Well, Hi There

Ummm... Hi.

How have you been? Remember me?

So I took a little break. Yeah. That's it. A sabbatical. A sabbatical from an oft-neglected blog.

But I miss it. So I'm going to try again. Will you come back? I hope so.

Why did I stop in the first place? Besides my short attention span to just about anything?

Well, it's complicated.

I'm going to put it all out there for you.

First of all, I was feeling a little like the only posts I could write were the funny, poke-fun-at-myself types. I like writing those, don't get me wrong, but I'd like to write other stuff. So I'm thinking the New Adventures of Jen will be a little more well-rounded

Kind of like my arse. (Oh my god. Did I really just type that?)

The blog is going to be a little more like me. All over the place. Joking, crafting, cooking, dreaming, savoring, gossiping, bragging and maybe a little bitching.

But I can promise you one thing. It won't be about my love of sports. Well, except maybe my love of drinking beer at Hockey games. I do love that.


And then, well, there was my kids. I was finding, or maybe just feeling, that people in my local sphere were holding some of the stories against me. Kind of expecting certain behaviors from them because of the stories I write about them. My kids are unique. I'm unique. We aren't vanilla. But if you can't love us, then we don't need you around. This is something I'm working on, something I need to fully embrace, but I do believe it.

And then one of the other reasons why I stopped the blog was something a little harder to talk about. Something I'm still struggling with sharing, even as I type this. You see, well one of my girls has a touch of Autism. Just a touch. For reals. Borderline. But still so,so hard to accept. And yes, at this point, almost 2 years after the diagnosis, we are in such a better place. She is doing great. Learning and making strides. And yes, I believe soon, very soon, that it won't be her diagnosis. Or the diagnosis will change to ADHD. Or just pain-in-the-arse tween. My hopes for the blog is to share a little of what we went through, to educate other parents, provide comfort to some. But that part is going to be a challenge for me. It's one of my babies after all. Will I be doing her a disservice by telling all about her? I don't know. Perhaps I will keep it more on what I went through with the diagnosis, not so much about her. We shall see.

But come along, lets see where else my adventures take me!

That Mom

So my little D2 started gymnastics at one of those "we'll teach your kid to do a somersault for a ridiculous amount of money" franchises. D2 really has a good time, and if you will allow me to brag, she's pretty awesome at it.

But, something has been driving me nuts. Her twenty-something instructor, who also happens to be the co-owner, along with her Father (ahem), keeps her cell phone in her pocket during class. She takes it out and looks at it every few minutes. It bugs the hell out of me! How much am I paying? And she's totally disinterested in teaching her class? Plus, a few times while she was checking it, she should have been spotting kids, and instead used only one hand to help them - totally inadequate! Three classes went by, and she kept doing it.

So being anti-confrontation, I sent her an email. After I hit send, I re-read it,and thought uh-oh! a little harsh! But oh well, she deserved it, I figured. And no, I did not sign it "a fellow texting addict" she didn't need to know THAT.

About an hour after I sent the email, Miss Gymnast called me. Arghhh! Did I mention I hate confrontation? This is what she said: "I received your email, and appreciate the feedback, however, I think their is a misunderstanding. I don't keep my cell phone in class, in fact it's not allowed. I keep the remote to the stereo system in my pocket. I use it to change the music"

Oh, uh, surrey. Hmmmm, guess I should be wearing those glasses after all.

Hello, my name is Jenny, and I'm an Asshole.

Quirks?

So first of all, I know, I know. It's been MONTHS. Months. And you thought you were over me, you no longer looked to see if I was around, no longer cared if I cared. And then suddenly, here I am again. Consider this your bloggy booty call. I'm back. For tonight, at least. Just looking to have a good time is all. Guess I just didn't want to be alone tonight. Alone with these bizarre thoughts running through my head, that is. No, I haven't been drinking. I just can't stop thinking about you.

Here's what's on my mind: I thought I was pretty normal. I had a few hang-ups but nothing too major. Or so I thought. I have a friend who is in the same boat as me. The staying-home-with-two-girls-and-trying-to-deal ship. We talk a lot. Confide in each other. But over time it has become clear that maybe I'm over-sharing. She has pointed out that maybe my little quirks are more like a little bit of crazy. Neurotic. There, I said it. Neurotic. Yeah, I gotta touch of the neuroses.

