The White Pants Dilemma

In my closet, there are lots of pants. Some are too big. Some are too small. Some are just right. (Yes, I have three bears living in my closet.)

And one pair, one very special pair, is white. White. Very white. And they have never ever been worn!!

I'm not sure why I keep them in there. They do fit. And I tell myself all the time that I will wear them...soon! In winter, I say, "Oh, I'll wear them when it gets warm!" In summer, I tell myself, "I'll save them for wearing at school!" For the past two years I've been lying to myself in this manner, because I will never ever ever be able to wear them.

Why, you ask? Because I am clumsy. And staining substances are magnetically attracted to whatever I happen to have on my body. If I wear a white shirt, you can be sure I'll get some permanent black marker on it. A black shirt? Bleach will find me. Colors? Butter, grease, grape juice....you name it, if it's un-removeable, it will appear. My closet is filled with pretty clothes I can't stand to part with, but I can't ever wear in public again.

I'm especially good at sitting on something staining, too, but not realizing it. When I get home at night and find I have a big black mark on the seat of my pants, I marvel at the number of people I'd passed during the day who couldn't pull me aside and say, "Hey, you got a big mark on your butt." (So if you happen to see that I do, please tell me! I promise not to say, "What are you doing looking at my butt????")

I stalk white pants wearers sometimes. Some people wear them effortlessly, going through an entire day in a public school without a single mark or blemish. By 8:07, I probably would have gotten dry erase marker on the left leg and coffee on the right. I should get rid of the pants, right??

Of course, I don't know this for sure, seeing as how I've never worn white pants. So, it's quite possible that I could be one of those white pants wearers, if I was very very careful. And if I carried a Tide-to-go pen with me. And a towel to sit on. And a force field to keep those little kids from hugging me.

Which is why I will probably keep them in my closet...at least until summer. When I wear them. They are definitely summer pants...and it's winter.

Little things I am thankful for

Everyone on Facebook is doing these "I'm thankful for..." posts with things that they are thankful for in their lives. You know, the usual, "my amazing family," "my wonderful children," "I have a job," "I can pay my electric bill," blah blah blah.

Of course, don't get me wrong, I'm thankful for that stuff, too. But, the more I start to think about it, all the little tiny things I am thankful for in my life are getting neglected when I talk about the big things I appreciate!!

So, today's post is dedicated to random items that I am extremely thankful for in my life, those poor things that are getting pushed aside for kids and husbands and the like.

•  Slipper socks
• They are fuzzy, warm, and perfect for my cold feet in November. I have 10 pairs of them. True, they take up too much room in my sock drawer, but they are less likely to be stolen by my kids than my slippers are (and I've not seen my slippers for weeks!)
• Butter Knives
• The black sheep of the knife family, they don't really cut very much, but are actually very useful!!! Not only for butter, but also to pry stuff open, clean out the top of sippy cups where the gunk builds up, slide in the trim around a door so my kids can't open it, and try to get that elusive Polly Pocket shoe that Story just has to have  that's slid right under the stove.
• Toilets
• Of course, many many people are thankful for indoor plumbing. The toilet is just awesome, though. Bad stuff goes in, and with the flick of a switch it goes away and never comes back. You don't have to even think about it anymore! How much better would life be if you could do that with bills or annoying people?
• Nick Jr.
• One of the best babysitters EVER!! Four years ago when it became a 24 hours channel, mothers everywhere were rejoicing. Finally, something to entertain my three year old in between bouts of puking at 3 AM......
•  Dog Treats
• What better way to get my dog outside when she's getting into bad stuff inside the house, or get her back inside when she's terrorizing the neighborhood?? "Abby!! Wanna treat???" always works!!!!!
• Sudoku
• Sometimes a girl just needs to unwind, and thinking aimlessly for 30 minutes about nothing but the numbers 1-9 makes everything better.
• Garage door openers
• Who invented these?? They are fabulous! More necessary than the TV remote control, even. When it's raining, snowing, or just plain cold, it's awesome to be able to push the button while staying in the nice, warm car...then running after the door opens all the way!! Now if they could just make remote control gas pumps...
• Irons
• Irons make it possible for me to procrastinate folding clothes. If I neglect folding the clothes in the laundry basket for, say, five days...they're pretty much unrecognizable by the time I do fold them. Thirty seconds with the iron, though, and voila! They look like shirts and pants again!
• Mr. Clean Magic Erasers
• Flat paint + crayons + curious little girls = wall disasters!! It's a little harder than "erasing," but they've saved my life (and my kids' lives!!) many times..........
• Tempurpedic Pillows
• A couple of Christmases ago, I got one, and ever since then, my pillow is my constant companion. I travel with it everywhere!! As long as I have it, I don't need blankets, or sheets....in fact, I could sleep in a corner!
• Clothespins
• They've got many uses...and you never think about how great they are until you need one and you can't find it.

And finally..............

• Law and Order
• How else would I spend my weekday afternoons and weekend afternoons?? Being productive? Please!

Eight Things I learned about Alabama

On a recent trip to the Yellowhammer State (Alabama!) to attend my sister-in-law's wedding, I learned many things.

1. Alabama is too long.

• We had to drive from the top of the state to the very bottom. The kids asked us every hour or so what state we were in, and I'm pretty sure we said "Alabama" about 300 times. I mean, it's longer than California and Florida combined. It might be longer than the entire continent of South America from tip to top. Don't believe what those maps say- I lived it!

2. Alabama highways all look the same.

• I took pictures every hour from the passenger seat. Guess what? They all had a road surrounded by pine trees. Every picture is indistinguishable from the rest.

3. Ants are to be feared in Alabama.

• Where I live, you see an ant crawling on you, you flick it off. No big deal. In Alabama, I learned the hard way that when you see an ant crawling on you, you should scream, shake the appendage on which the ant has decided to crawl, and then drop to your knees and pray for mercy. If you don't, it will sting you. And then you will cry many times during the course of at least four days, maybe more (ask me in a couple more days).

4. Bug spray doesn't matter in Alabama.

• When planning to spend time in an outdoor venue, many people put on bug spray. I usually do this in the summer, but I made a special decision to apply bug spray due to the ant incident. I even applied it four times. It didn't seem to matter...I got bit anyways. Many, many times.

