My New Life Of Leisure

"Remember when we lived in the desert and Mom took our picture on the first day of school in front of the cactus?"



Sarah.



Gregory



Amanda

I love this tradition. Here they were at three, four, and five.

The kids got up between 7 and 8 and we had plenty of time to eat, get dressed, and walk a block to school.



The commute is brutal.



It was utter chaos on the playground with 400 students and their parents, but we found the correct line and they all happily trotted off with their teacher.

We walked home and then Greg and Austin took off and left me completely and totally alone.

IT WAS HEAVEN. My friend Leslie emailed me at 10:30 and asked me what I was doing?

"I fed my chickens and put new straw in their nests, then I stood outside in the driveway and talked to my retired neighbor Toni for 30 uninterrupted minutes. Then I vacuumed and made all the beds and put all the laundry away. And I am typing this email while listening to my sister on speaker. AND MY HOUSE IS STILL CLEAN AND I LOVE MY LIFE!"

And I didn't walk in the bathroom once yesterday and find unflushed poop in the toilet. NOT ONE TIME!!!

And everytime I walked in a room, IT WAS STILL CLEAN!

I almost had to pinch myself to believe I was living in MY OWN LIFE!

Then Greg and Austin came home and we fed him lunch. And it was SO QUIET.




Then it was back to the school at 12:50 to drop him off at kindergarten.

Which is a big, old mess, but we'll talk about that another day. Except he has 30 CLASSMATES AND OHMYGOD I'LL BE WORKING IN THERE ALL YEAR, GOD DAMN IT.



Austin and our neighbor's son Patrick were as thick as thieves. I am so glad that he has someone we know and play with all the time in his class. This is going to be a very, very easy transition for him from preschool.

Patrick's dad is a HUGE UNLV Rebel's fan. So when another little boy sat next to them in his BYU shirt, I was afraid Patrick would start chanting, "Boo Boo BYU."

But he didn't. Yet.

You should have seen all the mothers crying. I just stared at them like one might peer at monkeys at the zoo. These crying mothers are a curious breed to me. They start crying, then their little monkeys start crying. Fascinating.

Then Greg and I ZOOMED out of there and went to lunch. And then we went SHOPPING. This will require a completely separate post. And I need another post about how lunch went at school. Then another post about all the homework we got ON THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL.

But, today, I want to just revel in the fact that my house stayed clean FOR ONE ENTIRE DAY.

I could get totally used to this new life of leisure. Pinch me. Quick.

I Don't Know If I'll Have Enough TIme

I am such a nervous wreck over the kids starting full time school today, I have been wide awake since 5am.

I already showered, emptied the dishwasher, and made their lunches. It is 6:08am. They have to be there at 9:05am.

DO YOU THINK WE'LL MAKE IT ON TIME?

A Trip Down Memory Lane

With only one more day to go before first grade starts, I took a trip down memory lane. This is my first grade picture.



I had twenty three in Mrs. Ludwig's class. Mrs. Ludwig was also my mother's first grade teacher. And see the boy in the sweater vest in front of the sign? His name was Robbie and he was HOT. I loved him. I used to chase him around the playground, throw him down, and kiss him.

How do I remember all that stuff? My mom kept a School Years journal for me and it has all my photos and report cards and certificates. I wrote in it every year who my friends were and what I liked to do in each grade.



So I bought four for the kids last year. I found one that went from preschool to 12th grade.



And there is a place for photos and pouches to put all the report cards and other mementos from each grade. Amanda was a "little bit scared" on her first day of preschool. I had already forgotten that, but that's what her book says.



Then there are places to put class pictures too.

Now let's see if I can keep those up, times four, for the next 12 years. My mom quit when I was in eighth grade. SLACKER.

School IS Prison

We had Austin's Meet & Greet yesterday for kindergarten.

It's funny how over the summer, when we are in our sheltered world, I forget that we live in Las Vegas, the armpit of humanity.

Austin got to meet some new friends yesterday. The first child had a gigantic mohawk which ended in a big rat tail, which matched his dad's gigantic mohawk and rat tail. They even had father/son combat boots on. It was 105 yesterday, so I can see the reasoning behind the knee-high black boots. You never know when little Johnnie might need to stomp the shit out of something, right?

His other new little playmate had diamond stud earrings. Big giant diamond earrings on a five year old boy.

Our neighbor is sending his son Patrick to kindergarten this year with Austin. We were all sitting around the pool drinking cocktails last night and pondering why anyone would feel the need to put diamond earrings on their five year old boy?

"Should we teach our kids to jack him?", Scott wondered.

People are just fuh-reaks in this town.

Culture shock. I am in culture shock.

Fortunately, I know five other boys from our neighborhood starting kindergarten this year and I know all their mothers and I feel confident that Austin will be fine.



The good news from yesterday is that we got to see the other kids' first grade class and meet their teacher.

Imagine my surprise to walk in their room and look at the nametags at all the desks and know 80 percent of the children in their class. We have eighty kids in first grade. Gregory is sitting next to Big Tall Kid, who taught him the F word last year. Amanda is sitting next to Little Peanut. Sarah is sitting next to Preston, the Mormon kid that is at our house all the time. I know all those kids' parents. I have worked with those kids in the classroom.

