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.

Tonight, Dan was busy elsewhere.  Home alone, I put the kids down, and snuggled up with the baby to watch a movie.

Throughout the movie, I had to hit pause to holler at my youngest (before baby) to GO TO BED.

At 9:32, my sister called to check up on me.  I had just put the baby down and we started chatting.  While we talked, the dog barked to be let in and I got up and opened the door.  The baby started fussing.  Putting the baby off a bit, I paced and continued to talk.  I started to notice a very foul odor.  “What is that?” I thought.  And, as I watched my dog rub her entire body against the leather chair, it dawned on me that she had been skunked.  YET AGAIN.

My sister tried her best not to laugh out loud as I hung up the phone.

The baby cried louder, needing to be fed.

I threw the #$%#! dog outside, thinking that the neighbors were just going to have to deal with it if she barked.  My baby needed to eat.

Damn that dog.

While I nursed, I watched some more of my movie.

Thankfully Andrew fell asleep and I was able to put him down.

I paused my movie, put the baby down and, cussing, got out my deskunking supplies and whipped up a batch of potion.  As I walked out my front door (the skunk is in the back) to give the dog a bath, who is there but my neighbor.  The perfect one, out walking her perfect dog, with a flashlight to smartly keep the skunks away.  “Oh, no!” she said.  “Oh, yes!” I replied.

Donning my beautiful purple playtex rubber gloves, I bathed my dog, flooding the front yard and entertaining the neighborhood in the process.

I dried the dog off and, finished with the nasty business, I then had to bathe myself.  With the house unbelievably quiet, I took a hot, cleansing shower.  As I stepped from the tub, I swung my towel around to dry myself off…

…and the end of it landed in the toilet.

It’s sad, really, that she finds herself a target.  I get comments like that often, but then I’m an anomaly, right?  With FOUR kids and another on the way?

The truth is, whether you have one or six or 10, you still have your hands full.  (Unless maybe you’re doping up your kids.)  For the most part, having kids is crazy and wonderful, all mixed together.  At other times… well… you know.  It is NEVER easy.  It is RARELY calm or quiet.  But for those who believe that one or two is acceptable, and more than that demands a comment, I say poppycock.

I’ve seen plenty of people at the store struggling with just one child. Or two.  The number of children doesn’t really change the situation.

As a matter of fact, I had the allowable number of TWO children with me yesterday at Target.  You’d think it’d be a breeze.  I mean, I was down to half my normal crew and only needed to pick up a few things.  Piece of cake, right?  Riiiiiiight.  After the moaning and groaning required while browsing for a dress (ewwwwwww) for their sister, we grabbed a couple of other things and then headed to the checkout lane.  There was no waiting, but still, my boys couldn’t wait to be free.  Luke, old enough to climb out on his own, did so and then stayed perched on the outside of the cart while the checker did her thing.  Sam, having seen his brother break free, also wanted out.  He was in the front of the cart and when he started to extract himself, I grabbed him and told him “NO.”  He was in the squatting position by then and asked if he could at least stay that way.  “NO,” I told him.  “You need to SIT ALL THE WAY DOWN.”  And, just as he was asking, “But why???”

C R A S H !

Thanks to Luke’s weight on the side and Sam not sitting properly, over the cart went.  Sam, having smacked his head, was screaming.  Luke was looking scared.  I was trying to console Sam and pick up the cart, frustrated and embarrassed as could be.  I had almost made it out of the store disaster-free.

Somehow I managed to get the cart up-righted and pay the cashier.  As I was grabbing my two measly bags and explaining to Sam that THAT is why he needs to sit properly, my neighbor materialized before me.  Shit.  Thankfully, though, it was the neighbor with two small energetic children of her own.

She gave me a sympathetic look and told me that she was at the snack counter getting a green crazy straw since the cashier had dared give her son THE WRONG COLOR.  Her two children were at a snack table fighting over the one acceptable straw.  “I’m surprised you didn’t hear them screaming about it,” she told me.