Well, first came the banana incident. We were road tripping to some sort of children's activity, and my friend, let's call her Elaine, said she was going to snack on a banana. "Did I mind the smell?" This is where I paused. I ended up telling her that while the smell didn't bother me, I had this thing, where I had a really hard time looking at someone while they ate a banana. "huh?" Yeah, it's just so PHALLIC. It makes me uncomfortable. Like I'm a peeping Tom or something. Is that weird? Uh, yeah.

Ok, then there was the lunch incident. I was at her home around lunch time and she offered me something to eat. Pasta with chicken. As I said no, she noticed that I had to stifle a gag. "You don't like pasta with chicken?" Uh, no, I like pasta and I like chicken. Just not together. Hmmmmm.

Then out of the blue, in the middle of March, Elaine asks me if I like yogurt. Well, yeah, just not in the winter. "what?" Well, I eat it. But only in the summer. Oh, okay....

And then there was that time at the gourmet restaurant. They offered pomme frites (yeah, french fries) with mayonnaise. And so I drilled the waiter. Was it homemade mayo? Real mayo? Or some crappy Hellmans. Because that, I don't like it. But homemade stuff, yum-o! Elaine's eyebrow went up rather high on that one.

Okay, then I was having a bad day, and I kind of went off on her about how much I hate deli meats. That yes, I may have an all out fear of them. I can't even get myself to buy them at the grocery store for my husband and kids. They are that gross to me. (ACKK.. I'm gagging as I type this). It's their slimey feeling smelliness that gets to me is all.

I mean, we all have our hang ups, right? I guess mine are just centered around food. Hey, I'm not judging you for your issues with public toilets. Oh wait, that's me... yeah, so if I have to spend more than three minutes in one I start to go into a panic attack. Or you, you don't like to splash water on your face... oh wait, that's me, too. Hmmmm, well you, you out there, you're still afraid of the dark! Crap, that's me, too. And reader number 82, you twitch when someone touches your nose! Oh no, that would be me, as well.

Oh my god! I'm freaking nuts, aren't I? It's not just a few food quirks. I'm certifiable. Ah well, I gotta go. Need to make sure all the doors and windows are locked before it gets too dark out there.

Adventures in Babysitting

So I tricked, errrr, I mean I asked a friend to watch the girls for me tonight while Hubby and I went to a meeting. More than once I asked, "Are you sure?" and she kept saying it will be fine. But then she made a joke about being sure to hide all the scissors. Which got me all worried, I mean should I fill her in on EVERYTHING the girls could possibly get into? I keep thinking I should call her to discuss. But then I start thinking about what the conversation could be like, if I really did follow a policy of full disclosure.

Me: Sooooo, I just wanted to touch base about tonight and what you can expect from my girls. Thought I'd give you a few tips.

Friend: Oh, it will be fine. My kids can be a little rambunctious at times, too!

Me: (nervously)yeah, I'm sure! Just, ummmm, you said you were having spaghetti and meatballs?

Friend: yes, do they like that?

Me: Sure, but you weren't going to put grated cheese on the table, right? I mean, not where they could actually reach it? And if you are having salad, you will lock, I mean put the dressing in the fridge so they can't get to it, right?

Friend: uh, sure.....

Me: Ok, great! And your kitchen and powder room sinks - you could put the soaps on a high shelf, right?

Friend: (long pause)yeah, I guess I could do that....

Me: great, great! Oh, and the upstairs bathrooms, you don't have hair gels or make up or shampoo just out, right?

Friend: ummmm, actually I do.

Me: Well, why don't you just do a quick trip around the house and gather those things up. Put them on a high shelf, too.

Friend: Oh, I'm sure they won't get into anything like that! But, ok.

Me: Yeah, I'm sure it will be fine. Oh yeah, if you have any step stools you may want to lock them in the garage. Wouldn't want them to be used to get up to those high shelves of yours! I mean, just in case, that is.

Friend: Ok. So how long did you say you would be gone?

Me: Oh, just a little over two hours.

Friend: Oh, no problem. The girls couldn't possibly get into much trouble in that little bit of time.

Me: (long pause for hysterical laughter mixed with crying) Yeah, of course not.