5. Sand fleas are direct descendants from Satan.

• It's possible that I was bitten over and over by these things I couldn't see called "sand fleas." At least that's what the photographer said was biting him when he asked me for bug spray. Little did I know I could have told him it didn't matter- apparently bug spray doesn't deter them. I came home with 19 bites on just one leg, not to mention the other leg, both arms, and my back. These bites, while small, itched worse and worse....and they continue to itch, but at least now they're taking turns.

6. Alabama bugs love me

• When totalling my bug bites, I stopped at 50. Ivy had 6. Story had 7. Rob had none. What's up with that??7

7. The beach in Alabama is white, but windy.

• I only went for a brief walk one day, and a 30 minute excursion with the kids to make sand castles the next. Of course, the kids abandoned the sand castle after about 3 minutes and 12 seconds and went on to make "sand angels" for the remainder of the time. The sand was pretty until it got in my eyes, my teeth, and some other places I don't talk about at parties.

8. The trip north isn't any better than the trip south

• Is it possible that it takes twice as long to leave Alabama as it did to get there? Maybe there's some kind of space-time-continuum that keeps you in the state longer when you try to leave.

I had a good time (and so did the bugs!), but I don't think I could move there....unless I got some kind of bug and sand repellent cat suit....and an airplane to make the trip north faster!

Tracee, Death to Cars

Sunday I went about 30 minutes north and played in a concert. When I was done, I put the girls in the truck, plugged in the DVD player, and turned the key. Nothing happened except the DVD player went off. I turned it again. Zilch.

I know nothing about cars and mechanical stuff, but I figured the battery was dead...so I went back in to the concert and asked a lady if anyone could help me jump my truck. A nice man with a crazy toddler who wasn't digging the concert to begin with said he would help me...as long as I had cables. Amazingly enough, I knew where they were!

I jumped in the bed of the truck and got my bag of cables out. I was wearing concert black of course, and when I got out of the bed, it was concert black with grey smudges. The choir director came out to help, too. We set up the cables, and when I turned the key...nothing happened. Still. So, I called AAA to send me a tow truck, and my husband to come and get us in his car.

My husband, of course, was busy yelling at the Bengals, but he and the tow truck guy arrived within minutes of each other. They hoisted my truck onto his truck, and we followed it down the highway. I snapped some cute pics of it on the way.

An hour later, I decided I needed to go to Walmart. I took my husband's car and Story. Story and I were having a rousing game of "Find the letter A on road signs" when the car started acting funny, losing speed. I down shifted, but it wasn't helping, and I could smell something weird. So, I pulled over to the side of the road amidst a cloud of smoke which I prayed was just road dust. Unfortunately it was coming out of the hood, so my hopes were dashed.

I told Story to hold on as I unbuckled, but in the excitement, I dropped my cell phone under the seat. You know, that one place you can't really reach from the front or the back? That's where it was. You can imagine me now...burning car, me hanging upside down from the drivers seat half out in the highway looking for my phone, and Story in the back saying, "Mommy, what's that smell?"

I finally grabbed the phone and popped the hood just as a couple pulled up in front of me. I ran around the side to get Story out as the guy said, "You okay??"

"Uh, no!" I yelled from the shoulder.

He said, "Well, we smelled you a couple miles back...is it a fire?"

I wasn't sure, so we popped the hood, and in a few short minutes realized that I'd burnt the clutch out in the car. I reached for my cell to call my husband (who is at home with no vehicle, remember), and then realized that I had no service. An old couple pulled up behind me and swore that they had service, but when I tried to use their phone, it wouldn't ring through.

So, old couple drove over the hill to call my husband, and young couple played with Story while I sat and silently freaked out. I mean, really, what are the odds I'd kill both cars in one day???

I made young couple leave (they were really tired, I could tell), and old couple came back to tell me they'd gotten a hold of my husband, but he said his car was tore up. (Uh, yeah! LOL)

Several other people stopped to check on me, but I shooed them on. I figured out that if I stood on the passenger seat, and held my phone on the roof of the car, that I could send texts. So I started sending them frantically. I found out that Rob and my neighbor were coming to get me. Then, a cop stopped and tried to talk me in to calling a wrecker, and Story asked him if he was taking us to jail.

Finally, my husband got there with my neighbor. He drove the car back while I rode with my neighbor.

The next morning, I called Enterprise to "come pick me up." I also called my mechanic and gave him the bad news: not only did he have to squeeze my truck in to his schedule, he also had to make room for Rob's car.

So, if anyone's interested in donating to the "Get Tracee back on the road fund," just put your number in the comments section and I'll give you a call and tell you where to send the check. =)

10 items of randomness for my 100th post

Whoo-hoo!!!

It's my 100th post! Can you believe that 100 blog-worthy things have happened to me? (okay, I'll be honest- probably only 47 blog-worthy things have happened...the remaining 53 are not very good).

So, in honor of my 100th post of nothing, I decided to compose 100 short stories about things that have happened to me lately...

And then I got realistic....and decided to post ten.

Here goes:

1. Story keeps wanting strange foods for breakfast...this morning it was mozzarella and oranges. Yesterday she wanted bananas and a hot dog. At least she's not mixing them up.

2. Abby (my dog) needs shaved. Badly. Every time I let her in the house, a steady trail of hair flows behind her, kind of like Pig Pen and his dirt from Charlie Brown. If she lays down on the rug, when she gets up, it looks like she's left little puppies all over the carpet. I have swept more the past week than I have in a year.

3. I did Zumba for the first time the other day....in addition to finding out that I still have the coordination of an adolescent, I also realized that I can't seem to move my hips...at all. Oh well, at least I didn't fall.....

4. Ivy's doing this annoying thing where she laughs all the time, even when she's in trouble. I'm not sure how to handle this, but it infuriates me!!! I find myself saying all those cliches my mom used to say to me....funny how that keeps happening.

5. I painted my fingernails hot pink for a wedding last weekend. And then I put on a red dress. (If there's a man reading this who's thinking, "What's wrong with that?"....that's tacky!!) Then I stole some sea shells from the reception for my hermit crabs...and got caught doing it by a groomsman.

6. Story's starting to get in to a good sleep routine again, but Ivy is being very resistant to going to sleep anytime before midnight...which is weird because it's usually the other way around! Methinks we need some Benadryl assistance.....

