? Yeah. I hate cars.)

I took the stinky trash can out of the car and dumped it into the one at the gas station.

And that's when my 4 year-old started wailing.

"My Power Ranger underwear! MOMMMMMEEEE! My dirty underwear was in there!" And on and on and on and on... He gets so very attached to things, and when he starts crying about something, he becomes fixated on it and repeats the same phrase over and over... So, on the way to the school I had to listen to him mourning his lost Power Ranger underpants. After all, they had the red ranger on them. How could I not know that?

And that's when the song popped into my head.

"Thiiiissssss..... isssss..... thuh..... way I live....."

It's always something.

Just a few minutes ago it was something else.

I had promised my kids ALL.WEEK.LONG that we would give "Sparkle" (our car) a bath on Saturday.

We had breakfast, the kids changed into their swimsuits, and we went outside.

I wanted to get the interior clean first, so I loaded all of the kids inside the car and got them to pick up the trash and toys. Not five minutes into the process I hear...

"MOMMY! Lillian's peeing in her car seat!"

Camryn (who is 9) had been nice enough to get Lillian dressed for me, but she had forgotten the crucial step: the diaper. So, I told Camryn to take her sister back inside and put a diaper on her.

I continued to vacuum.

The boys got rowdier and rowdier. I had to separate them.

Then I heard Camryn yelling for me.

"MOMMY! Lillian fell off of her changing table and landed ON HER HEAD!"

Just shoot me. Shoot me now. WHO KNEW washing a stupid car would be this much trouble?

Lillian was fine. She was just scared. She didn't actually land on her head. My older daughter just has a flair for the dramatic.

So we all went back outside and finished cleaning up the car. By the time we were done, there was a stench coming from the vacuum. I don't know what it was, but it smelled dead. I don't think I want to know what it is.

I sent everyone back inside and I moved the car from the garage to the driveway. We prepared the bucket of suds and brought it outside. Everyone was excited. They couldn't wait to turn on the water and spray each other (er... I mean.... clean the car....)

We went around to the side of the house to unwind the hose, and we found a dead mouse. Evidently I squished him in the process of moving the car.

Now I'm a mouse killer. My 4 year-old: "Mommy? Do you not like mouses? Won't his mommy miss him?" My 6 year-old: "He sure is cute. Or, he WAS. Now he's squished."

We turned on the water to power up the hose

AND

there was no water. It's been turned off all winter long. The valve is in the attic, and I have no idea how to turn the water on. That's my husband's job, and he's at work.

So guess what he gets to do when he gets home?

Clean dead mouse guts off of the driveway and supervise the car wash.

"Thiiiissssss..... isssss..... thuh..... way I live....."

Guess What?!?

My sister is coming! My sister is coming!

I have not seen my sister since Christmas Day. (Have we ever gone that long without seeing each other, Brooke?)

She's coming to visit for a few days in May. Her visit will coincide with Mother's Day, and I can't think of a better visit than a weekend with my sister. Really.

I came up with a brilliant plan for Mother's Day. I'll have an early brunch with my husband, kids and sister at Embassy Suites or Italian Market. Then, my husband will take the kids to his mother's for the day and my sister and I will hang out together without the kids! That sounds like the perfect day to me. I want to see a movie and go shopping somewhere that I wouldn't go if the kids were with me. Kirkland's? TJ Maxx? Who knows. I foresee lots of spending whereever I go, though. It's been so long since I had a girls' day with a grown-up girl!

Did I tell you my sister is coming?

I can't wait!

My name is Beth and I'm an addict

I'm addicted to Webkinz.

There, I said it. It feels good to be open about it.

I never got caught up in the whole Beanie Babies craze, and to be honest, I'm not addicted to *owning* Webkinz. I hate when a toy becomes a must-have item because no one can find them anywhere. It bothers me when something becomes overly popular and impossible to find because people are buying them up and putting them on Ebay.

But enough about that. Let's talk more about me.

I love playing the games at Webkinz.com. After my kids go to bed, I play the games in the arcade practically all night long. The kids love it, because while I'm playing, I'm also earning KinzCash for them. So I justify my addiction by telling myself I'm doing it for my kids.

Yeah, that's it. It's for the kids.

ABC News says it's bad for the kids. They didn't say it was bad for ADULTS. So I'm okay, right?

Turn Your Head and Cough

I found my 2 year-old daughter, Lillian, sitting in my closet this morning. She had her pretend stethoscope around her neck and was attempting to find her heartbeat.

In her foot.

Bless her heart. It doesn't look like being a doctor is in her future.

I don't think she'll ever work at a nail salon, either.