Friend: Ok, so anything else?

Me: Well, let me see. You weren't going to give them anything with sugar or red dyes, right? That makes them a little crazy....

Friend: Oh, I just made cookies with red M&M's. My kids were all excited....

Me: Oh, just let them fill up on them before my girls get there! Oh, and after D2 eats or drinks anything, force her to use the potty. She refuses to wear a diaper, but she also likes to pee in some strange places!

Friend:(silence)

Me: Ha ha, that was a joke. sort of. I mean, she doesn't do that all the time.

Friend: (silence)

Me: Oh, just one more thing! While you are putting away the soap and stuff, make sure there are no pens, pencils, markers, paint, or glue left out! Boy, do they like to color on those walls!

Friend: (silence)

Me: Ok! So see you tonight!

Friend: Oh, darnit! I just took another look at my calendar. I almost forgot we have a really, really important meeting. Uh yeah, we have to meet with the hamster breeder out in New Jersey. Wow! Can't believe I forgot about that! Looks like I won't be able to watch your sweet girls after all!

Me: Really? Oh no! I mean they are such easy girls to watch. Maybe you could take them with you? There isn't a whole lot of damage they can do in the car once they are strapped in. Just don't give them snacks....

Friend: So sorry! Nope, not enough room in the car! Oh look at the time, gotta go!


Wow. I'm sure that's how it would play out. Definitely, definitely not making that call.

Wishing upon a Minivan

So my husband is car obsessed. Obsessed. I have to clarify this, though, because I think there are many kinds of car obsessed. He isn't the Nascar watching, Budweiser drinking kind. Nor is he the "I just rebuilt my engine in my free time" kind of guy. He's just obsessed. He gobbles up the free for sale catalogs you get at grocery stores like a teenage girl reads texts from her boyfriend. He knows the name and year of nearly every car on the rode. When we first started taking long car trips together I used to ask him why he was so quiet. He wasn't pondering anything deep, nope he was checking out the cars around him. Obsessed.

About every two years he gets the itch. The itch for something new. He decides one of our cars is lacking something or is about to break. So lucky him, this spring the lease on our minivan is up. But I put a wrench into the situation for him. Foiled his plans! I want us to buy a less expensive car in order to lower our monthly expenses. When I announced the magic number,his face fell. "You only want it to be how much? and that's WITH tax?" Yep, sure is.

He started with scare tactics "well, you know, I want you and my girls to be safe in this car" and "we won't really know what we are getting if it has a lot of miles on it" But once acceptance set in, he became practical. He asked me for a list of the top five things I wanted out of this car, in order of importance. He said he would try to look with that list in mind. Once I stopped laughing over the thought of me, Jenny who doesn't give a damn about cars, and rarely even notices that others are on the road, writing this list, I went to work. And 30 seconds later I was done. Keep in mind this same list would have taken dear hubby days and days to complete. But I gave him mine in 30 seconds flat.

Here it is:
1. must have third row seat
2. good mpg
3. not ugly
4. power doors/seats
5. dark blue

Yep, there's my list. Hubby shook his head after reading it, and then I found it crumpled up in the trash a few hours later.

So now I'm feeling guilty. Maybe I should have put more thought into this list. So I have re-thought my top five into a true list of what this Stay at Home Mama really needs. Here you go, Hubby:

1. An electronically controlled divider that pops up between the seats in the back row to prevent back seat bickering.

2. An automatic vacuum that gets to work every time you hit the remote control lock button. Cleans up all the snacks debris in an instant!

3. A stereo system that allows two cd's to play simutaneously. Girls can listen to their Raffi in the back, while Mama rocks out to her New Wave.

4. Time travel ability that ensures you are never late for another ballet, swim or preschool class again.

5. Built in coffee maker. Wait, maybe that should be first.


There it is!

Chicken, anyone?