7. I should really clean the house...but I'm not too excited about doing that because in 4 hours, I'll just need to sweep it again. Why bother when the improvement is short-lived I say?

8. Story and I have had some interesting conversations lately as her vocabulary has improved and she's become more talkative. Too bad I still can't understand anything she says.

9. I'm trying to teach Ivy to give herself a shower...and it's hard! What makes it worse is she has no desire to do it herself either. I mean, I guess if someone offered to bathe me everyday, I'd probably let them, so I see her point, but, wow, it would be so much easier if I could say, "Ivy go take a shower" and 72 minutes later after much nagging and yelling, she's cleaned herself!!

10. Story's favorite new lullaby? Dynamite by Taio Cruz. I know, right?

The Toenail Fairy

About a month ago, I, along with my friend Sally**, was invited to judge my school's cheerleading tryouts by my esteemed colleague Susie**, the cheerleading coach.

Didn't that sound professional?????

As usual, I brought Ivy and Story with me, and they spent most of their time in the warm-up room playing with the ranks of the cheering hopeful. Story lasted until right before the scoring began, and then she hadtohavehermommy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Some well-meaning students brought her to me in Susie's classroom.

She played around the room where we were adding and figuring out the squad, seeming to be content as long as she and I were in the same place. Sally left for the restroom, and as she did, Story eyed the door with a particular interest.Our classroom doors and kind of heavy, and will close themselves unless propped open.

I really didn't pay attention to Story and she opened the door, then let it fall closed repeatedly. Opening it was hard for her because the handle was above her eye-level. After a couple of minutes, Story found that she could do with it what she wanted- ride the door as it shut.

She opened it, held tight onto the handle, picked up her feet, and the door would give her a little ride as it closed. I think I even pointed out how cute it was to Susie once.

Unfortunately, a downside to the heavy doors and Story's lack of height was that she couldn't be seen from the other side of the door.

When Sally came back from the bathroom, she opened the door, not being able to see Story. And Story, unfortunately, had her feet on the ground trying to pull the door back to ride again. There was a scream, an, "Oh no!" and Story started bawling. I ran, picked her up, and told her to shake it off as usual.

Then I saw the blood.

It was pouring out from under her big toenail. I ran to the bathroom, leaving a red trail behind us. I didn't know what to do, so I ran it under cold water...and it wouldn't stop. Sally and Susie followed me to the bathroom with a band aid, but it was several minutes until I could put it on. And what was left? A toenail I was sure would come off.

As the days went by, the toenail started rising, and looking just plain gross. I couldn't bear the sight of it, and just kept applying band-aids. I confided in my friend Jenna that I was sure I couldn't deal when the thing fell off. She was my support, having lost a toenail herself once.

As the days turned into weeks, I became angry. Why hadn't the stupid thing fallen off yet?? Why was I being tortured by the likes of a toenail?? Story wasn't about to let me cut it off, and I wasn't sure I could do it either. Finally, one day when we were at Jenna's house, and Ivy and Story were playing with her daughter, Jenna came outside with a baggie. "Story lost her toenail!!" she exclaimed.

So, not only did I not have to witness it, I didn't even have to deal with the clean-up!

The only issue was Jenna had told Story that the toenail fairy would visit her that evening. All I had to do was remember to put it under her pillow. Right.

First, I lost the toenail. Then, I forgot to put anything under her pillow. She didn't remember till late the next day, so I thought, okay, I can do it tonight instead! Except the next day, I forgot again. Luckily, I changed the sheets, though, and when she asked about it, I pulled a 5 dollar bill out of my wallet and thrust it into her hands, explaining I had found it when I changed the sheets, which was good enough for Story.

And then she lost the $5 somewhere. I hope to find it in the playroom soon. Mom of the Year right here, people!

**names have been changed to protect my innocent bffs Traci, Jamie, and Myrtle. Oops, did I just say that?

My bad list

If you know me, you know that I am scared of many things. By disclosing this list, I expect you to (right now!!) make a vow that you will never use it against me.

It might be therapeutic to "put it all out there," but I'm actually cringing at the thought of typing some of these words....

Here goes.....

Mustard
Ew. That was difficult to type. This scares me. The color, the word, the smell....when I was 5 months pregnant, I got some on my hand and I panicked...I ran...and then fell down. I had to spend hours in a hospital being monitored (it was horrible...I had to lay down in a bed, they brought me juice, gave me a TV remote control....absolutely horrible! LOL)

Then, one time a student thought it would be funny to put some on the door of my classroom. I couldn't unlock it, I had to get the janitor. Even after I watched them clean it off and bleach it five times, I wouldn't touch the handle with my bare skin for about three weeks. The thought of it still induces gagging.

Pickles
You could chase me around with an evil cucumber. I'd run screaming. Ivy almost touched one when she was a year old, and luckily I grabbed her just in time. One year olds don't understand why you won't touch them until they are bleached.

At one of my baby showers, there was a huge jar of them...and it made me cry. People thought I was just overcome with emotion.

Belly buttons
They are creepy. Everyone's looks different....and I can go nuts thinking about the center of them....(taking a small break here to breathe through a paper bag).

I can't touch mine without massive mental preparation. I can feel it if someone looks at mine. I can't look at other people's....and heaven forbid someone touch theirs in my sight!!!

Walking in the lake
A while ago, I couldn't swim with fish. A friend of mine in college had talked me into getting in the ocean with her...after a half hour, I calmed down, my panic receding...until the next wave brought a huge school of fish with it. I immediately swam for the shore, swimming until my stomach touched sand. I also couldn't swim in a lake when all my friends did.

That fear receded with time, and I'm now a happy lake-swimmer...as long as it's very deep. But, walking into a lake from the shore, the feel of my feet on grass, the swirls of mud around my toes makes me sick. It's also not a good idea for me to stare at the fish-finder on the boat before I swim...

Being the Center of Attention
Now, often my conversational skills are so excellent that I become the center of a rapt group of listeners (yeah, right). And a lot of people who know me don't understand why I'm scared of it.....but, being the "planned center of attention" is a different story...walking down the aisle at my wedding...standing up and conducting a band concert (total occupational hazard there, I know)...telling a group of adults about anything...having my name announced for something...being on a stage in general...it's all frustratingly terrifying. I suddenly am over-aware of what I'm wearing, stains, how my mouth looks. If my back is turned, I am constantly brushing imaginary stuff off of it.

