I’m baaaaaaack!

I know, try to control yourselves.

It was a great week. It started off shaky when we had to drop the kids off at camp. I handled it with all the panache I expected….which is to say I was a total basketcase.

The crying started in earnest on Saturday while I was packing them. Putting twenty little outfits together, each individually sealed in plastic bags.

Stop it with the eye rolling. I had my reasons.

For Mr. C, it’s that he is totally and completely color blind. Left to his own devices, he will appear in an outfit that will make you ask if his name is Mort and if he is, in fact, a retired 75 year old banker getting ready to search for shells on the beach in Miami, white socks and all. Miss G on the other hand has two fashion theories. First of all, short is good and secondly, shorter is better. Call me cah-razay, but Mort the retired 75 year old banker from Miami and his sidekick, Daisy Duke, seemed to not be the best representation of my family.

By the time Sunday morning rolled around and it was time to go, I had pretty much lost it. Found my giant black sunglasses to hide behind and started my mantra of “You will not lose it at camp, you will not lose it at camp. No, really. YOU WILL NOT LOSE IT AT CAMP….”

Really?

Oh yes, I would.

Here’s the thing you should know, the camp we send our kids to really is the happiest place on earth. I’d put Disney up against it any day. When you arrive, there is a pretty long line of cars filtering in and all the kids hang out the sunroofs to wave at all the camp counselors who are greeting you on horseback, from boats as they water ski by or handing you cookies as you enter the gates.

Every single one of those happy people caused me to cry until I was a heaving mess hiding behind my big dark glasses in the back seat because on camp drop off day, the only word that applies to me is unstable.

I would have killed for an experience like this when I was a kid. I went to Camp Grady Spruce here in Texas and when you pulled up and got out of your poorly air conditioned car, you walked through a dusty parking lot and were greeted by a line of surly people with buckets full of sulfur they dusted all over you to keep you from getting eaten alive by mosquitos which subsequently made you stink and turn an alarming shade of day glo yellow as your parents peeled out of the parking lot laughing at you getting to spend a week in an un-airconditioned cabin.

Wow…that sentence was a gramatical nightmare, huh? Sorry, punctuation is not my forte when remembering the horror of summer camp as a child.

Anyway.

Here are a few pictures of them as we dropped them off at their cabins.

This is Mr. C’s third year to go to camp. I love the “Oh here we go again” look on his face. He looks a little sad. But you can also see he’s hesitant, sort of like, “This situation could turn south any minute now….” This was taken moments before he gave The Man the secret signal to get me out of the cabin before I melted down. He’s a smart boy.

After being forcibly evicted from Mr. C’s cabin, I headed on to the next challenge, unpacking Miss G. We got her to her cabin and got busy while she socialized. I should tell you that we let each of the kids pick out stencils for their trunks. Mr. C went with a baseball and pokemon theme, Miss G chose dolphins.

Naughty, naughty dolphins.

Folks, this is a Christian camp we are talking about. We raced to get that trunk stored away before anyone could ask what was going on with Flipper and his little lady friend.

Finally unpacked, The Man asked Miss G for a final hug and kiss at which point she completely and totally ignored him. His only purpose in her mind was to get the crazy lady in the big dark glasses she sometimes calls Mommy out of there before a scene started. I can’t be sure but I think she would have given us the finger at that point if a.) she knew how and b.) she was not at aforementioned Christian camp. Come to think of it, I’m not sure that second point would have mattered to her. She calls it like she sees it…the apple definitely did not fall far from the tree with that one.

The Man did manage to drag me out of there before I embarassed us too much and I’d like to thank all my friends who saw me that day that were kind enough not to laugh in my face, because I totally deserved it.

With the reality of an entire week to ourselves, The Man and I did what any responsible parents would do while our kids were away at camp.

We got on a plane and headed to Napa.

Come back later this week and I’ll share our travels throughout the wine country and tell you about the hotel room that caused me to think we were on an episode of “I’m A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here”.

We are so totally the new Speidi.

I’m approaching this weekend with two key emotions. Dread and Joy. I know, they don’t go together…let me explain.

Dread: We are dropping both kids off at sleep away camp FOR A WHOLE WEEK!
Joy: We are dropping both kids off at sleep away camp FOR A WHOLE WEEK!

That’s right, for one entire week, The House of Stiletto will be kid free. But I have to get through dropping them off first. That, my friends, is the tricky part.

I know, I know…you probably think I’m the type to just hit the passenger eject buttons as we pull into camp and yell, “See ya sucka!” but as I’ve mentioned before (and I’m not sure anyone really believes me) I cry at EVERYTHING and especially anything having to do with two certain small people I am horribly addicted to.

I started thinking about it today and the waterworks started. Emailed one of my friends, Maria, who’s son is going the same week and said, “The crying has already started…this is not a good harbinger of things to come Sunday…” to which she sent a simple reply, “Get a life.” People, if you can’t tell, Maria is one of my best sounding boards, girlfriend calls it like she sees it. I NEED PEOPLE LIKE THIS IN MY LIFE. No really…I do…emotional train wrecks need grounding sometimes. However, Maria? Also trust me when I tell you that I owe you and Selina a payback for the fact I now have to decorate my car for the drive down thanks to the two of you. White shoe polish and tears are two things that really don’t mix.