WEIRD!!! What are the odds?

I am not thrilled that Gregory is next to Big Tall Kid. He is too smart for his own good. He started kindergarten reading chapter books and thinks he is superior to everyone and Gregory cops an attitude when he is around him.

But it could be SO MUCH WORSE. At least I KNOW what I'm up against.

Their teacher has taught for 12 years and she has a really bubbly personality. She made sure to tell me she went to college in Utah, since I must be Mormon.

My ONLY beef is that the classroom is in a broom closet. It has no natural light at all. No windows. I really dislike that feeling.

"It's like a prison.", I told Greg.

"School IS prison, Michele. We are institutionalizing them."

Our neighbor Scott used to be a lawyer and is now a stay-at-home dad.

"How does Margarita Mondays sound, Michele?", he asked.

You Win Some, You Lose Some

I apologize in advance for the low quality pictures. Pioneer Woman, I am not. But this recipe is so yummy!!! Thanks, Meagan!

Three Cup Chicken



The original recipe called for boneless, skinless chicken thighs, but I went ahead and used breasts. The kids are not big fans of dark meat. I know. What is WRONG WITH THEM?

So I cut up four chicken breasts and browned them in 1 tablespoon of oil, then removed them from the pan.

Then I sauteed 10 slices of ginger and 2 cloves of sliced garlic.



Next I added 1/2 cup of sesame oil. 1/2 CUP. HELLO CELLULITE!!!! 1/2 cup of white wine. The recipe called for sherry, but I always just use whatever wine I'm drinking at the time. 1/3 cup of water and 3 tablespoons of sugar.



Then you bring that to boil, then reduce the heat and let the liquid reduce for 20 minutes.

During this time period, the kids went crazy. They were so hungry, they started ambushing the pan and dipping spoons in and licking them. I had to yell at them.



Then I added 1/2 cup of Thai basil and ONE chili pepper. The recipe called for 3 but I was afraid it would be too hot for the kids. I could have done three. It was not hot at all. I could have used more basil too. I was afraid the licorice taste would be overpowering, but IT WAS DELICIOUS.

My photos do not do this meal justice. The kids DEVOURED IT. Greg got home late and there was only a smidgen left.

My only regret is that I did not double the recipe. This is a keeper and going into our rotation. I think you could use regular basil too.

Then I made cinnamon basil jelly yesterday and it was a horrid flop. Not because the jelly didn't set up, but because of the overwhelming stench of it.

Greg walked in and said, "That smells just like the inside of a dirty garbage can when you take the garbage out."

Thank goodness, because it only took me an hour to do it and I always appreciate when Greg notices my efforts.

You win some, you lose some. Greg is going to be having cinnamon basil jelly on his PB& J today for sure!

My Soul Started To Die

I know I said Michele's Day Camp was over, but then my soul started to die and I had to get out of the house so we went up to Mt Charleston yesterday.

At first I thought we were picnicking next to a Le Leche League convention because every single woman in the group next to us had a babe on her boob, then I realized it was just a big group of Mormon gals. Is attachment parenting still the rage for those of you with infants? Mormons have been doing "attachment parenting" for 150 years or their children would have starved to death in the covered wagons.



These random kids in the background had fathers that were climbing up the face of the canyon. The little one told me he was waiting for his turn. Holy cow.



4 days. 4 days until school starts.



I looked at the school calendar and I am wondering how anyone works with all the days off they have?



If you work full-time, what in the heck do you do with your kids? My kids get FIVE DAYS off for Halloween. FIVE DAYS.

I actually started looking at jobs and if I went back to work, I don't even get how you work out all the half days and staff days and holidays. It's mind-boggling.



Anyway, we got caught in a spectacular rainstorm on the way home.



The temperature plummeted to 59 degrees and my car went into shock.

I am out of time, but tomorrow I have to tell you about this Thai chicken recipe that someone named Meagan told me to make in the comments yesterday. Hands down the best thing I have made in a year. I almost had to beat the kids off with a wooden spoon to keep them out of it.

The Last Six Years Of My Life In Summary

Sarah has repeatedly told us that she is having eight kids when she grows up, so it didn't surprise me to find the following pictures in her notebook.



She told me that this is going to be her at the grocery store some day and this is how full her shopping cart will be with food for eight kids.

Wait. Is that me with big lips?



Then she told me she'll have to drive home with her groceries.

Wait. Is that my red van?



After she arrives home, she told me she has to put all the groceries away.



Then she said she'll go out and plant the vegetables she got from the nursery.



Then she told me she will sit around the table with her kids and watch them color.

Where in the heck did this kid get this stuff from? It's like her mother is a housewife or something.

I have to say that I have had a hard time adjusting to life after a CSA. That's a link for you to find a CSA by you if you are interested.

When you get a bushel of vegetables each week, you plan your meals around what you get. It's an entirely different way of eating. I am regretting not signing up again for Fall. We are also in the Dead Zone for gardening in Las Vegas and all I have left alive are green peppers. You don't plant your winter crop until the end of September.

So now I actually have to think about going to the store and buying stuff to make meals. Blah. It's like I keep making the same things over and over.