So last week we took a day trip to the Lake at Mt. Gretna. The girls and I met my parents and my niece and nephew. My father is a HUGE fresh water enthusiast who is surrounded by a family of beach lovers. Which of course means that his chance to swim in a lake is pretty infrequent. None of us had ever been to Mt. Gretna, but we were excited by what we read about it. And it was great - a shallow roped off area for the little ones, docks to dive off, this incredible trapeze swing to jump into the water with, and a really high dive to also jump off. So much fun! My father has fond memories of jumping off cliffs into rivers and doing other "dare devil" activities. So within just a few minutes of being there, he was chasing after my 9 year old niece and 11 year old nephew. He did a quick jump off the high dive and then he was off to the trapeze swing. As I watched him in line for the swing, I remarked to my Mother "look at Dad, he's the only adult there. Good for him". Uh yeah, maybe there was a reason for that. As he hobbled out of the water, clutching his stomach, we were definitely worried. He couldn't believe the pain he was in - said something in his stomach "popped". Yep, after just 15 minutes of fun, my Pop was out of commission for the rest of the day. The next couple of days brought on MRI's, ultrasounds and trips to surgeons. Did you know that you could actually rupture a muscle? That's what he did. Crazy stuff. He'll be out of commission for a couple of weeks now.

So the rest of us continued to have a good time while my Pop watched. We rented these great inner tubes and floated around. But my niece seemed a little disappointed. She wanted someone to play with her. She kept bugging me to go off the high dive with her. I kept saying no,and no and oh yeah, no again. But then I saw some older (than me) ladies doing it, and so I started wavering. It would be fun to be the cool Aunt that went and had a good time with her niece. Well, I guess I'll do it.

Ummmmm.... Did I ever mention to you my fear of heights? Yeah. As I was climbing up the very slippery ladder, I kept telling myself "don't look down". I was horrified. And once I got to the top, do you know what my sweet niece did? She baled on me! Just jumped! That was it, she was gone. Floating in her inner tube and smiling up at me. So there I was, on this little platform, up at least a gazillion miles in the air, and surrounded by a bunch of 11 year olds. I kept walking to the jump off point and freezing. I. CAN'T. DO. THIS. The sweet girls kept telling me it really wasn't that bad. The boys kepts saying just do it! 5 separate times I tried to jump. I couldn't do it. I needed to close my eyes to do it. But then I was afraid I wouldn't clear the metal contraption that was holding us up. I needed to keep my eyes open. But I COULDN'T DO IT! The girls told me I had to, informed me that someone broke their leg climbing down the slippery assed ladder. I could believe it. That seemed just as treacherous as jumping. But I JUST COULDN'T DO IT.

The kids were getting more pushy - just do it! But I couldn't. I looked to the shore, my parents were there, watching. Pop had the camera all ready to go. Mom was cheering me on. My girls were looking at their role model with great expectation in their eyes. But, I JUST COULDN'T DO IT. The lifeguard kept giving me these looks like what the hell are you doing up there, old lady? Oh god, I was old. I was the old, chubby scared, lady at the lake. The humiliation.

The lifeguard finally told me to just go down the ladder. He had to whistle and yell at the kids below to clear the ladder so the old, chubby, scared lady could get down. I'm almost certain that's what he said.

And so, scared to death, I descended down the ladder. To great cheers from above. No, ok, actually not cheers. The noise, in fact kind of went like this "bawk, bawk, bawk" THEY WERE CLUCKING AT ME! Oh my god! The 11 year old punks were calling me chicken!

Yep, push that up to number 1 on my most embarrassing moments list.

My addiction

So, I have a dirty little secret. I'm addicted. Addicted to my Blackberry. It really must be like crack, I hear that is also very quickly addicting. I've only had my blackberry for a month, and I can't believe how addicted I am.

Let me start at the beginning:

My husband needed a new cell phone. He uses his for work, so a multi-functioning device made sense for him. When he was looking into them, he mentioned to me that the current sale was buy one, get one free. Well, I knew NOTHING about them. Except I saw them on a commercial once, and thought they looked cute. A nice little accessory to put into my Coach handbag. So as hubby left to go to the Verizon store, I told him sure, I'd take one, but don't bother getting me the internet connection, because I don't need THAT.

Yeah, I was that clueless. See for those of you who are also clueless, you can't get a Blackberry with out internet connection. It's kind of pointless.

