“Lukie, Lukie, Lukie.  What have you done,” I thought to myself as they approached.

(Oh, how I would HATE to be a teacher during these last few weeks of school!)

Well, it turns out that my sweet Luke and a friend thought it would be fun to have a milk drinking contest during lunch.  While the teacher’s back was turned, they helped themselves to three more cartons of milk than they were alloted and started guzzling as fast as they could.

As Luke started on his fourth carton, the teacher became aware of what was happening and moved in to put a stop to it.  Luke wasn’t feeling so well by then and began to get up from his seat.  His teacher took one look at him and saw the future.  She grabbed a trashcan and thankfully, Luke hit the provided target.

Lovely lunchtime entertainment for the classroom, wouldn’t you say?  Thank goodness he didn’t cause a chain reaction!

Where does this kind of behavior come from?!?  Certainly, not MY side of the family!

#4 couldn’t find a good pair of pants.  And then couldn’t find the right socks.  Sister and Gran tried to help.  Not good enough.

#2 didn’t want to eat ANYthing

#1 put soap on #2′s toothbrush

#5 fed the dog his cereal (after eating all the marshmallows himself, of course)

#3 was obsessed with the human gastrointestinal tract

#1 couldn’t fit into his pants (which were the right pants and fit a week ago!!!)

Finally, on the verge of lateness, as I was buckling the baby into his car seat, the car alarm sounded.  BEEP!  BEEP! BEEP!  BEEP!  I scrambled around, putting the key into the door  (BEEP!  BEEP! BEEP!  BEEP! ), putting the key into the ignition (BEEP!  BEEP! BEEP!  BEEP! ), hitting the panic button on my key fob (BEEP!  BEEP! BEEP!  BEEP! ).  Nothing worked!!!  The kids went crazy (what great fun to wake the neighborhood this way!)

It dawned on me, finally, that it was the OTHER car whose alarm was sounding.  I hit the button and was rewarded with blessed silence (from the car, not the kids).

Down the street we sped.  I couldn’t get the kids out of the van fast enough.

As I drove home, Andrew tried to tell me something.  Louder and louder he got as he became more and more frustrated.  “Buuuhhhh,” he said.  “Buuuuhhhhh!!!” he wailed.  As I pulled into the driveway and looked at him over my shoulder, I realized what he was trying to tell me.  “Buckle.” I hadn’t finished buckling him!  I guess I had snapped the chest strap but was interrupted by the car alarm before completing the buckling process.  Thank goodness we only live a few blocks from school.

And thank goodness school is back in session.

So when I heard the musical beeping noises of Andrew playing with my washing machine (which had already been loaded and set to a wash cycle), while on hold with the doctor’s office, I looked at it as entertainment that would allow me to make my call, and figured I could reset it when I finished.

Unfortunately, when you’re on a call in which you have to pay attention, you fail to notice the lack of continued musical beeping noises that occurs when the baby finds something else to do. (By the way, we’re talking – literally, I checked – about a TWO MINUTE call.)  As I hung up the phone and turned to look down at my sweet little Andrew, I noticed that he was happily keeping himself busy by making a trail of 3-in-1 shower soap/shampoo/conditioner.

I grabbed the container from him and we followed the trail (him, happily, me, in dismay) and discovered that it led down the hall and into the bathroom.  Fortunately or unfortunately, I buy the clear kind of this stuff.  Which means that on the bathroom tile floor, it is very hard to see.  Walking gingerly through the bathroom, I tried to find the point of origin.  Which I did… in my wicker clothes hamper.  It became very clear that he had started with the hamper and when he discovered that he couldn’t fill it all the way up, he’d make a trail instead.

As an aside, I was recently told that you should look through these situations and try to see God behind them.  That way, although you might initially feel anger or frustration, you will more quickly get past it.  I’m certainly trying, but in my opinion, it is often much easier to see the devil behind these things!

Andrew and I grabbed some rags and got to cleaning up the mess.  Do you have any idea how hard it is to clean up soap?  Wipe, rinse, repeat.  Wipe, rinse, repeat.  Wipe, rinse and become enthralled with the massive bubbles filling up your sink.  Try to drain bubbles.  Too many bubbles. Soldier on.

We did the best we could, but kind of like doing a tick check on a camp out, you wonder what you missed.  I guess I’ll find out soon enough… as soon as dirt collects on those areas of the carpet, or someone slips on the tile floor.

I guess for now all I can do is try to enjoy the very intense scent of Berry Berry Strawberry wafting throughout the upstairs.