Remember Bob's friend The Conspiracy Theorist/Hippie? He was the one that likened standing in my chicken shed with Vietnam. He has insider information that the world is ending soon, so he started growing his own worms. Then he made some sort of organic compost soup and he went over to Bob's and planted a bunch of organic plants on the side of Bob's house.



This is licorice basil. A quick internet search told me that it is also known as Thai basil and it truly tastes like black licorice. He also planted lemon basil and cinnamon basil. You wouldn't believe how big and healthy the plants are and I feel like I need to use it. Bob isn't eating it.

Any ideas?

I've really got to look into worm farming because the Hippie's stuff is alive and mine is dead. It must be the worms, man.

I Don't Need Anymore Bitches In My Life

Every morning, I get up early, make coffee and read Jen@Amazingtrips blog and my friend Leslie's blog, which is private. Have you guys been reading Jen? I've actually said some prayers for her lately because I am so concerned for them.

Since Leslie's blog is private, I am forced to steal a photo to show you guys her incredibly new awesome chicken coop.



Could I die of jealousy? This is such a simple design and I thought I would share it here since the tainted egg recall is getting bigger and bigger and bigger, and perhaps some of you are now considering chickens of your own.

Leslie had to chop down a banana tree to build her coop because she lives in a tropical rainforest. More jealousy. But I have a peach tree in my yard, Leslie, SO THERE.

Bob killed the big gray rooster on Sunday and it did not go well. Although I was invited over, I chose to stay home and that is why you are not seeing pictures of it with YOUR morning coffee. That rooster was 2 years old and he had to use a hatchet. They had a very difficult time plucking him and when they finally got all the feathers off, they realized he was scrawny and useless.

He offered to let me eat him, but NO THANKS. I am not interested in eating a two year old bird. Blech. I had tough six week old birds.

Bob also called on Sunday to ask us if Greg and I wanted to come over and watch his dog, Bitch, get bred? OMG. Like it's a sporting event? I'LL PASS. Between Bob and Jerry, and all the teenagers smoking hookah, and all the chickens and roosters, and dogs having sex in that backyard, I feel like I need to wear a full-body condom just to walk over there.

So in four months, the puppies will be in my chicken shed. That's just great. Super. I am NOT going to take care of those puppies. I am not.

I am not!

I don't need anymore bitches in my life.

I Need A Getaway Car

Thanks to someone who commented on here that the biggest problem with the thermoses is the children not getting lids back on right, and everything dripping in the lunchboxes after lunch, I decided to pack their lunches yesterday and do a dry run of the process.

See? This is why I blog. I am your puppet. Tell me to do something. Jump!

I wanted to make sure they could unzip their packs, unhook their stainless steel water bottles, and unscrew the lids, then get everything back in and packed away properly. So I packed chicken noodle soup, crackers, carrots, and grapefruit wedges and we went to the kitchen table to dine.

You have never seen such excitement. They are so truly amped up about not eating at home. They all feel so grown up now.

I was right in the middle of telling the kids how important it was to get the lids back on when Greg walked in from the garage, looked at our spread on the table, shook his head, then sat down and doled out his own advice.

"You are going to school now with big kids and kids from all over Las Vegas. They aren't necessarily all going to be nice. Your mother and I aren't going to be there to make sure your stuff doesn't get stolen. It's YOUR responsibility to get all your stuff back to your classroom. If you leave it laying around, someone is going to steal it. Do you understand me? Someone is going to look at your Hello Kitty thermos, Amanda, and they're going to wish they had one and when you aren't looking, they will take it. So you need to watch you stuff and make sure you have everything."

Okay, I would have NEVER said all that. It would have never even occurred to me to say it. Greg is a freak.

After the children ate every single bit of their lunch and got it all zipped up, stowed away, and scampered off, Greg said to me, "Are you crazy, Michele? They should be going to school with lunch in paper sacks. I feel bad for them. They are going to cry so much when all their stuff is stolen."

"Their stuff will be FINE.", I said, but not very convincingly, because last year, Gregory only barely put an envelope with $10 in it down for 10 seconds in the PTA-sponsored "Christmas store" and a fifth grader stole it.

"That Hello Kitty thermos will be halfway to Mexico by this time next month."

And I'll be driving the getaway car.

I'm Not Going To Drink The Kool-Aid

My triplet mom friend Misti and I spent five hours at PTA leadership training yesterday.

Misti showed up with a three-ring binder, with perfectly typed labels, and all her papers neatly arranged by category, and encased in plastic.

I had a 10 cent notebook from Walmart that was halfway filled with Gregory's drawings, because I couldn't find anything else on the way out the door.

Misti is the treasurer at her school. I'm the secretary of my school because I was dumb enough to go to a meeting.

To make the five hours more interesting, 30 minutes into it, a car crashed into the power pole next to the school and we had no air-conditioning for the entire training. It was 108 yesterday.

We had an interesting speaker, though I noted she had been in the PTA for seventeen years, which means her kids must be in college by now, and OMG, doesn't she have anything else to do?

They suck you in.

I'm not going to let that happen to me. I'm just going to take my notes and not have an opinion and leave.

I'm not going to drink the kool-aid.

I'm not.

I'm not.

I'm not.

I'm not.

Que Sera Sera, Whatever Will Be Will Be

I guess there is a nationwide egg recall going on right now.



Gosh, that sucks for you guys. I enjoyed my big, old double yolker sunny-side up yesterday.



There is nothing like mopping up that runny goodness with a delightful piece of gluten-free toast. Then I made some fresh mayo with two raw eggs, because there isn't any salmonella in my eggs. If you need any disease-free eggs, form a line. I'll sell them to you for real cheap. Scout's honor.

That's where all my good news ends. I haven't mentioned it, but I took all the kids to the dentist this week for cleanings. The girls and Austin are cavity free. They've never had one.

Poor, poor Gregory. Bless his heart. He has FOUR cavities. I feel so bad for him. His teeth are just rotten. He's already had three fillings. His teeth are just falling apart. He has one molar so bad, he may need a baby root canal. I don't know what to do. He eats and brushes the same as the other three, yet his teeth are in bad shape.

I am concerned. I had bad teeth. When I went in for my first visit at eight, I had seven or eight cavities. When Gregory was a baby and toddler, every time I had his blood work done, he was low on iron. Every time I had bloodwork as a child, I was low on iron. Celiac's disease causes malabsorption of minerals and one of the side effects is bad teeth. I wonder if I should take him and ask the pediatrician to do bloodwork?

Meanwhile, Greg nearly had a coronary. He needs $600 in dental work. Add that to the $450 in cleanings and we've paid the dentist's car payment this week.

At least we finally found a great dentist. He sings to the kids when he's working on them.



I've changed the words to reflect my own life.

Que sera, sera,
Whatever will be, will be,
The future is clear to me,
We will soon be in bankruptcy.

I've never told Greg, but since so many kids at our school are low income, they have a dentist come to the school to do free work. I got calls ALL last year from the dentist asking if we wanted to schedule an appointment. I am unclear WHO pays for the dentist, I just tell them I am not interested and hang up. Can you imagine if GREG answers the phone next year and gets the Medicaid dentist?



He'll have them tied down to a papoose board and they'll come home sporting grillz. I'll end up with my own rap band. I am making it a priority to answer the phone first all next year.

Meanwhile, any illusion I had of new clothing for my cruise is OVER. POOF! Black shirts and old jeans. I am going to own that look.

Que sera, sera,
Whatever will be, will be,
Black shirts look good on me,
Que sera, sera

Talking, Talking, Talking

Greg lacerated his eye with a flying stick. He said there was no way humanly possible that a stick should have been able to do that, because he was only trimming our bushes with the hedge clippers.

It must have been a supernatural stick.

The doctor was going to put a stitch in, but decided it will most likely heal on its own and prescribed Greg $60 antibiotics. Greg committed suicide then.

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I've been meaning to write about this so many times, but I keep forgetting. Are you guys having the huge hookah rage in your teenager to 20-something crowd like we are? It's become so popular here, we have public service announcements on the radio to try and warn teenagers about smoking hookah.

Bob's son and all his friends smoke hookah and the first time I saw them, I had no idea what they were doing! I thought they were smoking pot, except I couldn't smell anything. Then they told me it was tobacco and did I want a hit?

"If that isn't going to get me high, I'll skip the lung cancer."

But they actually DO get high from the tobacco, because a one hour smoking session can deliver as much nicotine as 200 cigarettes. They get a huge rush off the nicotine. But they are under the impression that it's "safer" because they are running the smoke through the water. And you should see all the girls over there smoking it.

I can see the appeal for a 20 year old girl.



I told Bob's son, "We used to have those when I was your age. We called them BONGS."

Youth is wasted on the young.

*******************************************************

I saw the preview last night for the newest Duggar episode, where his 19 kids have chicken pox and his wife is now sequestered in a trailer with her newest baby, who was just sent home from the NICU after being born severely premature.

How did the kids get the chicken pox? Their homechurch nursery?

With Michelle quarantined in a trailer, do you know what this means? Somebody is going to have to keep his Jim Bob in his pants. I was expecting the announcement of number 20 (or is it 21?) any day now.

I know you guys love the Duggars, so go ahead and yell at me.

********************************************************

We were at the community pool yesterday and a little girl latched on to Amanda and demanded she play with her. Amanda agreed, but after a few times down the slide with her new friend, she hid behind my back to ditch her.

When I asked her what was wrong, she said, "She just kept talking and talking and talking and touching me and hanging on me, and I couldn't STAND IT."

I know the feeling.

Pass The Bon Bons

I have made my life so much harder than it has had to be. I realize that now that I have sat around the house and done nothing this week. If you have been reading my blog a long time, I apologize if you felt you had to go out and do stuff with your children because I was. Just stay home.

We are all so relaxed, I can't even find the time to blog.

The highlight of my day yesterday was folding Mount Laundry while watching back-to-back episodes of Wife Swap, which made me realize that my house is really NOT THAT BAD. Then we played four games of backgammon. Then the kids and I quickly straightened the house and vacuumed before Greg got home, so it looked like we had been productive.

I can only imagine how productive I will be once the older kids are in school all day.

TEN DAYS!