There are a lot more items I can put on this list, but I'm afraid I've reached my tolerance level for today....have fun reading and think of me sitting in the corner with my head between my knees taking deep breaths for the next few hours....

Am I old?

Ivy and I like to have deep conversations in the car on our way to school. They include subjects such as why I have moles, how I'm almost really old, and whether I look pretty or not. Today's is about what will happen in twenty years:

IVY: Mommy, what do you think I will look like in twenty years?

ME: Well, you should be taller, your hair will be different, and you'll be just as pretty.

IVY: Mommy, what will you and Daddy look like in twenty years?

ME: Well, Daddy will have grey hair. And we'll have wrinkles.

IVY: Daddy will have grey hair?

ME: Yes.

IVY: You'll have grey hair, too, right?

ME: Nope.

IVY: Yes you will.

ME: Nope, I color my hair, Ivy.

IVY: Yes you will. You'll have long grey hair, and you'll wear it in a bun.

ME: No! It will not be grey, long, or in a bun.

IVY: Why not?

ME: Because I'll only be 53!

IVY: Really??? That's old!!!!!!!

ME: So, that's old, but I'm not old right now?

IVY: Oh...yes, you're old right now. But in twenty years, you'll be really old.

Thanks, Ivy.

Go, Big Blues?

I can imagine how many sports fanatics clicked on this link, especially in the wake of the Morehead State victory over Louisville...unfortunately as they and you, reader, are about to find out, I'm not blogging about anything to do with points, a field, and balls.

Nope, this blog is about THE BLUES. As in sadness. Down in the dumps. That cruddy feeling you just can't shake.

I've had the blues periodically throughout life...as a teenager after a break-up...or after a possible relationship fell through (which happened more than I care to admit. I know what you're thinking- Tracee? Someone didn't want to date Tracee? I know, right? I'm totally awesome).

After I had Ivy, I had a touch of them. The "baby blues." The "oh my gosh, what did I just do letting this little stranger into my house" sads. But they passed really quickly and I was smitten with my little girlie.

When I had Story, I had them bad. I had the "can I really take my baby to the fire department and drop her off no questions asked?" bad. It didn't help that she cried all the time either. Apparently, she just wasn't that into me. But, eventually we made up, and it's a good thing because she's just about as awesome as I am.

But lately, I've had them with increasing frequency, which is odd. Aren't people supposed to be less depressed after winter leaves? Isn't the sunshine supposed to make me happy? I only have two months until summer- shouldn't I be giddy?

But I'm not, and I'm not sure why...it's not like kids keep asking me if I'm pregnant or anything. Oh, wait...they do.

Well, it's not like I've gained 20 pounds in the last year...oh, wait, I have. Am I that petty? Possibly.

At least gas isn't like over $3 a gallon prohibiting me from going on trips to see friends and family...

And I could be one of those unlucky people who has a summer of crazy yard work ahead of her...

And my property taxes could be exorbitant...

And I could have had to sell the car I loved this past year...

And I could be faced with the daunting task of having to replace all my summer clothes due to a large weight gain that's not in the budget...

Wow. I'm not sure writing IS the best therapy. Just a couple of these are enough to worry about...all of them together...maybe that's why I'm down?

Most of this, however, is petty. I'm healthy, the kids are healthy, we have jobs, a roof, cars to drive (although gas to put in them is questionable). So, I'm pretty thankful, even if I am a bit blue. =)

The Naked Girls Club

If you were expecting a blog about naked people, or maybe a funny story about how my kids run around in the nude, I'm sorry to disappoint you.

This blog is about....dolls. Did you know that I live in a strictly enforced doll nudist colony?

Any time my girls encounter a doll with clothes on, they feel it's their right...no, that it's a compulsive need to strip it down to the plastic it was born in.

It doesn't matter if the doll is large, or the size of a coin, they will attempt to de-clothe it immediately. Barbies, babies, Polly Pockets, Teddy Ruxpin. Nothing in our house born a doll is spared.

Sometimes, they even take off doll clothes that weren't meant to come off. I remember a hand sized baby that was holding a bear. The bear was sewn to the baby's hands, but also to its chest, straight through the purple sleeper it was wearing. The last time I saw that baby, its sleeper was pulled as far over the bear as humanly possible. It's been that way for over a year.

The only reason Flynn Rider still has his pants on is because they are painted on his legs. And I wouldn't be surprised to see one of them chewing the paint off one day.

Occasionally, the dolls are allowed to wear clothes in the course of a game. My professional doll strippers can't seem to figure out how to get the clothes back on though. So, after a hard day of dressing dolls, I sometimes encourage the nakedness.

Polly Pocket and Barbie are the worst. Not only does Story like to undress them, but she also likes to chew on their hands, making any attempt at putting the clothes back on near impossible.

Maybe this means my girls are just interested in fashion. Or ER nursing. Maybe I don't need to worry about their future careers as exotic dancers or nude colonists.

The Snowday

In my line of work, there's one thing that makes the winter months bearable: The Snowday.

Often, any kind of slightly inclement weather will make the county roads slick. You can't have buses full of kids out on those slick roads. And when buses full of kids don't come to school, I have no one to teach, so I get to stay home. And it's awesome.

But, Snowdays can become a sickness. An addiction worse than any kind of drug. Okay, maybe not any kind of drug....maybe they're about halfway down the list.

On the first Snowday, there is rejoicing. Sleeping in. Usually with me, there's a feeling that I can finally accomplish those 20,000 things I never get to on the weekends. Laundry. Cleaning. Baking. Organizing cabinets. Boxing up old clothes. Cleaning the attic. Rearranging furniture. The list is endless.

So I work, the kids play, and we spend the day away. As the end of it nears, though, I start getting anxious. I mean, yeah this Snowday was nice and all, but will I have to work tomorrow? Will we have to get up early? And then my mind races.....

I didn't finish my list! The attic cleaning is only half done!! My bedroom isn't clean!!! Oh, no! I didn't clean the bathrooms! I meant to!

And then, I haven't done anything to prepare for tomorrow! Lunches, clothes picked out, bookbags packed...I'll be late! "Oh, for the love of all that is holy, call off school already!" I scream in my head.

When they do, I instantly calm. Finally, just one more day. One more day to finish everything I didn't get done today, I sigh.