It’s hard for me to believe that I was looking forward to running with Dina.  A year ago, she scared the daylights out of me.  I didn’t really know her, but I knew who she was and that she was fast, fit and tough.  She trained my girlfriends to run their first half marathon.  They claimed that she was really nice, but as a brand-new runner, a woman who has run the Boston Marathon and many others intimidated me.

Fast-forward a year, and while training for her fourth run (or maybe it’s her fifth) in Boston, she’s been helping me get faster.  When she has a slow day, she’ll run with me – which makes it a fast day for me.  She is awesome.  Nice, smart, motivating.  She loves to help people, and despite her experience and accomplishments, she makes you feel like an equal.

Sometime after setting my clock last night, I heard from my 5 a.m. date who had to cancel.  I wasn’t too disappointed, as it would be nice to know that I’d get an extra 30 minutes of sleep before Dina kicked my butt.  I adjusted my clock, checked on the kiddies and went to bed.

And woke up to Dan’s alarm at 5:30.  The time I should have been on the path, meeting my friends.  My alarm hadn’t gone off.  Dammit.

I texted everyone to let them know I wouldn’t be there and then lied back down.  Not that I could sleep.  No, I was too pissed off.  So, not only did I miss my run, but I couldn’t take advantage of the extra sleep.

And the bad day just kept going.

I broke the yoke on my over-easy eggs.

One of the kids clogged the toilet – MY toilet, of course.

And Maria puked on her way out the door for school.  Literally.  All over the front steps.

After taking the kids to school,  I finally put the running clothes away that I had set out last night.  I think they were a bad omen.

****Updated****  Despite putting the offensive running gear away, the day did not improve.  To add to it, I had:

A visit to the principal’s office

A full glass of milk spilled

An overflow on the stovetop

A puzzle disaster (two completed puzzles totally dismantled AND intermixed

And, when looking for Andrew near his bedtime, I found this:

The night, unfortunately, is still young.  Pray for me.

It also marked Dan’s Monster Dash Half Marathon in Chicago.  Which meant he wasn’t here to help me with soccer.  Five kids, four games.

Things started fabulously:  Since Luke and Sam both had games scheduled for the same time, but different parks, some friends picked Luke up for his game.  He and his teammate were going to watch a game and then play their game.  The rest of us hung around and then headed over to Sam’s game.

Although it was not our scheduled snack day, we brought (at Sam’s request) celebratory cake pops to mark the end of the season.  Sam and I made them earlier in the week and then wrapped them up yesterday, eating a few along the way.  Mmmmmmm!  Sam could not wait to give out those cake pops!!!

Sam’s coach was out of town, so another parent (not me!) stepped up to coach our boys, none of whom acted as if they had ever played soccer.  The other team was almost as disorganized, but they, at least, managed to kick the ball a few times and score several goals.  Sam sat out during the third quarter, during which we discussed the cake pops.  We had made enough for each boy to get two, but there was a no-show.  Maria asked Sam if she and Jack could have that boy’s cake pops.  “Sure!” was Sam’s happy reply.

“But, then, poor Lukie doesn’t get one.  Why don’t you give him one of yours?” I suggested to Sam, who promptly replied in the (very loud) negative.

“But we got to eat a bunch of them when we were packaging them yesterday,” I reminded him.

“I want TWO cake pops!” He said, and started to cry angrily.  I didn’t respond, and about that time, his coach called him in to play.

Sam stomped onto the field, fists clenched.  His coach asked what was wrong and he told her, “Everyone is supposed to get two cake pops, but my mom wants me to give one of mine to Luke!”

Not having a clue as to what he was talking about, she said, “Well, right now let’s just play soccer.”  Mad Sam refused to engage.  If the ball came his way, he ignored it.  He turned to me and screamed from mid-field, “I WANT TWO CAKE POPS!!!”

I hung my head in embarrassment.  “They must be really good,” one mom said to me.

Finally, the “game” was over and we were able to hand out our cake pops and get the heck outta there.  Carrying the baby and the chairs and a backpack, I headed to the van with Maria and Jack running alongside me.  Sam was still screaming nastiness.

Two more games to go.  Ugh!

We piled into the car and Sam started in on his after-game chips and Gatorade supplied by the snack mom.  He continued to complain on and off during the ride, while Jack started to panic about getting to his game on time.

I clenched my teeth and kept driving.  And, as I turned the corner, I heard it.  First the clunk and then the scream.  Sam’s open Gatorade fell out of the cup holder and onto his lap.  (Of course, it was all MY fault for making a turn.)

How was I going to survive the rest of the morning?!?

Thankfully, a playground and a puppy on the sidelines got us through Jack’s game, and then we were off to Maria’s – the last one.