I know this is going to be a train wreck of biblical proportions because this is the third year Mr. C has gone. The first year he put up with me sniffling quietly behind very large dark glasses while he unpacked his trunk. He hugged me, assured me he’d be fine and he would write every day and miss me soooo much. Last year, he flat out gave me the side eye and said, “Okay, see ya later!” and scurried off before anyone could figure out it was his Mom that was creating a small river of tears in the cabin.

Miss G will be joining him this year for the first time. That alone is going to throw me right over the edge of reality. Add to this that they are two entirely different children. Miss G is going to have ZERO TOLERANCE for embarassment of such epic proportions. Odds of her telling me in no uncertain terms to get my act together PRONTO and physically throwing me out of the cabin? 100%

I don’t think I’m going to get out of there alive.

Go ahead, try and make me feel better. Tell me how much fun they will have. Tell me what a great experience it is for them. Tell me how much I’m going to enjoy all this quiet time. Finished?

Yeah, now you can go get me another box of kleenex…thanks!

So now that you know I’ll be crying my eyes out on Sunday and every single member of my family will be pretending they don’t know me, I should also tell you this.

I’m taking the week off.

From work, from blogging from everything. I’m going to spend some time focusing on my husband, drinking entirely too much wine, and trying to remember what it was like to be us before these crazy children of ours came along.

As I recall, we were pretty damn good at it.

I’ll be back next Monday….you crazy kids be good while I’m gone!

Y’all, I am SO EXCITED. Remember that recent episode where I couldn’t afford that fancy schmancy face cream? Turns out I don’t need it!

I found this gem today and plan to officially start my exercise regime tomorrow…

Now if someone could please make me understand what she is doing around the :31, I’d appreciate it.

On second thought, my children could possibly read your comments.

Great news. We survived week one of Summer.

It was a stretch. The fights started almost immediately and I have to thank none other than The Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders for saving my sanity. How is this you ask? Well, because in this house we are all about the cheerleader (which, in case you have forgotten, was a place I never thought I’d find myself), we decided to take it up a notch and enroll Miss G in Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader camp.

They did save my sanity. My personal sense of self worth? Not so much.

Try feeling good about yourself in the face of this:

And this:

Now try doing it on a “fat day”. On top of that, I’d like to add that these beautiful young women appear to not perspire. At all. The room we were in was pretty hot, and I’m not sure but I think that maybe, perhaps, possibly….I experienced a tiny little hot flash because suddenly my hair frizzed, my clothes became soaked and my makeup ran down my face creating sad little puddles of color all over my boobs. I could tell you it would have run straight off to the floor if my boobs weren’t swollen too but that would be overkill. I don’t need this kind of grief in my life people.

Oh wait, did I just tell you about my swollen boobs? Sorry, that sorta slipped out. Dammit.

The best part of this entire experience (aside from the stellar performance turned in by Miss G) was that Mr. C was standing right next to me and had the exact same view. Watching him trying not to watch was hilarious. He tried. He failed. He enjoyed it almost as much as his Dad did. Chip off the old block, that one.

Here’s the worst part. Those girls? Are so nice. Had I gotten even the tiniest hint of attitude, I would have totally been able to throw out the line, “Yes, but I have a great personality!”

Which, you know, would have made me feel better for at least :15 seconds.

Oh, and all you Daddy bloggers? Whether or not you are Cowboy fans?

You’re welcome for the pictures.

Last night was big fun. If you like tornadoes. And 80 mph straight line winds. And hiding in the laundry room for a very long time. And watching your backyard stuff blowing in circles. And then losing all power and living the life of Laura Ingall circa nineteen-seventy-something like Little House on the Prairie sans bonnet.

It was really awesome.

Somewhere around 8:00 the sirens went off. I’ve lived in Texas all of my life. I’ve done more tornadoes than I care count and I take them VERY SERIOUSLY. The Man and I immediately herded the kids into the laundry room, although it is very small, it is the safest room in the house as it has no windows and is located beneath a stairwell which makes it the least likely room in the house to collapse. Comforting, right? The kids loved it though….what an adventure for them. Me? Not so much.

Gracie enjoyed some “relaxation time” in a laundry basket:

Then, they both got bored and decided to move to the actual washer/dryer combo.

Yes, she is actually IN the dryer. Mr. C, however was totally chill, reading “Diary of a Wimpy Kid” on top of the dryer. (He is totally not wimpy…wasn’t scared at all…unlike his Mom)

The kids were having a great time. I was in the process of a pretty major freak out. I kept sneaking out to see what was going on. I was fairly sure we were mid Armageddon and the house was coming down.

And I was out of wine. Dammit.

Anyfunnelcloud, we did not get hit but we did loose power until exactly 3:27 AM when it all came back on full force. Have you ever been asleep and had every light in the house turn on in the middle of the night accompanied by loud cartoons and some really loud murder movie in the family room? If not, you have not really lived. The Man and I got up, turned everything off…and never went back to sleep.