However, as the end of the second day nears, I panic again. Things are still not done. I never did organize the toys in the playroom. Oh, and there are those walls that need painted.... Regardless of how many consecutive days I've missed, at the end of everyone there is an urgency to have just one more...just one more.

It's an addiction. Just like an addict who's supply is cut off, when the snow melts and it looks like I might have to work again, I go through several feelings.

First, it's denial. I mean, the roads could still be bad! Don't they see that? I still have an icy patch here...it's down the street, and about the size of a letter, but seriously!! They'll call it off, I know they will.

When they don't call it off, I get angry. What do they know! Fine! I sure hope nobody wrecks in the morning.

I also start bargaining with God. I offer Him lots of stuff if He could ensure that school would just be cancelled!!

But eventually, I do have to go back to work. It's really hard at first, especially after an extended "vacation." I do it, though, and my Snowday addiction eases........until the next storm.

My name is Tracee, and I am a Snowday-a-holic.

Why chocolate creme oreos will always remind me of Edward Cullen

Most people that know me understand that I have something wrong with my head. Most people that have known me a long time understand my tendency to get obsessed with stuff.

The list is long and stretches from Rainbow Brite to Star Wars to hippie clothes to Mercedes Benzes to Twilight. Being my friend on any teensy part of this journey will make you believe that I just have unhealthy feelings toward a few things...being someone there for the long run, you'll see that the objects of my affection change, but the obsessive feelings remain constant.

A couple of days ago, my husband and I were watching one of the six Star Wars movies and I said, "Wow, like fifteen years ago, I could have told you the names and types of all those aliens...and what planets they were from."

He seemed a little concerned. "Really?"

I laughed, and told him about my adolescent years, when I lived, ate, and breathed Star Wars. I could almost recite original three movies line by line. I made my parents buy me anything Star Wars that I saw at the store. I read about ten thousand Star Wars fiction books that took place after Return of the Jedi. I dreamed I was a Jedi. I was pretty sick. "It was worse than Twilight," I told him.

Since I am in the middle of the Twilight addiction, he couldn't visualize it.

When I fell into my third Thanksgiving break sickness, a feverish sinus infection coupled with dehydration from the stomach virus and the still present kidney stone, and a huge muscle cramp in my back that I was sure was the beginning of a heart attack, my mom came to visit and make sure the girls didn't set the house on fire.

That day, just to comfort me and keep my mind off of the false heart attack, I had started reading Eclipse again. Lucky for me, the Spike channel was running a Star Wars marathon, so I got to spend the day with Luke, Leia, and Han, and Edward kept me company during commericals.

See, my obsessions are like "loveys," those blankets and toys that two year olds have at their sides to offer comfort and protection. If I'm knee deep in sickness or bad stuff, something that I've come to love will at least hold me over until I feel a little better.

Mom brought Oreos, the new chocolate ones, and although I hadn't eaten in days I wanted them. Bad.

She watched me eat, and then wanted to know what in the world was on TV. "Return of the Jedi!" I said, a little grumpy. When Rob came home from hunting, shocked to find out I thought I was dying and Mom was there, she confirmed what I said was true- my Star Wars obsession was a lot worse.

And this got me thinking, while eating the oreos and reading about Edward professing his love for Bella, about all of my past obsessions. When I was thirteen, I became obsessed with this cartoon called "Bots" or something like it that only came on at 5:30 in the morning. I religiously got up every morning and watched it with my cereal.

And then when I was obsessed with soap. Well, not really soap but the evils of it. I banned soap from my house and spent a ton of money on special bottles of castile soap in order to protect us all from the evils of sodium laureth sulfate. I researched it thoroughly on the internet.

And then I started thinking about what it would have meant to have the internet when I was mid-Star Wars obsession. Harrison Ford would have definitely had an internet stalker, that's for sure.

Why am I like this? I'll never know. I know I can calm it some when I've been taking my meds...I'm able to resist reading Breaking Dawn for the thirtieth time (well, at least straight out- I can allow myself a page a day or something). But it never really goes away, and in times of stress I revert straight into crazy-land.

When I reached for the chocolate creme oreos this evening, I suddenly felt the urge to continue reading about Jacob and Edward fighting over custody of Bella...and there I am. Oreos. Edward. It all connects somewhere in the rusty, oddly working gears of my brain.

A Letter to my Shark

Dear Shark Steam Mop,

You have been a faithful friend. I am sorry I have been neglecting you.

When my neighbor recommended you to me, I have to admit, I was skeptical. She said you would make my floors shiny with little to no effort, and that you were very clean, easy, and safe for my children.

I went to buy you at the store, and the first time I used you, I fell in love with you. You were so much easier than spraying a 4x4 square of wood with Bruce Hardwood floor cleaner and scrubbing it repeatedly with a mop. I just filled your little water tank with the funnel, and viola! You were ready to go.

You and I used to spend quality time together once a week while we worked as a team to erase paw prints, kool-aid spills, ketchup, pictures done in marker, and cat puke from the floors.

Sadly, the past month, we've not been able to see each other. You hang there in the laundry room, lonely except for the dustmop while I flit around, go on field trips, teach lessons, and take care of the kids. I thought we might be able to chill again together this evening, but alas, I was only able to hang with the dustmop.

In the meantime, my floors are also feeling neglected. I know there are watercolor paintings in my breakfast nook, some suspicious looking spots left by cats in the dining room, and muddy tracks leading from the front door to the dog bowl.

(Speaking of the dog bowl, the stains around it are amazing. I'm not even sure you can handle it without major assistance. I'm thinking of removing and relaying the tiles.)

I promise, though, Shark, that sometime before Thanksgiving, you and I will reunite. We'll spend double the time together when we do (because it will take double the time to chisel the crud we've accumulated on the floor).

Please don't forget me because I have not forgotten you! (And anything you can do to assist our relationship, such as accumulate some super powers in cleaning or learn how to dust as well as mop would be appreciated.)

Yours truly,

Tracee

Ivy's report card

Today Ivy got her first report card. It was a chart of things her class works on, and a letter that symbolized her progress on that item.

Ivy's teacher gave it to me when I picked her up from her room today. He said if we (parents) wanted to talk about it to wait until he took the class to the cafeteria, then he'd be back to discuss it.