I have had a second request for lunch. On day two, the kids want tomato soup and tuna fish sandwiches.



Everyone picked out their own thermos for hot lunches and we even practiced using them yesterday. I think they are going to have trouble unscrewing the lids.



I also found these BPA-free reusable juice or milk containers. The kids don't drink juice or milk for lunch now, but I thought it would be a nice treat to occasionally get a juice. Especially when my neighbor Jo's lemon tree is in season!

Greg came home with what appears to be a chunk of his eye missing. I seriously cannot even look at his eye right now because it is so gross. It is completely swollen shut and full of blood. I called the opthamologist and got him in for this afternoon.

"Your husband hasn't been here since 2007.", the office clerk told me, "The doctor removed a chunk of concrete. Oh, and before that he was here in 2003 when he had a piece of steel taken out."

Can we all say SAFETY GLASSES????

GAH!

His appalling lack of safety infuriates me. What will it take? Losing an eye??!!!

Now I must get back to my life of leisure where we just hang out all day. Can someone pass the bon bons?

The Pros And Cons Of Urban Chicken Farming

The greatest part of having chickens and turkeys is feeding them all your scraps and leftovers. We have a big bowl now called the Chicken Slop Bowl and the kids scrape their plates into it. I also dump every single scrap from cooking into it. It really takes the sting out of the kids wasting food.

Once or twice a day, I go across the street and throw the slop. Chickens eat everything. Except beets. Drats. I literally give them every single thing we eat. Their favorites are spaghetti, oatmeal with raisins, chili, and rice. They go nuts for leftover rice.

Watch how excited they get at feeding time.



It's only costing me $15 a month to feed 13 chickens and two turkeys because of all of our scraps.

But I've made some chicken mistakes.

I should have never bought 3 day old chickens that weren't already sexed by a hatchery. Out of four chickens, I ended up with two roosters.

I should have never said to throw in the "free exotic bird" when I ordered 25 meat chickens.



Brownie/FlavorFlav/Usedtobeaguinea is a rooster. Just in the last two days, he has begun mounting hens.

So that means I currently have FOUR roosters. It's just a nightmare. We're going to have to eat him now.



HUH????!!!!!!!!!!!!

I thought about trying to give him away, but when I looked at the ads on Craigslist, it was clear to me that people are selling roosters for cockfighting. And I won't be a part of that business. It would be more humane for Bob to yank his head off and have chicken stew.

The Gray One is still alive too. He started crowing and terrorizing the Black One's hens. Now none of the hens are laying. They are just so completely battered right now. All their feathers are missing. We have got to get this situation under control.

They crow ALL DAY LONG. I mean ALL DAY LONG.



We just got brand new neighbors yesterday too. They moved into the Vampire House. They drive a black Mercedes, with dark limo tint windows. More vampires? They have California plates, so I'm not sure if they leased the home, sight unseen? Sight unheard?

Bob has been too busy to take care of the roosters.

Get me a hatchet.

So as you can see, urban chicken farming is all the rage, but not for the faint of heart or the clueless.

Michele's Summer Camp Is Over

Michele's Day Camp is over. I have a new game plan now that we are in the homestretch before school.

Boring. I'm going for boring. I want them to be really happy to go to school.

They did not end up getting the teacher who assigns an hour of written homework and that makes me profoundly happy. In fact, all the kids that live in this neighborhood got the same teacher. I was surprised. I would have thought he would have spread the kids who can speak English out more to equalize the rooms.

Is he segregating us?!!!! :)

And since we are the only parents that help out at the school, I found it strange he would have lumped us all in the same classroom. But it's GREAT for me, so who am I to question his wisdom?

I am not making the mistake of buying a single stitch of new clothing or shoes before school starts. Summer continues on here until the end of October, and last year I discovered I could have gotten all their clothes for much less if I had just waited until after school started. I found the same $40 tennis shoes at Dillard's for 75 percent off, 2 weeks after school started last year.

So now that I have had a chance to sit down and relax with my new Boring Plan, I am really starting to get excited about my upcoming Mediterranean cruise. You know, the one YOU GUYS convinced me to go on.



I am concentrating on Nice, France, our first stop. My friend Laurie's sister has been emailing us about "What excursions do we want to take?" and I would rather just get off the boat and go explore. I dislike tours. I do not want to be on a bus with 50 other people over the age of 100 for 8 hours. I would much rather research each city and go see the main attractions on our own.

So for those of you who have been in Nice, what do you recommend seeing?

Then after Nice, the next stop is Florence, Italy. Florence, anyone?

I still have not bought a single stitch of clothing for this trip. I was reading one excursion into Rome that said you must make sure you have capped sleeves and are not showing knees to get into some of the religious attractions.

Good. I've got one stop covered with my current wardrobe.

Office Depot: Wake Up. You Aren't The "Little Guy"

You know what is awesome about not blogging for money?

I can talk about whatever I want. I don't need to attract a certain demographic. I don't have to pretend I like crappy products to get sponsors. I can make you mad and not worry about losing money because you won't read me anymore. Although making the internet mad gives me anxiety, so I try to avoid it.