Given the powerful set of lungs she has, she's probably going to end up being that person in the Kia radio ads. You know. The one that screams "Aaaaaah! FRIENDS! Have we got an AMAAAAAAAAZING deal for you!" Thousands, nay, MILLIONS of people will switch the radio when my daughter's voice comes over the airwaves.

I'll be so proud! (And then, I'll switch the channel, too. Sorry, Lillian.)

Dancing with the Stars

I'm really enjoying this season's "Dancing with the Stars", despite the presence of the sympathy-sucking "Charity Campaigner IS SO a Real Job!" Heather Mills and "You've Got Something Crawling on Your Chin, Dude" Apollo Anton Ohno.

Leeza Gibbons is totally kicking butt for a 50 year-old woman. You rock, Leeza. (You dance like one, too, but that's a different entry... loosen up, girl!)

Laila Ali needs a voice lift so she doesn't sound like her famous father, but she dances well. I love Joey Fatone. Nothing bad to say there (anyone who can make "Star Wars" look less geeky is a winner in my book!) Even Cliff Clavin seems to be doing alright (compared to Master P a couple of seasons ago...)

But the person who's waltzing his way into my heart?

Ian Ziering.

Sigh.

I know. He's almost old enough to date Leeza, but he's not bad to look at. Yeah, his hairline is receding quicker than the line at burger joint whose fry cook just found out he has Hepatitis C, but he looks nice for a guy that's thisclose to earning Social Security (Hang in there, Ian! You can quit looking for acting jobs soon! The government will help!)

Maybe he just brings back good memories of watching "BH: 90210" in my dorm room in college. A Papa John's pizza paid for with a check that may or may not bounce and an evening with Donna, Kelly and the gang.

Those were good times.

Mirror, Mirror, On the wall....

....I have become my mother after all.

It's official. I am now my own mother.

I have been doing mom-like things for a long time. My husband usually catches me and says, "Hey, Linda! Stop it!" (Linda is my mom's name. The man sure knows how to get my attention!)

Lately I have become even more mother-like. I have noticed that I have started to fling my arm out across the passenger seat when I have to brake suddenly. (I guess my arm is there in case the seatbelt AND the airbag fail to work? Who knows.)

I say things to my kids that my mother said to me when I was a kid. When I say these things, it eerily sounds like my mother's voice coming from my mouth.

Like the day I told my boys not to eat their boogers because it would make worms grow in their stomachs. Why the heck did I say that? That was one thing that freaked me out as a kid, yet I REPEATED IT to my kids. (They still pick their boogers and eat 'em, so I guess they don't care about worms.)

I've walked through piles of stuff in my kids' rooms and warned them that they need to keep the floors clean because in a fire I might trip over the piles of junk and not be able to save them from the burning house.

Yep. My mom told me that one, too. Strangely, for months afterward I had nightmares about the house burning down. Great parenting, I tell you.

The worst thing, though... the dreaded thing that has made me realize I have turned into my mother....

I'VE STARTED TO HUM.

Oh, woe is me. It's true.

My mom loves to hum along to songs. She doesn't sing along. She hums. It has irritated the snot out of me my entire life. So WHY am I now doing it?

I can tell you why. In my aging wisdom, I have discovered why my mother hums. And guess what?

IT IS ALL MY FAULT.

See, I like music. I LOVE to sing along to the radio, but I'll sing along to anything, really. TV commercials. Kids' videos. "The Little Mermaid" is my favorite movie to sing along to. I know all the words. Even the French song that the chef sings when the Sebastian the crab is about to get stuffed. Les Poissons. LOVE that song.

But, like Edith Bunker, I've been warned to stifle it. My daughter is evidently very sensitive to my singing, so much so that she barks at me whenever I sing along to something.

"MOMMMMMMMMEEEEEEE. PUH-LEASE stop singing."

Therefore, in place of singing, I've turned to humming.

Like my own daughter, I chastised my mom for singing. I have no idea why (other than she always tried to sing the harmony instead of the melody). But, I did it to her. And, so, there it is. That's why my mother hums. I stifled her. I told her to stop singing, so she did the only thing she could do. She started to HUM.

I made my mother a Hummer.

And it's come back to haunt me.

FYI

For your information...

Febreze sprayed on a cat that has been doused in perfume does nothing to help the smell, but it sure does upset the cat.

Thanks to my darling, precious, wonderful 4 year-old son, Quinn, my cat is now wearing perfume.

And LOTS of it.



It's "Chloe" by Karl Lagerfeld, and normally I LOVE smelling it (on myself!) but somehow it smells different on a cat. I'm a bit overwhelmed by the scent (the cat is sitting beside me right now).

My son smelled like it, too, but he had a bath.

Ever try to wash a cat?

I think I'll put up with the smell, thankyouverymuch.

Or, maybe I'll try this method.