Tomorrow, I face the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders. Miss G is in a summer camp at Cowboy HQ and she will be doing her final performance. I will be there to see it with the ginormous bags under my eyes. I don’t need this kind of humiliation in my life…Hold me…I’m too tired for this…

Did I mention I’m a Green Bay fan?

Good Lord, I’m going to sleep n ow…and I’m not waking up until Sunday.

Because I know you were all dying to know, following is a list of things I will not be purchasing this summer.

Item Number One: Tiki Pots and Torches

Reason? After a few of those adult beverages pictured above, this is the stuff that would haunt my dreams. Also…solar powered…added benefit that the eyes and mouth glow in the dark to guarantee your children have nightmares and wake you up after said adult beverages. I don’t need that kind of grief in my life. And those teeth? NO.

Item Number Two: Frog Vomit Dish

Reason: No appetite for frog vomit. ‘Nuff said.

Item Number Three: “Fence Art”

Reason: At first glance, I thought this was rapid growing Ivy. But no. This? Is genuine vinyl mesh made to cover your ugly fence…to make it uglier. We have an ugly fence. I don’t need help making it uglier, but thanks.

Item Number Four: Cherry Pitting Pooper Supreme

Reason? Is it just me or does this toothy little guy look like he is pooping cherry pits? Try selling that one to your fussy kids and report back to me. “Hey Kids! Watch the cherry pitter poop!” Go ahead, try it…I’m waiting.

Item Number Five: Kanye Glasses for the Middle Aged Visually Impaired Set.

Reason? Lauded as the way to teach your eyes to relax, these lovely shades can be worn while reading, on the computer, watching TV…but not while driving! (Um, duh?) It’s possible they may possibly correct your vision. Thanks but I’ll take blindness over looking like Kanye while chanting “That that don’t kill me…can only make me stronger…” Speaking of, if you do see me in this, go ahead and kill me. It will make you stronger, I promise. And popular.

And lastly, Item Number Six: Pee In Your Pants Panties

Reason? I could spend a lot of time on the fact that these are granny pants, which is just too easy. What you really need to know here is that these granny pants will hold five ounces of liquid. Really. While I’ve been known to snee myself (and if you haven’t read me for a long time…you may want to know about this personal problem of mine) I just cannot go there. You can even wear these all day as the magical panties will wick the liquid away from you for up to eight hours. EWWWWW.

This entire list? Oh. Hell. No.

This weekend we went to the wedding of my very good friend Tommy and his lovely bride Ashley.

Well, we tried to go to the wedding. Long story short, Map Reading FAIL. Of biblical proportion. The wedding was at 5:00 and we left our hotel at 4:30, looking good and feeling pretty great about ourselves for making the drive from Dallas to Austin that day, getting ready in :45 minutes and getting out the door in time.

We should have allowed for an hour. At least.

It started at the hotel. The Man wanted to load the address into the GPS system in my car. However, I’ve been burned one too many times of late by GPS. Case in point, Atlanta. While trying to get to AT&T headquarters, I ended up smack dab in the middle of the most expensive neighborhood in Atlanta, Buckhead, at a dead end with the GPS yelling at me, “Turn Left, Turn Left!!!!” which had I listened to her would have meant I drove through the kitchen of an approximately 2.5 million dollar home. Meanwhile, I’ve got two minutes to get there and am summarily rocking back and forth in the fetal position yelling “Make it stop talking!!! Make it stop talking!!!” over and over again.

Wait. Where was I? Oh yes, so I totally shut him down on the GPS.

My Bad.

Get a map printed out from the hotel and The Man trusted me to read the directions to him while he drove. Silly, silly Man. Here’s a snippet of the conversation:

4:30:
The Man: We’ve got plenty of time…we are good!
4:40:
The Man: What does the map say now?
TSM: Says merge onto Mopac and go for 4.7 miles.
The Man: You ARE SUCH a good navigator.
TSM: (Smiles smugly)
4:50
The Man: Are you sure? Because I think we’ve gone over 5 miles and I’m not seeing the exit.
TSM: *Sigh* Of course I’m sure, it should be right up here…
4:55
The Man: Sweetie? I think we went too far.
TSM: No, it clearly says here to exit Bee Caves road…it has to be coming right up…are you sure you looked at the mileage?
5:00
The Man: Hon? That’s a dead end to the highway right up there.
TSM: *inserts dread into range of emotions*
5:05
TSM: Uh oh. I read the map wrong, we were only supposed to go .04 miles on Mopac to Bee Caves? And what is this 2244?
The Man: Um, that would be the sign we should be looking for, it goes by highways not street names.
TSM: Oh. Still think I’m a good navigator?
The Man: Still think it’s a good idea not to use the GPS?

After taking the map away from me, we finally arrived at the church at 5:25 right as the wedding ended. We did however, after yet another hit and miss, find the reception which was only one mile down the same road.

A few pictures: