Every year....

Every year we say we are not going to do it. We are not going to go overboard. Nope, nada, not happenin. Every year we go overboard. Yep, yeppers, definitely happenin. I can't figure out if we truly qualify as overboard or if their are four of them so it gives the illusion of overboardingness. Hmmmm....definitely not going overboard next year, nope, nada, not happenin.

My new CAMERA!!!!!!

Who has the best dad and Mewissa? I do! It is more addicting than Facebook! I love it! I can't put it down so I keep taking random pictures trying to figure out what all it can do. Does anyone else have the Nikkon D40? Tips?! I love it, love it, luuuuvvvv it!

A P an S and the number 3

A Christmas Tree: $65
Christmas dinner $85
Christmas cards: $25

The look on your boys' face when you give them a Playstation 3 for Christmas:
PRICELESS.

A boy, his dad a dog and an ipod.

I think my days of having complete conversations with my children, my dog and my husband without that headphone cord hanging out of one ear are over....sigh....

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas to all of our friends and family! We are surronded by wrapping paper and electronic gadgets as we have finally entered the tween years...and light sabers and laser tag as the twins have discovered a love of all things Star Wars. So if you don't hear from us soon we will be engaged in the battle of galactica and downloading apps and music to all of the new gadgets. We love you all so from us to you, Merry Christmas!

Bad hair

I thought I had decent hair. It is very easy to take care of, I spend about 35 seconds a day on it. Roll it into hot rollers, make the bed while they do their thang, unroll, shake and I'm out. I guess I had always envisioned my hair looking like this:

or even:

(By the way, I hate it when companies photoshop someone else's head onto MY body, so annoying.)

But apparently one of my children felt otherwise and thought my hair actually looked more like this:



Because look at what I discovered this morning when I went to put said hair into said rollers:



Are you kidding me? He cut my cord! Who the? What the? I don't have a confession out of any of them yet....but I will. I have my theory as to which one it is...I think it's this one:

He used to be cute...before he learned how to operate scissors.

Cut and paste is his favorite activity in 1st grade. I'm gonna go ahead and guess he likes the cut more than the paste. Anyone want a 6 year old with good arts and crafts skills?

Bella v Stratego

Being a military family we do our best to involve/indoctrinate the entire family in matters of military affairs. Even the dog. She's good. Do not underestmiate the power of her canine war ways. We are going to have this yucky Iraq/Afghanistan thing figured out before the week's end.

My son, the gentleman.

I found this minimized on the computer when I got home tonight, followed by a shout out from my oldest who was already in bed. "Mom!" he says, "did you look at what I minimized yet?" "Looking right now, hold on" I say. "Neat!" I say, what do you want the back to say?

"Chick Magnet 1" is his reply.

Yep, in case the tampons in the backpack didn't confirm my stellar abilities at good parenting the apparent lack of teaching him to address ladies as....well, as ladies instead of chicks certainly should put me high up on the parenting pedastal. So to whatever future chick this boy marries, let me just say I am sorry now. I tried, I really, really tried.

Girls only...no boys allowed

I did it. I actually did it. However unintentional I committed what can only be described as an attempted 5th grade social suicide. I think I am still in shock. I do tend to pride myself on being a pretty cool mom. I do not, for example, roll down the window while dropping them at school and ask them such things like, "Did you put on clean undies today Punkie; because you don't want to get a rash again!" or "Don't worry honey, that zit is looking WAY better today." Nor do I bring out their naked baby pictures while they are having a sleepover with friends or other such horrific acts of motherhood. And then today.....IT happened.

About two weeks ago Jordan's backpack got a hole in the bottom and I being the cheapskate....I mean, cost concious mother that I am got out his dad's old backpack. It's hip, it's cool, it's a backpack. Nuff said. Today I was searching in each of the pockets while he was outside playing basketball, looking for any sign of another demerit because I hadn't been presented one today; and I just knew he was hiding one somewhere....and certainly, if he was hiding it...it must be really, really bad. Well, yee mother of little faith. No demerit issued today, Yippee. So as I am coming up empty with all of the other 45 pockets on the backpack I open the tiny little one in front....the last pocket.....and then IT happened.

Yep, it IS what you think it is. Do not adjust your monitor, do not adjust your bi-focal lenses, do not pass go and collect $200....it was almost 5th grade social suicide. I am mortified. Scratch that. I am BEYOND mortified. Whatever word is after mortified is what I am. I had taken this backpack to Disney at ATA a few months ago and I distinctly remember removing loads and loads of things in that backpack. Old water bottles, empty fruit cups, juice boxes, and even a box of matches that somehow ended up in there. Even then I remember thinking as I hurridly emptied it as we headed out the door for school that day, whew! Glad I found those matches, he would have gotten in big trouble for having those in his backpack....hmmm, remove the matches...leave the tampons....I am going to screw these kids up sooner or later.

And just in case that wasn't enough, the remaining contents in that tiny little pocket: a nasty tissue from Jack's cold at Disney, a plug for the hotel room, and two airplane pins. Yep, mother of the year right here ladies and gents. MOTHER OF THE YEAR.