Jack and Luke played in the dirt.  Sam sat on the lap of Maria’s teammate’s mom, and Andrew found a fascinating little girl to play with.  I actually got to watch most of the game… and see Maria score TWO goals!!!  Wow!  I couldn’t believe how well she played.  She has really, really improved this year.

Just as the girls were shaking hands with the other team, Dan showed up.  He ran his half marathon in 1:45:50 – a new personal record.

I wonder?  Who had the more challenging morning?

After a crazy afternoon of running kids around, things started settling down a bit and I was looking forward to getting out.  I got the kids fed, one clean, another jammied, one off to gymnastics and then I was able to put the baby down.  Dan came home, I passed off a few duties and ran out to get Maria and friends (from gymnastics) and fellow bridge player Erin (from her house).  I dropped the girls at their house, dropped Erin off early to the bridge house, took Maria for a milkshake (owed bribe) and headed home.

With three down and two to go, I left Dan and went to pick up another friend.

Finally.  I was out for the night!  I did have my phone, but since the baby doesn’t “need” me anymore at night, I didn’t anticipate any desperate texts from Dan asking me to pack it in early.  (Again).

At one point during the night, I texted Dan to see how things were going.  I didn’t hear back, so I figured it was a good bet he was already asleep.  Then, a little later, I received a text back saying “I’ll tell you about it later.”  Hmmmmm.  Well, the baby must have given poor Dan a little trouble.  Not feeling the least bit guilty, I carried on with my expert bridge playing.

Later, after dropping my friends off, I headed home in the quiet darkness.  Weird, not having a van full of screaming kids.

Feeling rejuvenated, I stepped through my front door and detected something… foreign.  Something wasn’t quite right.  The lights were out.  The house was quiet.  But, there was this odor.  Not bad.  Just… something.  Mixed with some type of cleaner?  I wasn’t sure.

I headed upstairs and checked in on all my little ones.  All were asleep, but one bed was empty.  Maria’s.  That’s fairly unusually, as she doesn’t often leave her bed during the night like the boys tend to do.

I went downstairs, and on the way to my own bedroom, I noticed a plastic bucket on the floor.  Uh-oh.  A quick deduction told me that Maria had gotten sick, Dan had cleaned it and she was now in my bed.

I was a teeny bit right.

I walked over to Dan’s side of the bed and asked him what had gone on in my absence.  He started rambling about fire, dripping water, the baby, Maria getting sick, and pee.

SAY WHAT?!?

I leaned in very close to him and asked him if he was awake, ’cause he sure wasn’t talking like it.  Yes, he told me.  He was definitely awake.  Then Maria chimed in – she was awake, too.  Great.  I asked again for the story and this is what I was told:

Dan was fixing lunches (wow, I know!) and heard a dripping noise in the hallway.  He investigated and discovered water dripping down from the smoke alarm in the ceiling onto the floor.  Weird.  There is no plumbing above that area.  No source of water.  He placed a bucket under the drip and found a step stool.  With Maria watching (no idea why she wasn’t in bed yet), he reached up and pulled down the smoke alarm, which is hard wired.  As he looked, the wires – making contact with the water – started sparking and burning.  Just as he was thinking he’d wake the kids and get everyone outside, it stopped.

Then it started again.

Maria, literally shaking with fear, demanded to leave the house.  Dan put her outside on the back deck, where she promptly threw up her milkshake.

Not sure what to do, he called the non-emergency number for the fire department to get some advice.  Their advice was to come blazing down the street, all lit up, and check on it themselves.

The firemen removed the smoke alarm (which, btw, causes our other one to beep at regular intervals since they’re connected) and checked for hot spots with their super-awesome-special-heat-sensing devices.  Nothing.  But, they did see the moisture in the ceiling and all the men stood around and wondered where it could have come from.

See the black around the bottom? It used to be white like the rest of it.

Dan went upstairs and carefully searched each of the kids’ rooms, as they’re what’s above the smoke alarm.  All the kids were safely tucked in their beds, sound asleep.  Except for Andrew, who woke with the commotion.  Thankfully, our neighbor (unable to miss the fire trucks in the front yard) had asked Dan if he needed help and was able to hand off the baby.

Continuing his search for the leak, Dan found a wet area on the carpet in one of the boys’ rooms.  Little bit on the baseboard, carpet fairly wet.  Right above the smoke alarm downstairs.  How did it get wet?

Pee.  From a child.  From the dog.  Who can say?  But that is the final explanation.

Are you KIDDING ME?!?

No joke, Dan tells me.  He and the firemen all agreed that someone or something peed on the floor upstairs, it soaked through the carpet, through the pad, went down into the floor and dripped through the smoke alarm, causing the wires to short out and catch fire.  Which caused my daughter to puke.  And my baby to cry.  And the other smoke alarm to beep intermittently throughout the night.

I promise you, I am not making this up.  I am as dumbfounded as you are.  I’m literally shaking my head as I type.

Is it really possible?  Can a dog or a child pee that much?  And then it just happens to be right above a smoke alarm?  And causes it to short out and catch fire?  REALLY???

Tonight, while Dan and Jack were away at the Pinewood Derby Weigh-Ins (thank goodness that‘s almost over), I fed the remaining children, put the older ones in front of a movie and then stripped the baby.  Tossing aside the baby bathtub, I cleaned our tub thoroughly so Andrew could have his first grown-up bath.  He loves the water and the baby tub is too confining to play much.  So, on to the big tub.

After giving Andrew a good scrub, I gave him a few toys and let him have at it.  Too adorable to keep to myself, I grabbed my iPhone and parked myself on the potty lid so I could snap a few pictures.

All was going quite well until he started grunting.  Knowing exactly what was happening, I panicked.

I jumped up, set my phone down and grabbed Andrew as the last poop ball was deposited into the water.  I set him on the floor and ran into the kitchen to grab some HAZMAT supplies.  As I stepped out of the bathroom, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed my phone on the side of the tub.  And Andrew standing next to it.

I ran back into the bathroom, trying to stop the nightmare that I knew was coming.

P-L-O-P!  Went my precious iPhone into the bathtub.

Freaked, I stepped around the wet, naked, poopy baby and grabbed my phone out of the water.  I ran into the kitchen, pulling off the cover as I went.  Simultaneously, I dug through the pantry for some rice and a plastic baggie.  Having previously left a phone out in the rain overnight, I knew the drill.  It didn’t work for me last time, but I’m praying – PRAYING – that with the best case ever and my quick response, my iPhone will survive.

Pray with me, please.  Already, I am feeling the symptoms of withdrawal.  I’m supposed to leave it turned off for several days.  I don’t know if I can do it.  But, I will try anything to save my precious phone.

I have unforwarded my home phone, so I’ll be able to take calls on that.  No texts for me – in or out – and I’ll have to actually go to my computer to check in on Facebook or read my email.

Oh, the horror!

Over the weekend, we visited Grandma, Grandpa, Anne, Jason, Joey, Abby and Baby Michael.  Chaotic, but fun.  We took the kids bowling – they had a BLAST.  Jack beat all.

Due to some recent Facebooking remarks in defense of a friend, everyone, I discovered, thought I was pregnant. Again.  Until I was on my third beer, that is.  That’s when Grandpa told me that he must have won the bet with Grandma.  I assured everyone that I did not have another bun in the oven but that if I did, a simple “congratulations” would be the desired response.

Despite having his own baby, Sam really digs this one, too!

I packed as little as possible (or so I thought) on this trip, so I did laundry while I was there.  Wait… I always do laundry while I’m there.  Anyhow, it’s a good thing I did, ’cause the day after we returned home, our dryer burned up.  Completely.  So much so that I have to rewash what was in the last load ’cause it all smells burned.  Of course, I’m not sure when that will be, thanks to HOME DEPOT.  Usually, a store I love.  Not so much right now.  By the way, does ANYONE keep ANYTHING in stock anymore?  Do you know how hard it is to buy and TAKE HOME a dryer TODAY?  Virtually impossible.  I had wonderful help, though, and the HD guy found me one laaaast dryer of the type I desired.  BUT it was waaaayyyyy back in the warehouse and it was marked for someone else.  After manager approval, though, I was able to snatch it for myself.  Oh, how proud I was!  All I had to do was send Dan and the neighbor after it.

Off they went after dinner last night.  And returned relatively quickly.  Whoohoo!  I was about to be back in business.

Not quite.  They opened the box.  And discovered a dryer that looked like the Samsonite gorilla had tried to mate with it.  NO WONDER it had been shoved to the back of the warehouse.  I mean, I’d take a small scratch and/or dent on the side.  But this thing was smashed up – front and center.  Even as rough as it will be treated around here, I wasn’t gonna keep it.  When you pay that kind of money, you want to make your own dents.

Back to HD they went.  It was a no-hassle return, but unfortunately, I am dryer-less until SATURDAY.  For you people that are once-a-week laundry-doers (or worse… KATEY), where they hell do you store all your dirty laundry?  There are piles and piles all over the place right now and it’s only been two days!

On the heels of the dead dryer (literally – it was less than an hour after the death) we faced a clogged kitchen sink.  Handy Dan did his best, but to no avail. Which meant I had no kitchen sink and no dishwasher for most of a night and half the next day.  Fabulous (as Fancy Nancy would say)!  Piles of dirty dishes next to the piles of laundry.  Is there an HGTV show for this?