Yeah, well, I might have if I hadn’t be in the throes of my own disaster.

Anyhow, us moms of young ones don’t need comments from strangers about the number of children we have, or about how brave/crazy/stupid, etc. we must be.  Instead, we’d simply prefer those strangers to a) completely ignore us and go on about their business; or b) smile and offer to hold the door.  (Or pick up the cart.)

This morning, I woke poor Jack early so he could shovel the several inches of snow off the driveway so we could get to school.  Even if his dad HAD done it before going to work, at the rate it’s snowing, Jack would have had to do it again anyway.  He’s a champ, though, and did a terrific job!

So, I shoved my four kids into the Accord – our small, but reliable vehicle – and off we went.

As today is Sam’s day for school, I parked in the lot and we all walked in together.  After getting his boots off and his shoes on and seeing him to the classroom, Luke and I headed back out into the snow.  The car was already covered!  With just the two of us, we were able to get in, buckled and settled quickly.

Only to find that the car WOULDN’T START.  Hahahahahaha.  I laughed at first.  Thought maybe it wasn’t in park.  It was.  I tried again.  NOTHING.  The accessories were working, so it isn’t the battery.  But nothing else.  No noise, no NOTHING.  I took it out of park, put it back into park, made sure my foot was on the brake, turned off all accessories, took a breath and tried again.

NADA.

Is someone trying to play some sick kind of joke on me?  What did I do???

I called Dan at work and told him of our plight.  I think I heard tears falling to his desk.  Or, maybe it was the sound of him ripping what little hair he has left out.

With nothing left to do, Luke and I trudged home.  In the snow.  Which continues to fall.

Luke told me, “This is the baddest day in my life!”

At this point, I couldn’t agree more.

Well, it’s worse.

As I headed to the mall yesterday  morning (still in St. Louis) with my cabin fevered kids, the Honda service guy called.  “Blah, blah, blah, FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS, blah, blah THURSDAY.”

Somehow, I managed not to wreak my father-in-law’s car at hearing the news.

I called Dan at work. “Blah, blah, blah, FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS, blah, blah at least THURSDAY.  Boohooohoooo.”

Breathe…

With that much money at stake, we needed time to think.  But, I also needed to get back to Chicago.  Dan had missed enough work playing Mommy, and Luke, Sam and I needed to be at home.

I abandoned my mall plans and headed back to my in-inlaws’ house.  Dan had already called them with the bad news, so they were ready with sympathetic faces and food.  God bless them, they lent us one of their vehicles so I could take the boys and get back home.  We’d figure the rest out later.

Five long hours later, we were HOME.  Still van-less and in a financial predicament, but all together again and at our own home.  The boys were thrilled to see their Dad again and Maria doled out the hugs as if we’d been gone for a month.  (I think Jack managed a “hi!” before getting back to whatever it was he was doing before our arrival.)

So.  The van.  Right now it sits in St. Louis in pieces.  Part at the dealership, part at the machine shop.

I don’t know much about cars, but apparently the timing belt that was put on the van last year was bad or went bad and f*cked up the engine, along with a bunch of other stuff.

To fix or not to fix.  That was the big question.

After a lot of conversations with several different people, we decided to fix it.  Dan called this morning and Honda was going to order the parts today.  (The parts are coming out of Iowa, which is in the midst of a snow storm at the moment.  Go figure.  Hopefully they won’t take too long to arrive, says the service rep.)

At this point, if all goes as planned (which it never seems to do in our case), the car will be ready by Saturday and Dan will drive his dad’s car back to St. Louis to retrieve it.  Then we’ll be back in business.

At least until the next disaster.

P.S.  There was a bit of a silver lining in all this…  The Little Boys got to spend more time with Grandma and Grandpa, and their cousins, while I got lots of sympathy and several great meals!

Sam and Joey