Money would be great, don't get me wrong. But this isn't my job. I do it for the sheer entertainment of connecting with so many different people. I do it for the ideas, the feedback, and the mental stimulation. I also do it to spread information and get information.

And, yes, I have the Google ads on my blog, but I'm telling you guys that you do not make squat off those and when I hear of other bloggers making tons of money, I can guarantee you it's not off those ads. They are marketing themselves because they wrote a book or have a product they sell. Although I do look forward to filling my car with gas in October with all my blogging money, because I'm only crazy, not insane.

So in that light, my blog today is to spread some information about my fellow triplet mom friend, Helene Slutsky, and how Office Depot and their advertising firm, Young & Rubicam, stole Helene's husband's copyrighted material and how Office Depot SUCKS.

Helene's husband, Jeff Slutsky, is a professional speaker and author of Streetfighter Marketing Solutions. I had the pleasure of listening to him speak at the MGM last year, when Helene was in Las Vegas.

Jeff speaks to small business owners about marketing techniques that use cheap community level advertising to compete with large companies, with large advertising budgets. I sat nodding my head the entire time he was speaking, because Greg is a natural born streetfighter. Everything Jeff was saying made complete sense to me.

For instance, when Greg and I opened our insurance agency in 1993, we didn't have any money. It took every penny we had to pool enough money to put down the 12,000 dollars we needed to get in the yellow pages. When we opened up, we chose a high traffic, visible corner, 2 blocks from a major competitor, and Greg erected a sign. with the same color and background as the major competitor's sign. Only our sign just said, "AUTO INSURANCE".

So while the large insurance agency was spending thousands of dollars a month for yellow page advertising, Greg spent $500 for a sign. At least ten people a day would accidentally happen into our place looking for our competitor.

"Is David here?", they would ask.

"David is at lunch, but I would be happy to help you.", Greg would smile.

I used to hide under my desk.

Greg used brains over money, which is the premise of Streetfighter Marketing.

One of the stories Jeff uses to illustrate Streetfighter Marketing is about a barber he met a couple decades ago. This barber had been in business for many years and had a loyal clientele, but a new strip mall went in business across from his shop and started offering $6 haircuts. The barber couldn't compete with those prices and he began losing business.

Watch Jeff explain how the barber used his brains to overcome the cheap prices offered by the major discount haircut chain. This was Jeff speaking 2 years ago! Keep in mind that this story is in his book and is copyrighted.



Here is the Office Depot commercial that we allege stole Jeff's intellectual property.



Watch both and you be the judge.

You know what makes that commercial so stupid though? It's stupid because Office Depot IS the large chain. It doesn't even make sense.

Immediately upon the commercial airing, Jeff's friends and colleagues began calling to congratulate him on selling his material. How awesome to collect the licensing fees on his story, right?

WRONG.

Jeff didn't sell his material. Not only did he not sell his material, now he can't use his signature opening dialogue when he speaks, because the attendees would wonder why they were paying Jeff to hear an Office Depot commercial?

My hope by spreading this information is to use the platform I have gained in Google. Because while I don't get paid to blog, through your loyal readership, I have something people try to get to earn money. I have a high ranking in Google. Pretty much anything I write about shows up in the first couple pages of Google searches.

Office Depot should compensate Jeff for stealing his material.

So while the lawyers hash it all out, do a little middle class housewife a favor, and click on my blog a couple times today and let's bump this story up in Google for Helene. That's what streetfighter marketing is all about -- the little guy outsmarting the big guy.

In return, I promise not to piss you off for at least a week.

The Triplet Population Explosion Is Over

Do you see five sets of triplets here?

Neither could any of the non-multiple parent guests at my friend Laraine's boys' seven year old birthday party yesterday.

Seven. I can barely believe it. It seems impossible. It seems impossible that the kids are growing up so fast and it seems impossible that I have been hanging out with these ladies for so long.



One of the guests at the party asked me how old my children were.

"I have triplets and they are 6.5 years old and a five year old singleton."

"You have triplets?", she said looking around.

"Yes. There are actually five sets here."

Turns out she works for one of the well-known and successful fertility doctors in town.

So while I've proclaimed the Triplet Population Explosion dead and over for some time, I got confirmation from her that they NEVER see triplets anymore. The four fertility doctors in town rarely, RARELY, put more than two in now, and usually do single embryo transfers.

We were an era, you guys. I think in my age group, we caught the tail-end of the rapidly progressing success rates, but before the doctors officially started decreasing the number of embryos transferred.

It's hard to believe that so much could change in seven years.

But I'm happy about it. This means the doctors in this city really DID start self-regulating. Which also means that women will not be faced with high-risk pregnancies or selective reduction or coping with raising children with issues from prematurity. I think it's great. All that ranting I did about doctors padding their success rates by putting in too many embryos, just to clean the numbers up with selective reduction is over now in this city.

That being said, if I was going to have triplets, THANK GOD, I had them when everyone else was having them. I would have never made it without the support of everyone else going through the same thing with me. These women are some of my closest friends now.

I can't tell you how much I appreciate Laraine having kids 6 months older than mine. Whatever phase mine are in, she just went through it and has advice for me.

We made sure to tell the gal to go back and tell the doctor that we had all noted that we are no longer invited to any of the reunions. Sweep the triplets under the rug.



The kids are growing up together. SOB. Make it slow down.

Pass Me The Popcorn

I haven't mentioned it, but the reason my sister was in Washington DC a couple weeks ago, is because my niece was invited to attend the Jr National Young Leadership Conference. She even got to spend the night in the Smithsonian and tour the museum after hours. She met other young people from all over America and it was a life-changing event for her -- one that she will undoubtedly remember forever.

To make a long story short, my sister wasn't going to let her go. Calista is only eleven and my sister was worried about sending off her eleven year old for a week with people my sister didn't know. I thought she should go.

So my sister finally booked a hotel room in the same hotel and spent the week there. Not that Calista saw her much, but Nancy felt more comfortable being in the vicinity and she took the opportunity to see DC and it was all good.

A couple days ago, my sister took Calista to middle school orientation and walk-thru. She's starting seventh grade this year.

When Calista entered one of her new classrooms, she walked up to the teacher, firmly shook his hand, while making direct eye contact and said, "Hello, Mr. B, my name is Calista V. I am going to be in your second period class. I hope you are ready to challenge me this year."

She learned that at the conference. Can you imagine having that kind of confidence that early on in life? I am still cracking up. Most kids at that age just look all sulky and insolent. Oh, wait, she does look like that occasionally. Ha!

Calista turned twelve yesterday.

Somebody pass me the popcorn, because I can't wait to see how my sister handles this kid when she's a teenager. This is going to get good.

Happy Birthday, Calista!!!!

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In other news, I am doing a mailbox vigil waiting for class placements to arrive today. It was just relayed to me that another mom in the neighborhood is so glad her kid didn't get Mrs. T, because she gives an hour of written homework every night in first grade. She's a ballbuster, apparently.

Please don't let us get the Ballbuster. Our mail doesn't come until 3 or 4. I'm lighting a candle and singing Cumbayah. Let us get the fun Hawaiian teacher. Crossing fingers. Crossing fingers. Crossing fingers.

A Is For Attitude

It will be remembered that 6.5 years old was when the Attitude began.

It has been creeping up on me, but I blew a gasket yesterday and I am on a major behavioral crackdown now. Suddenly, it is like they think they can verbally spar with me and all I can think of is that guy at the community pool and how his son spit in his face and pulled his pants down.

Did the attitude creep up on him and he kept letting it slide until his son felt he was in control of his father and could do that? Is that what happens? Little by little, they begin speaking to you as if they are adults and one day you wake up and your hairy, naked ass is hanging out at the public pool?

Yesterday Gregory was climbing on the counter to get a glass while I was making lunch, and I told him to wait a minute until I was done.

And he looked at me and said, "WHAT-EVER. Isn't it DONE YET?"

What started out as 10 minutes in the corner ended up being a full hour before he relinquished the attitude. He is EXACTLY like his father. And Greg was EXACTLY like his father. And no wonder Greg's poor mother couldn't handle Greg. She was too NICE.

I'm not nice, so every 10 minutes I would ask him, "Are you ready to apologize for your attitude?"

"But...."

"You just got 10 more minutes. Are you ready to say you are sorry for your attitude?"

"I like it here."

"Good, because you just got 10 more minutes."

It was like the scene from the Breakfast Club with Judd Nelson.

Richard Vernon: That's another one right now! I've got you for the rest of your natural born life if you don't watch your step. You want another one?
John Bender: Yes.
Richard Vernon: You got it! You got another one right there! That's another one pal!
Claire Standish: Cut it out!
Richard Vernon: You through?
John Bender: Not even close bud!
Richard Vernon: Good! You got one more right there!
John Bender: You really think I give a shit?
Richard Vernon: Another! You through?
John Bender: How many is that?
Brian Johnson: That's seven including when we first came in and you asked Mr. Vernon whether Barry Manilow knew that he raided his closet.

It took a full hour before he said he was sorry. He went back in later on and it took 30 minutes. He's already earned 20 minutes when he wakes up tomorrow morning.

He finally complained that the corner is hot and hard.

"I would suggest you make different choices to avoid it then. You control your attitude, not me. You can choose to be polite and never be there."

I suspect a long haul today.

I am ready. It would take three kids to get my swim dress off, but I'm not taking any chances.

ROAR!!!!

Heaven

Last night after we put the kids to sleep, Austin came out of his room and found me. He does this often. He lies in bed before sleep arrives and goes over things in his mind, then he comes out and he needs to talk about them. He's a deep thinker.

But last night he was upset and his big eyes were brimming with tears.

I asked him what was wrong?

"When I'm in Heaven, will I be a child?"

Then he started crying.

So I grabbed him and hugged him and told him of course he wouldn't be a child. He'd be a very, very old man. Even though maybe we all become children again, I didn't want him to think he is going to die as a child.

And now I've been crying. I cried last night. I'm crying again now. Why would he ask that? Where did that even come from? Why would he think he would die as a child?

We've never, ever, ever, EVER told him about his brain tumor. We've never told the other kids about it. None of them are old enough yet to understand it and there is no way that I would create that kind of fear in our household.