Bathroom Trauma

I was downstairs cleaning up the kitchen floor....more on that later.....as the kids were getting ready for bed last night when I hear: "MOOOMMMMM!! Come here quick! MOOMMM! Are you comin'? Hurry up, hurry up, MOOMMMM!" Immediately I recognize that tone of voice in my oldest and his panic cadence of his words. So I dash up the stairs...that's right...I dashed, betcha didn't know I could dash. Horrible thoughts are entering my head as I travel the distance to get to the bathroom where he is. Someone has slipped and fell and there is blood everywhere....someone knocked out a permanent tooth...someone tied their brother to the shower curtain and now he's stuck...someone put his brother in the toilet and now he is stuck......someone is missing a testicle....again...ugh, I hope it's not that. Those little guys are important!

In my mind I am halfway to the emergency room...and then I round the corner into the bathroom and THIS is what I see.

Jordan. Jordan with a bubble in his ear.

Uh, yeah. They thought it was cool that Jordan had a bubble left in his ear after his shower. Uh, yeah. I definitely HAD to hurry in fear that the bubble might pop before my arrival. Uh, yeah, thanks for that guys. I'm gonna go get a glass of wine now to calm my nerves!

Breaking Alabama News

First of all, did you see the countdown ticker? 7 months to the day! Wooo-Hooo, can't wait to see all things California in the rearview....except my California friends....you are very cool people. Now on to the bad news. 2009 BAH rates came out today. Instead of the normal 5% INCREASE that is typical each year......IT WENT DOWN $80. Yuck....but then I look at these pictures:




And I decide I will work at McDonalds and do whatever I have to do. Ahhh, to be able to sit in the living room with these boys who are all arms and lanky legs at this point and not have our knees touch will be divine. Well that, and to not hear, "Move over! I don't have any space!" quickly followed by, "I AM moved over! I don't have any space either!" Can't wait, can't wait, can't wait. I told the boys they can get dressed in their swim trunks on the last hotel morning on the way and when we pull up to the house we are going to throw them in the pool. Anyone want to join us?!

PS: BAH rates are obviously out for everyone! Have yours gone up? Down? Here's the link: http://perdiem.hqda.pentagon.mil/perdiem/bah.html

Bah-Humbug

I love a game. I love a contest. I LOVE a prize. So when the 2nd ornament exchange of the year rolled around this eveing I was a bit excited! A game(stealing) and a prize(whatever ornament you end up with)! How exciting! Until...well...until she did it.

SHE TOOK THE ORNAMENT I HAD THAT I REALLY, REALLY, REALLY LIKED. The one I won intially was beautiful like this:

Wow, I didn't realize how emotionally attached to said ornament I had become until it was no longer mine. -sigh- I still ended up with a pretty one,(in my heart however it looks more like this:)

The new ornament and I haven't bonded yet and with the bitterness and loss I feel in my heart for the really pretty one I wanted...I'm not sure we ever will. -sigh- Would it be wrong of me to cry myself to sleep over an ornament? Would it be even wronger to take out a pregnant lady?

Dignified at 6pm not so much at 10

I'm gonna have to be honest with you my bloggin posse. I have a story to tell and I don't know quite where to start. It involves some inappropriateness which isn't usaully my style...but,(you knew there would be a but coming didn't you) because it was just too funny to not pass on to my friends across America I am going to take a deep breath and share my story and just hope that you don't think less of me afterward. So here we go.

John and I headed to the squadron Christmas party last night. The party I was most looking forward to because so many of my friends would also be there. The evening started out well enough. Small talk, polite laughing, it was great. My friends and I looked like this:

Lovely are we not? Well, then....after dinner was VERY much delayed, and a few glasses of champagne entered my hands and the hands of those around me; my dear friend Christina leans over and says to me, "Tell Erin her boobs look slutty." Wow, I think inside of my head. That was kind of a random thing for my usually non-crass friend to say, but naievely I proceed to oblige her because I figured it was some type of inside joke that I was being a pawn in.

"Erin," I lean over and say, "Your boobs look really slutty!"

-enter the nightmare part of my story here-

"What?!" She gasps as she grabs her very modest, non-revealing dress. Immediately alarm bells are ringing in my head as I watch her face drop in horror...abort! abort! abort mission!...back pedal, back pedal, back pedal is all I can think. So out of my mouth quickly comes, "Christina told me to say that!" followed by an akward laugh.

Well, dear friends what Christina actually apparently told me to say was, "Your BOOTS look slutty." However my hearing was muffled by the champagne churning in my very empty stomach and I took boots to an all time low of boobs. Her boots looking trashy was apparently the inside joke so when your's truly hits her with slutty boobs she had no idea why I was insulting her so. So there you have it friends. The foot with the shoe on is still in my mouth; I've been trying to pry it out since last night and let me just tell ya, it ain't budging.

So Erin:

Here's to you my friend:

And let us all remember...she told me to do it.

And let the record show I think both your boots and your breast are lovely.