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Monday, March 23, 2015

Creeper

I would like to blog more.

But there are these devious sweet little people in my life that keep me on my toes constantly. 

Most recently this one has been the usual suspect when it has come to destruction, mayhem and general naughtiness. 

So stinkin' cute.
So stinkin' naughty.

Earlier this week, I was on the phone trying to make arrangements for a speech therapy evaluation for the little guy. It's my fault - I've fostered his paci addiction in an attempt to keep my sanity. Consequently, I guess I've stunted him because he mostly talks around that paci and doesn't correctly articulate the beginning or end of words. 

Anyway, our baby monitor is one of those wifi devices that I can view through a password protected app on my phone. So, when I finished my very brief phone call, I switched back to the monitor view only to see this.

Yes, that little glowing eyed creature is Banjo. And yes, he's in Juicy's crib. 

With Juicy. 

Who was sleeping. 

But was then no longer. 

I mean. Is nothing sacred?!

Maranda

Friday, March 20, 2015

'Fess up Friday




Be sure to check out Kira's blog for some hilarious 'Fess Up Fridays - one of my personal favorites: Dental Hygiene 


And for this week's addition, I bring you the following confessions:


I washed my child's shoes in the dishwasher. Like with my dishes.


Who does this?

Me apparently. 

If I'm honest, it did feel wrong. And I confess, I had a momentary internal debate about taking them upstairs to the laundry, but determined - that was just too much effort. I ultimately justified the decision with the the reality that the reason they were being washed in the first place was because the child who owns them was found wiping his tootsie pop all over them and then licking the tootsie juice off of them. 

Super sanitary. 

Good thing the Curls live by the creed - God made dirt and dirt don't hurt!

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Speaking of shoes. I went out to the van last night to recover someone's pair of shoes and retuned with the following:

Seriously? There is only one pair of shoes in that assortment. Are my children just walking around with one shoe on? Are they purposely bringing in one and leaving one in the car just to make me crazy? Is my van attempting to "one up" the laundry in it's quest to mysteriously absorb shoes as the dryer does with socks? 

I really don't get it.

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Juicy graduated. It was time. She outgrew her moses basket in our armoire. 

Yes, we sleep our babies in our armoire. It's not like we close the doors or anything, so don't judge. 

Here's her cute little bed. Just look at that precious owl bedding courtesy of Grammy.


Too bad she only graduated to my closet. 

Once again. Don't judge.

Sadly, it will probably the only good sleep she's going to get in her life since her next placement will land her with some combination of these jokers.



And let me tell you... they are not quiet. 

Maranda

Wednesday, March 18, 2015

Broken

I feel like we have been through a fairly intense season of broken things in our home.

First, there was the dryer.

Then there was the sewer pipe back up in the downstairs bathroom.



Then there was my van door... and then the other van door...and then the timing belt.

Can you see the money literally flying out of our bank account!?

Oh wait. That would require that we actually have money. You know, to do the wing-sprouting and aforementioned flying.

I digress.

Then there were the jets in the garden tub which created a leak that flooded down into the kitchen.

Then there was the table which broke when my husband stood on a chair... on the table to cut holes in our ceiling to fix the leak from the garden tub jets.


Garden tub jets. Not a fan.

Benji was in denial that our table was gone.

Then there was the face of the garden tub that had to be removed to fix the jets.


Then...

What? You thought I was done? Nay, more breakage commenced.

Then there was the leak in the garage which we thought had been fixed four years ago before we moved in, but alas it had not.

Also in the midst of all this... we had the exterior of our house painted, wood rot repaired, a new garage door installed, and as of a few weeks ago, we got a new roof...

...Because we are made of money.

And these are only the major things... I feel like every day there's a broken plate, or lamp or toy or electronic device, etc.  Just yesterday I discovered that someone used our leather couch as a scribbling pad. And I'm pretty sure my grandfather's antique kitchen table complete with creepy feet that he graciously loaned us since our broke to pieces is not going to survive the wrath of my children.


Pedestal tables and my children do not a good combo make.

I am fairly confident that Chilli is going to break out her purple sparkle nail polish on these toe nails. I'm sure GeeGee won't mind when we return the table to him with a pedicure.


As annoying as all of these broken things are, what is far more concerning is the brokenness I feel in the relationships within our family.

My children are mean. Really mean to each other.

And I know I am really mean to them too.

I'm snarky and selfish with my time and energy - not wanting to sacrifice it or offer it to anyone. I rage at my children about their ingratitude for "all I do for them" while turning a deaf ear to my own complaining and whining. It's the same (if not worse) than theirs...mine's just a more "grown-up" version of the same heart condition.

Sin.
Brokenness.
Ugly.
Yuck.

May it not overwhelm me, but rather place in me a longing for Jesus. The only one who can fix all the brokenness.

Maranda




Tuesday, February 24, 2015

An Important Update

The balloon is down.

I repeat. The balloon is down.



Only took 44 days.

I swear... this balloon was a special breed of evil.

It possessed a nasty streak for sure. The thing was such a tease.



I mean. That's just hateful.

Not only did it torment my children but it took special pleasure in scaring me as well. That joker somehow wafted up the stairwell and into my bedroom! Nothing like coming into your room and being startled by a levitating orb of evil.