I told Greg after it happened and Greg got upset and blamed me for taking them to the movies. We saw Cloudy With A Chance Of Meatballs yesterday at the free movies with Misti and her trio. Trust me when I say it wasn't about Heaven. It was about flying food. Although the flying food was scary and Misti's kids were traumatized.

My kids thought it was hilarious and were all laughing when we left. Misti and I were traumatized by watching so much food and vowed to become anorexic.

But it had no mention of Heaven at all. We haven't even talked about Heaven recently.

Anyway, it really rattled me. It made me think again about having to someday tell Austin about his brain tumor and when? When do you do that? When will there ever be a good time to do that?

And why did he ask that question? It's so upsetting.

The Mom War Stories Keep Me Going

The kids and I stopped by Trader's on Sunday, something I avoid normally at all costs. Over the last 6.5 years, I have learned that people are less receptive to a gaggle of children on evenings and weekends. I find mornings are the best time to go out.

We were standing in the frozen food aisle and the children were begging me for ice cream mochi. You get six mochis for $3.99 and they are completely eaten in less than five minutes. One for them, two for me. I'm mean like that. So I couldn't decide. What to do? What to do?

A man approached me and he said, "You have my sympathies. I am so glad they're yours and not mine."

And I've heard those EXACT same words a THOUSAND times before. I just haven't heard them recently. In fact, it's been a long, long, long time. Once you drop the triplet stroller and stop dressing them alike, the really rude comments mostly end. You mainly just get "disgusting breeder" stares.

He said it mean too. Sometimes you can see a twinkle in a person's eye and know they mean it in jest. But he said it with conviction. I didn't even bother acknowledging him. I just stared at him with dead eyes. Shark eyes.

You know what I have really missed this summer? I have really, really missed my Mormon friends at the community center and at school, where having a large family is NORMAL. I miss hanging out with a thousand children and nobody cares. I am looking forward to sitting on the bench during gym class and trading war stories with the other moms again.

The Mom war stories keep me going.

My triplet mom friend Cathi was at dinner last Thursday and we got to hear the most outlandish tale. Cathi had her all boy triplets at 27 weeks. Her water broke at 12 weeks and it was never expected for her son Matthew to live until birth. I've told this story so many times. Then when Matthew was born, he was never expected to walk, because he had no water in his sac during gestation and his leg and arm did not develop normally.

But he learned to walk. And he's smart as a whip and the three boys are starting kindergarten this year. Cathi recently learned that even though all three boys will be attending the same school, because Matthew still has trouble walking, he must ride a bus for disabled children. But the other two boys can't ride that bus. They have to ride the regular school bus.

The kicker is that they pick up at different locations. So chew on that one. Three boys. All five years old. Same school. One person around for drop off and pick up. Two different bus stops.

Shaking head. Shaking head. Paging Mr. Clone. Mr. Clone.

A couple weeks ago, I was at dinner with my quadruplet mom friend, Dafna. Her quads are 17 months old now. You have my sympathies, Dafna. I am so glad they are yours and not mine, girlfriend.

Her husband has booked a 17 hour trip to Israel next month for the family. They are taking one other adult and three of the kids are going to be on laps and one will have a seat. CAN YOU IMAGINE? I mean, CAN YOU IMAGINE? 17 HOURS????!!!!! With FOUR 18 month olds. Could there be a worse age for air travel?

Could there be a worse age, period?

Shaking head. Shaking head. Paging Mr. Xanax. Mr. Xanax.

And I was in such shock when she was telling the story, I can't even remember who agreed to be the third adult. Who signed up for that job? A crazy person? They are going back for High Holy Days, so it's not like there will be a spare seat on the plane to plop one of those toddlers down and strap them in either. You could not even pay me enough money to sign up for that job. Outsource that one right to India, by golly.

You know how you see the blog buttons on the sidebars on people's blogs? I need a Pray For Dafna button.

We couldn't even muster any useful collective advice. Got any? Besides faking a nervous breakdown and committing yourself beforehand to get out of it?

So those are my two recent, really good Mom war stories. Do you have any good ones? I need a pick-me-up.

A New Way To Earn The College Tuition

In a lame attempt to entertain the children yesterday, we ventured down to the Strip to Caesar's Forum Shops. I figured we could spend at least an hour perusing the aisles in FAO Schwarz. Except it's CLOSED and GONE. Why didn't I know that?

The three story Trojan horse? GONE.

Is this a sign that people don't come to Las Vegas to buy overpriced toys? WHAT? I can't believe it. Sorry, kiddos, we were going to get you something, but Daddy threw it all on red.



Fortunately there are fish and talking statues and escalators. My phone kept telling me there were emails, but I ignored them in case someone was calling me names.



This is the Trevi fountain in Rome. I've never been there, but will see it in October. In 2002, a homeless man slashed his stomach to protest being banned from fishing out coins in the fountain after it was estimated he was working for 15 minutes a day, and making as much as 600 euros. Who knew you could net that kind of money fishing coins out of fountains?



As soon as I snapped this photo, I looked down to see if it worked, then I looked up and the kids were in the fountain up to their elbows with their fists full of money.

So we made 105 wishes and threw it all back in.

Let's not tell Greg or he'll have them down there every day earning their college money.