So, I sat down in a chair next to one of Ivy's friends, and she sat on my lap. I looked at the chart and say several P's and D's....I immediately think "proficient" and "distinguished," and was so proud of my little girl.

Then I look at the key...P means "proficient" but D means "developing."

On the attitude portion (you know the part that has "listens to directions" and "interacts with peers") she has ALL D'S!!!!

(On a side note, you should know that I'm pretty competitive- and not the good kind either. I tend to imagine that I'm not competitive at all until I notice something is not up to snuff...then I become a pageant mom.)

After playing the high five game with Ivy and her friend (you know, gimme five, up high, down low, too slow), I start to quiz Ivy. I say, "Ivy, do you get along with your peers? I mean, friends?

She says, "Yes, Mommy."

I say, "Well, your report card says that you are only "developing" your ability to do that. What about listening to directions? Do you listen to directions?"

Ivy says, "Yes, Mommy, I always do."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

"Well, that's not what your report card says."

Ivy then bursts into tears and starts wailing at the top of her lungs. In a classroom where 6 adults are sitting in kiddie chairs and 6 little kids are asking, "Ivy! What's wrong? What's wrong?"

I start whispering in her ear to calm down, we'll talk about it later, which only causes her to cry louder. By this time, every parent in the room is eyeing me with suspicion. Who is this strange lady who is making her little girl cry over a report card? It's your kids' music teacher, folks!

I finally get her to calm down, and then I just take her out of the room. What kind of a monster am I? I wonder. One who wants her kid to be the best!! the competitive part of me answers.

After I'd stashed Ivy at the afterschool program, I went back, where Ivy's teacher told me she was doing just fine, and her P's and D's were top of the line.

And then I had to tell Ivy that yes, her Mommy was wrong. She actually was good in school. (She'd better be! that voice whispers again.)

Tracee the spider slayer

If you've not gotten the clue that I'm a little wacky yet, this one is sure to convince you.

I have this thing with spiders.

See, I hate them. Most of them are evil, I am sure of it. When I was young, I was petrified of them, even the little bitty ones.

As I've gotten older (oh, and moved "out in the country") I've become more tolerable of the small ones. Okay, not tolerable, just not as scared. And this is because.....

Where I live is like the big hairy spider capital of the planet. No, really.

And suddenly I've developed this superpower where I have visions that I am going to see a big spider right before I encounter one. It's not everytime I encounter one, but it's hard to negate the following examples:

• A few weeks after we moved to this area, I approached the kitchen sink with caution. I just thought, "Oh, wouldn't it be horrible if there was a big spider in there?" Lo and behold, I raised up a pan in the bottom of the sink and a big, nasty wolf spider jumped right out at me. This happened numerous times at this house in the bathroom, kitchen, living room, and garage. I'd know there was a spider there, and then it would jump out at me.
• We were staying at a friend's house for the summer to take grad classes. I woke up from a particularly nasty dream that I was taking a shower in the bathroom of this house, but I saw a really big spider standing on the drain. When I opened the shower door for real, there it was. On the drain. Waiting to eat me.
• I grabbed the dog's bowl and then had a feeling that there was a spider under it...and there was. It was the biggest spider I have ever seen in my life. I couldn't even kill it with a shoe....I had to dump bleach on it. And then I threw the dog bowl away.

Somehow this gift has also enabled me to attract spiders. I do not like this. But they seem to flock to me...let ten spiders go in my kitchen and they all run straight toward me. Which is odd because all I'm going to do is kill them. It's like how the vampires kept coming after Buffy. One time there was a black widow in my screened in porch in December. How it got in my porch has yet to be seen.....it must have just felt this great attraction to me.

I recently had my worst spider encounter yet, and I didn't even know it. I was driving my new (to me) truck and was in the drive-up window of the bank. Suddenly I felt this searing pain on my ankle. I looked down and it looked as though there was a piece of mulch on my sock. I flicked it off, and the movement it made reminded me of a bee. A yellow jacket. I was stung by a yellow jacket. And trapped in between teller machines. I stomped and stomped on the floor mat to kill it before it stung Ivy.

I pulled out, parked in the lot and looked for the offensive butthead. All I found was a wet spot on the bottom of my shoe. Hoping that the spot was the yellow jacket, I hopeed back in and began to drive.

The pain was unbearable.

It radiated out of my bones...my whole leg was on fire. And sore. How did people get stung multiple times? I wondered. I almost didn't make it home- I called everyone I knew from the road and compared stories about stings. I cried. I moaned. The girls thought I was funny.

I put ice on it at home and spent the evening in the recliner.

The next day, my ankle was swollen. I figured it would- stings make me swell, even mosquitos. I went to work (in pain) and put it up again when I came home. Well, I elevated it after cleaning up the mess left by my kids after an evening of Mommy not running around behind them cleaning.

I woke up the next morning, and it was HUGE. And itchy. And even more painful. And I was sick, like achy and nauseous. What kind of mutant bee was this? I barely got through the school day. The ankle just kept swelling. Luckily, I had great classes who let me sit at my desk with it propped up on a stool all day.

That night was the worst. I couldn't even move the ankle..all I could do was lay there and hurt. And itch.

The next morning, I woke up on the recliner and the swelling was down. Refreshed at the thought that it was finally healing, I put on some socks and limped around the house cleaning bathrooms and sweeping floors. About 2 p.m. that day, I took my sock off and almost threw up- my ankle had this weird red stuff on it, climbing up my leg and down my foot.

I took pictures of it and texted them to various members of my family. I spent 20 minutes on hold waiting to talk to a nurse, who frantically told me to come in. They saw me right away, and took two seconds to say, "spider bite."

Everyone kept asking me if I was sure it was a yellow jacket. I had been.....but it was dark on the floorboard. Could it have really been a spider? When the doctor came in, she told me exactly how serious it was. She also said that if I'd waited till after the weekend to come in, I might have lost my foot. My foot?? From a spider???

Even though I had to take like 20 pills a day after the visit, I was really glad I'd come in. I mean, I need my foot. Sometimes I like to drive. Or clean the house. Or walk. Or tap my toe to music.

And in retrospect, I am starting to wonder if I've lost the only superpower I've ever had. I mean, shouldn't I have known right before the most important spider encounter I've ever had? It wasn't even a good superpower....but it was the only one I had. I felt a little bit like Harry Potter. Sigh.