And, it gets better!  No, really.  While working on the sink, Dan found mouse poop!  I was so excited to know that mice have been around.  They make such lovely house guests.  We knew they were invading our garage (and we “stuck” it to them), but in my house?  Ugh!  The small amount of poop was the only evidence.  I haven’t seen anything gnawed on and no creatures (thank goodness), but obviously we have some exterminating to do.

Oh, wait!  I forgot all about the dropped baby food jar.  That was before the dryer thing.  Glass.  All over the kitchen where my baby loves to crawl and my other kids like to run around barefoot.  Of course, this happened right before dinner.  I did a quick vacuum while dinner cooked, fed the kids dinner, stuck baby in his saucer-thingy and then cleared out the kitchen.  After dinner, I vacuumed again – with both vacuums – and mopped.  Did the bathroom, too.   All clean for the plumber to come.

And spend three hours clearing the clog.  Caused by… *cringe* a baby wipe.

Okay… so that’s the last few days in a nutshell.

Thank goodness I have this little package to keep my spirits up!

Today, however, I have found myself using the word.  Liberally.

I mean, what other word comes to mind when there is chair found pulled up next to the wall where the spare keys are hung?

And you see that there are no keys there?

And just about that time your 4-year-old comes in from the backyard bragging that he had been playing with a key out there?

And when questioned he describes, in detail, the neighbor’s spare key?

Then, when it is demanded of him that he return  the key to it’s proper place, he bursts into tears and says that he can’t reach it?

What word comes to mind when you find out that he can’t reach it because his older brother (home from school with pink-eye [ewwwww]) threw it onto the roof of the garage?

Then, when you banish the children to the backyard (where they had just been happily playing with the neighbor’s key) they get angry and take revenge by throwing rocks at the sliding glass doors?  Big, heavy rocks?  What word, do you think?

After screaming at the boys and dragging them inside, placing them into timeout on the kitchen floor, what’s the word on the tip of your tongue?  How about when you go to check on them (since you were busy getting your blog started and not paying attention), you discover that they have ripped the doorstop out of the baseboard?

I could actually go on.

But, I won’t.  It would just be… sssstupid.

No, I didn’t win the lottery.  Dammit.  (Gotta buy a ticket to win.)

On Saturday night, we participated in a school dodge-ball tournament.  (No, that’s not the unbelievable part, although I can see why you might think so.)  Dan actually played on a team.  I spectated and drank beer.  Actually, EVERYone drank beer.  Hey – it was a fundraiser!  With the money going toward teacher bonuses!  We were obligated to drink beer.  Plus, it was dodge-ball.  Who would do that without beer?

Anyhow, Dan (lucky guy that he is) left the house at 6:30 to meet up with his team for a strategy session.  I stayed home to take care of the children and get most of them to bed before the sitter arrived.  I headed to the party tournament around 8:15 or so.

After paying my fee, I was shown to the keg, where my dentist (head of the Father’s Club) poured me a beer. Yum.

The dodge-ball was brutal.  The costumes were hilariously 70′s.  Fun was being had by all.  I made my way around the room, talked to friends, met spouses and got the stats on the tournament.  (Some people took it VERY seriously.)

At one point, Dan motioned me over and introduced me to a fellow running club member.  I knew who she was, but we’d never been introduced.  As I chatted with this tall, beautiful, hard-bodied marathoner, dodge-ball player and roller derby queen (for real), I felt something weird going on in my mouth.  I nodded and smiled (closed-mouthed) to this mother-of-five-but-you’d-never-know-it-in-a-million-years and backed away to a dark corner.

Where I spit a tooth into my hand.  A front tooth.

Horrors!  As my grandmother would say.

Or, $%$@*!  As I would say (if I could talk coherently with a missing tooth.)

Tooth in hand, alarm on my face, I made my way back to the keg.  Not to drown my sorrows of such a horrifyingly embarrassing event, but to see my dentist.  I tapped him on the shoulder, uncurled my hand, and showed him my tooth.

Lucky for me, he was serving and not drinking.  He found a replacement server, drove me to his office down the street, glued my tooth back in (it’s a bridge) and brought me back 30 minutes later, where he poured me another beer.

I caught up with Dan, learned who the winners and losers were and talked to a few more people before my young sitter called to say my baby needed me.

I would complain about my evening out, but what are the chances that your dentist is at the same weekend social event you are when your tooth falls out?  And then rushes off with you to immediately fix it?

Me?  Complain?  No way.

At least not until the bill comes.