Yes, that's a massive pile o' laundry on my bed. My endless laundry pile... perhaps even more scary than freaky-deaky creeper balloons.

On a positive note... I do get bragging rights!



Yes, my husband is fun and made guessing the "date of balloon demise" into a contest.

And yes, he did call it "Balloon O-Rama."

And yes, he did spell Mommy wrong.

And yes, he is awesome and we love him.


Maranda


Thursday, February 19, 2015

Dumb and Dumber with a Chocolate Goatee

I think all my children are beautiful.

I mean, I know I'm biased an all... but come on?!


photo credit - Deedee Spangler

photo credit - Deedee Spangler

photo credit - Deedee Spangler



This one here is a real heart breaker.

Of course, he is often confused for a beautiful little girl.

I know it is my fault because I like keeping his hair long. But all you mommies out there know:

Once you cut the curls off, they never come back.

Well, finally, after a day in which he was referred to as "such a precious little girl" by multiple people, I did cut the boy's locks. They took 5 inches but he still had a few curls left and left a good amount of length.

A "surfer cut" they called it.



Brent felt it was a poor effort.

I felt it was a compromise.

However, the pretty little girl comments continued and both he and his brother were beginning to look a little shaggy last week, so I took them for hair cuts.

And now he looks like dumb and dumber.





Brent. I hope you are happy. I blame you for this. ;)

Maranda







Tuesday, February 17, 2015

I. hate. balloons.

I know it's not nice to complain. So I guess after this post I'm gonna have to go and get my Ann Voscamp on or something, but can I just vent for a moment?

I hate balloons.

Hate. Them.

I am convinced they are a straight from the pit of hell.

I mean first of all - the obvious: they are a choking hazard.

Not that my kids would ever choke on one because they are far too busy fighting over the balloon, or crying because it popped or hitting someone with the balloon, or crying because they let it go in the parking lot.

On January 10th, Sassy a child who shall remain nameless, released this balloon in my house.

Yay. My favorite. The helium filled mylar.

FYI, it is FEBRUARY 17.

That sucker is never coming down.

And you should have heard the wailing over this released balloon. You would have thought something died. And because it is there in our living room... occasionally she will look up longingly at it and bemoan its loss all over again.

And honestly, although it is a bit annoying to have a balloon semi-permanently affixed to my ceiling, at least it is stuck up there where they can't fight over it!

A couple of weeks ago my children completely abused a balloon-making clown at a family night at Chick-fil-a. They would not leave the poor woman alone.

They were obsessed.


My eye is twitching as I look at these pictures.

Please visualize me exiting the Chic-fil-a with my litter of children and some 20 odd balloon animals. Of course we had a casualty as we walked through the parking lot which incited much weeping and gnashing of teeth. There were accusations hurled, blame placed and bitterness rooted before we even made it to the car.

Now picture me strapping their little hineys into their car seats whilst balloon swords and flowers and kitty cats are bouncing around us and escaping out the doors and surviving angry swats and stomps as my children wrestle each other and fight over who gets to sit in which seat.

Because my children are peace-loving and kind.

I'm just saying, by the time I drove home with all that insanity and made another transfer of balloon critters into my house, I was ready to kill all of the things.

And the drama only continued once we were inside. They started beating each other with the swords and heads were coming off kitties and they were crying and freaking out at epic proportion. Every few seconds a child would run to me wailing because someone had taken HER balloon, or because HE had untwisted the wiener dog legs and now it was just a snake!

Brent came home in the midst of all of this and I directed all balloon related inquires and complaints to his department.

I don't mean to boast, but I feel like I put up with a lot of crap on a daily basis. I have a pretty high tolerance for chaos and filth and insanity, but I think balloons are the thorn in my side... the bane of my existence... my great nemesis.

But at the end of the day... I win.


Maranda

Tuesday, February 3, 2015

Replacement Hamster

For Sassy's 6th birthday we gave in to her unending request for a pet and got her two "used hamsters" complete with cage, bedding and food all for the low low price of $10 courtesy of Craig's List.

Gotta love the Craig's List.

Anywho... she was very happy.



I'm not sure the hamsters were.


And I was definitely not happy when one escaped and took up residence under our oven where she must have spent most of her time peeing and fashioning the oven insulation material into a fluffy hamster nest.  

I wish this was smellevision so you could experience the putrid, overwhelming, stench of hamster urine wafting through our home any time we needed to bake. 

So. Gross.

Alas, that hamster is long gone. However, the nicer, less-crafty hamster remained with us until she passed about a month ago.

R.I.P Mini.

Ever since her passing, Sassy has been begging for another pet. 

Still a bit scarred from hamster #1, Brent and I were reluctant, but we gave in this weekend after Sassy conducted research on various furry critters and determined that a gerbil might be a good fit for the family. 

Our main criteria was that the animal would fit in our current cage and that if at all possible it could be a desensitized animal that was accustomed to much handling and noise so that it might not totally freak out by the zealous affections of our children. 

Allow me to introduce you to Daisy.

She met neither of these conditions. 

She is a failure. 

And a slob.

She also now has a new glass palace in which to hide from our children. 


Maranda