Back to the world of mortals.

The Quest to save 15 cents

I usually do all of my grocery shopping at Wal-mart. You know, low prices, lots of variety. There are a couple of things I do not trust to the superstore giant, though, and one of them is meat.

I always drive to Food City to buy meat. I only spend about $20 every two weeks there.

At the beginning of the summer, the local Food City started running a promotion- get 150 points on your value card and you can receive 15 cents per gallon off your gas at their gas station. I'm a girl looking for a deal always, but $40 a month was not getting me anywhere close to the needed point values.

Then, my sister-in-law came to visit. I had this elaborate salmon dinner planned, and of course, I bought the fish at Food City. When I totaled up my purchases in my head, I was pretty sure that this trip would be the one where I would fulfill the number of points needed for the gas discount. Which was awesome because my car was sitting in the lot on empty.

The cashier rang up my groceries and gave me my total: $48. I was excited to check my receipt for the confirmation of my new gas discount! Alas, when I looked at it, I realized that I only had 147 points...three short.

How could I get three points? (At the time I wasn't thinking that by spending three more dollars, I'd only end up saving $1.50 in gas. No, the thrill of saving money at all was enough to put me over the edge.

I grabbed one of the cashiers at the self pay checkout and hounded her into telling me what I could spend money on to ensure that I would receive my three points and my gas discount. She said I could spend three dollars on anything but alcohol and cigarettes and gain the needed points. Suddenly, the entire store opened up to me. What could I buy?

Mu buggy left with the cashier, I went and picked up a 12 pack of Dr. Pepper. Then, I went and cruised the dollar section. I remembered that I needed chalk. While looking for the chalk, I talked myself into buying a nice pen or two to use at work (I'm always using those pens I take from hotels; they're not very nice). I selected a box of chalk (99 cents) and a pack of two pens ($1.99). I put the pop back, glorious with my three dollar purchase.

It never occurred to me that A. there would be no tax and B. tax wouldn't count. I checked out at the self checkout lane. My total? $2.98. Only two points, not three. The cashier laughed at me as I sprinted over to the candy and selected a box of tic tacs. (I don't think I have ever bought tic tacs.) My new total was $3.60. I put my ten dollar bill in the slot and skipped over to my buggy with my new pens and chalk, and my receipt showing that I was the proud owner of 150 points, eligible for 15 cents off of gas.

Halfway to the car, I realized that I never got my change from the checkout. I did a big U-turn in front of a Cadillac whose owners looked at me like I was insane, and ran back in the store. I parked my buggy by the same woman who clearly at this point thought I was nuts. I raced to the receptacle and collected my $5 in change. I ran back to the buggy.

I felt good when it only cost $27 to fill up my car. That is, of course, until I realized that I'd really only saved $1.50.

My descent from green cleaning into the depths of chemical use

A couple of years ago when Story was just a baby (and cried all night) I spent way too much time on the Internet. I ended up web surfing to a page that talked about the evils of soap. Yes, soap. The stuff that is supposed to make you clean? Well, I read it was full of this sodium laureth sulfate that was supposedly descended from the ninth level of Hades or something. So, I researched my choices and decided that my family was no longer going to use this poisonous stuff called soap.

Before this turns in to a blog about soap, in my anti-soap research I ran across a website that told me how to make my own cheap and healthy laundry detergent. I started doing it, and was amazed at the affordability and "safeness" of the stuff. The detergent making was only a step away from what would become my new obsession: green cleaning.

As I read more and more about how all these products that we buy every day could turn us into mutants or give us diseases, I started freaking out. I packed up all the Comet, Resolve, Windex, etc. into a box. I researched what I could clean with and found three items: vinegar, club soda, and baking soda. Not only were they better for all of us, they were cheap! There were thousands of uses for them. Yes, the vinegar was really stinky. It didn't smell clean at all. The club soda didn't shine like Windex. Baking soda left no smell, but I got some really strong arm muscles trying to scrub anything with it.

But I convinced myself with a little more muscle, everything was cleaning as good as the stuff I packed up. Sometimes I told myself that it cleaned even better. Sadly, I think I was deceiving myself. Everything in the house lost its sparkle. And cleaning started to take twice as long as I applied a lot of elbow grease.

So, when we moved into our new house two years ago, I was relieved to be starting with really clean stuff from scratch. Unfortunately, with the size of the new house, it became increasingly difficult to clean anything! Plus, the stuff wasn't staying shiny.

Last year, I bought my first bottle of pledge. I'd been scrubbing the furniture with vinegar and olive oil....which was really icky and not at all cost efficient. It was like the heavens shone through the windows on my coffee table. Everywhere I looked with a cleanable surface I heard the sound of singing. My husband said, "Thank God you bought the Pledge!" Apparently the smell of vinegar was affecting him, too.

Recently, I received some coupons for a variety of Lysol products. Exhausted from all these years of green cleaning and (ha ha) elbow grease, at Walmart I reached for toilet cleaner and bathroom spray.

I came home, and began to clean the girl's bathroom. I was floored. I had never seen the toilet so white! The rust stains were coming off (I know, right? Rust stains on a two year old toilet? A combination of bad water and baking soda cleaning no doubt). All of the bathroom gunk came off with no effort! And the smell was amazing!!

I cleaned all three bathrooms in less time than it took me to clean one with vinegar and baking soda. I actually only had to clean my shower once! With the other stuff, I was scrubbing it three times at least.

Moved by the cleanliness of my bathrooms and the possibility of more free hours on a Saturday suddenly moved me to denounce my green cleaning ways. No more would I be the slave to club soda on the mirrors. No more would I wallow in self pity while trying to scrub a toilet with something that belongs in homemade cookies. I was going to have clean, and have it quickly.

So, I moved the green cleaning materials to.....the baking cabinet. I gave the bottles of Lysol the new place of honor under the sink.

I still make laundry detergent, because it's cheap and easy. I take my reusable bags to the store. But, I'll never be given a super-eco award now. Green cleaning is not for me....because I like things that are actually clean.

Watch this, Mommy!!

You know it's going to be a great Saturday when it starts out with one of the kids yelling, "Mommy, watch this!!"

I don't know why they keep telling me to watch things. I mean, I watch twelve or twenty things, and then I stop. I mumble, "Oh, good job," or something like it a beat or two after they tell me to watch them. Not sure why they haven't caught on yet.

And most of the time, it's weird stuff they ask me to watch. Like dangerous stuff. Jumping off the couch. Jumping off the couch onto the coffee table. Jumping over their sister from the couch to the coffee table. You know, things they should do when I'm not looking. (And for those of you thinking, why doesn't she make them stop when they do that? then you obviously need to go back and reread my blog posts. I can't control these crazy forces of nature I live with. I can only keep them from killing themselves or each other. Barely.)

Sometimes it's totally odd what they want me to watch. Story holds her hands out and turns around. Ivy makes a silly face using fingers up her nose. Story blinks her eyes twice. Ivy puts five chips in her mouth at once. Story takes a drink of juice. Ivy hangs upside down from the back of the couch. I mean, why these things?

Why don't they say, "Watch this!" and then put their toys away? I'd really enjoy watching that. Or, "Hey, Mommy, watch this!" which is followed by them cleaning the toilet. "Mommy, watch us!" and they perform a scene from Twilight. Those are things I'd love to watch.

I could probably explain to them what I actually want to see them do, but I think, like everything else, they might listen and then do what they want. Oh, well. There's no use complaining, I have a lot to do....like watch them pretend to fly off the kitchen counters.

Practical Advice for My Daughter

So, Ivy is starting Kindergarten.....and as her mother, I'll be called upon often to give her advice on socializing. And I've decided to be truthful with it, rather than that PC garbage everyone tells you. I remember the social hierarchy of grade school, and I see it every day. I plan on giving her real and practical advice. And if there is one thing I am, it's realistic.

"Be Yourself!"

• Everyone tells you to be yourself. "People will like you if you just be yourself!" I say this is stupid, Ivy. People might not like you if you are yourself. I've encountered that several times, just as I've encountered people I've never liked because they are themselves. So, my advice to you is this: You can try to be yourself, but if you find that after a couple of weeks no one likes the real you, then alter it a little. You can always change back into yourself after you have your friends hooked.

"Be nice to everybody!"

• This one's all right up to a point. You can be nice to everybody, Ivy, but you can never trust everybody. Every best friend I ever had in grade school told a secret, blabbed to the boy I liked, sold me out to the popular-girl-torturers, etc. I say, yes, pretend to be nice to everyone, but don't trust everyone with your stuff. Especially the girls.

"Dress in your own style!"

• This is absolutely wrong, Ivy. You can do your own style in high school. I am definitely going to be honest on this- Ivy, you can't wear tutus. Or princess dresses. Or those T-shirts you love that are stained and holey. Trust Mommy.

"Just because everyone else is jumping off a bridge doesn't mean you should."

• Okay, Ivy, don't jump off a bridge. But sometimes I know you have to play the game. Everyone does. Don't go along when they're being mean to someone....but I understand the playing of the game. It's a lifetime skill.

"Be proud if you can answer all the questions."

• Sure, you can be that kid with their hand always up in the air, stretching as high as they can, waving at the teacher wildly. But, if you are always that kid, the other kids will smell it. It's okay to be smart, but not to be annoying with it. Don't lord it over the whole classroom.

"Just learn at your own pace."

• But don't be the opposite, either, Ivy. Try. As long as you're in the middle of the pack I'm good. :)

"It's great to be a leader!"

• But nobody, and I repeat nobody wants to play with the bossy kid. Life is all about compromise and give-and-take. Don't make everyone do what you say, do not refuse to play with others just because you didn't get your way...on the flip side, don't let everybody else tell you what to do all the time (except your teacher!). I know, it's a tightrope. But learning to walk it early will mean great things.

"Think outside the box!"

• No. Don't. Stay in line. Do not cut line, or skip line. Don't take "fronts" or "backs" unless it's okay with all parties. (Fronts are much better than backs, true friends will give you fronts!)

And, of course like every daughter in the history of mothers and daughters, she won't listen to me until she's thirty. but, at least no one can say I didn't try.

Closet Migration

When I had just Ivy, closet migration was easy. Babies generally have to move up in size every three months. I'd pull out the old size, pack it up, insert the new size in the closet and drawers, and the job was done. After she turned a year old, closet migration happened every 6 months.....then she was two and it was only going to happen once a year. In the summer and the winter, I would replace the clothes that were too small.

But then I had Story. In a different season than I'd had Ivy. It was a mad dash for all those old boxes of clothes that I remember carefully labeling and placing gently in the attic. Unfortunately, when I got them down, I realized that I had gremlins in the attic or I'd done a really bad job of labeling and placing the same sizes in the box.

They shared a closet in our old house, so it was a matter of pulling stuff out, placing the new size in, rearranging where the clothes were, and going out to buy stuff to replace the stuff I thought I had but never found. And by purchasing new clothes, I inspired the baby clothes gods to make the box of what I was missing materialize seconds after I didn't need it anymore.

Now they have separate closets. And where Ivy is generally the size of whatever age she is, Story is NOT. (How did I get such a difficult child?) I pull out all of Story's clothes in the closet and drawers. I go through each item, and most of them I have to try on her. By the way, having a three year old at the ready for 2 hours to try on clothes is not conducive to a peaceful day.

When I have made the keep and attic piles, I put everything away. All of the clothes fit, and the closet looks empty.

Then, I move to Ivy's closet. I take everything out and assess what fits and what does not. I put things into three piles: keep, move to Story's closet, and OMG I can't send my child out in this nor can I give it away.

All of the clothes that Story might grow in to in the next ten years are placed in bags and boxes and stored in the top of her closet, waiting for me to look at 6 months from now and say, "What the heck are those clothes up there for?"

The clothes that still fit Ivy are placed back in her closet and dresser (which look really bare now!) and reorganized.

And I'm left with a small pile that I have no idea what to do with. If I was crafty, I'd make purses or doll clothes or something. But I'm not. I always think I could use them for dusting, but I have plenty of old underwear dust rags. Who needs a pair of khakis with grass-stained knees to clean? I eventually throw them away, but I almost cry doing it. I hate wasting stuff.

And I'm left with a really clean, minimal closet, a closet that's stuffed full of future clothes, and four thousand boxes and bags to haul up to the office where they will sit for a month before I get up the courage-nerve-gumption to tackle finding a place for them in the attic.

And so ends closet migration.