So Hubby comes home from Verizon, and before he even gives me the phone he announces that we had to pay for the internet access. He reduced our minutes, so we are actually paying the same, but we had to have internet access. Right away my hackles are up - we could have been SAVING money by reducing our minutes, but instead we are paying for the internet? Arghhhh. Then I start playing with the phone. Mine is a storm, or something, I don't really know. It doesn't actually have buttons, you have to push on the screen for it to work. In all of two minutes I decided I HATED it. It must go back, I declared! I put it in the box, while Hubby shook his head repeatedly at me. The next morning he asked me to just try it for a couple of days. Well, ok. But I wasn't going to take the protective clear plastic off of it, so I could still return it if I wanted.

Yeah, on day 3, D2 pulled it all off. The phone was mine. I've made peace with the push screen, actually I'm pretty good at it. I can punch in an email at a pretty fast speed. Have to admit, I'm a little embarrassed by it. I mean, come on, why the hell does a housewife need a Blackberry? What urgent matters do I need to attend to online? Scheduling the latest playgroup can't wait till I have time to sit in front of the computer? I mean really. It's kind of silly.

But that doesn't stop me from checking it ALL THE TIME. Constantly. The little ding of a new message is hypnotizing: MUST CHECK MESSAGE NOW! And it's pathetic, just how detached from the here and now I've become. I'm playing with the girls at the park, and suddenly I have an overwhelming urge to check my messages. Or in the middle of dinner I hear a ding and desperately want to get up to see what it is. I mean really, ho


Sorry, where was I? My phone just dinged so I had to check what it was - not to worry, it was just SPAM. Now, I forget what I was s

Sorry, sorry, it happened again. Apparently book club is being re-scheduled. Good thing I checked it right away, urgent stuff, you know?

So last night I think I hit rock bottom. Hubby and I frequently spend our evenings on opposite ends of our sectional watching tv and playing with our blackberry's. Yeah, I know, it is as pathetic as it sounds. Sometime's we IM each other. Uh Huh. We really do.

We were watching the finale of American Idol. Does it make us sound less pathetic if I tell you that we watch it in order to mock it? Yeah, I know, it doesn't. At least I tried.

So to annoy Hubby or to make him laugh, I'm not really sure, I start using my FB status update to add my two cents to what is going on during the show. Some of them were actually hilarious in my opinion. Hee hee. But ok,maybe, just maybe, it was a little overboard to write 15 updates in about 23 minutes. But come on, Hubby was laughing! Who cares about my other 144 FB friends, right?

I know, it was as low as a Blackberry addict could go,right? Where do I go for counseling on this sort of thing?

Or ma

Ah never mind, my phone is dinging again, going to go check it....

Face Book Reject

So as I mentioned last week, I am addicted to Facebook. I have 142 friends. My hubby has 248. We competed for a time, but he obviously won. I update my status once or twice or ten times a day. I post photos, I look at other people's photos and leave comments. You get the idea, I'm hooked.

So yesterday, I was paging through my list of friends and I noticed something - a "friend", a boy I dated in 9th grade. Well, wait, let me correct that: he asked me to "go out with him" we talked on the phone and walked to a couple of classes together. I never knew what to say to him, we had long awkward silences then about 2 weeks into the relationship (ahem) I had my friend break up with him. He then went on to become a tough boy punk rock kind of dude and was forever rude to me, until like 12th grade when he started speaking to me again. And no, I'm not saying that my breakup from our intense relationship caused all that, I'm just saying that's what he was like. So he ended up living and working in some big city and being single and leading some kind of interesting life that I really wouldn't want to lead. Anyways, I'm talking in circles, aren't I? Are you wondering where this is going? Yeah, so am I. Ok, back to my point. This "friend" had de-friended me! He was no longer on my list! So I searched his name. He still had a profile and he still had 209 friends. 209 of his closest, dearest friends, so close that he obviously didn't have room for little ol' me to be his 210th. What a blow to the ego! I mean do I care about him? Of course not. Do I need to know anything more about him? Nope. But still, I was rejected on Facebook! Was it my lame suburban housewife comments that got to him? Was it my incessant droning on about my crazy kids? Was he only keeping cool city hipsters on his list? What could it have been? Am I not one of the cool kids? Did he hold with him my pathetic rejection for the past 20 years, and finally had his moment to get back at me? Was it the stupid tests I kept taking that annoyed him - could he no longer read what kind of fairy I was or what name I should have been named? Or did he look through my photos and get some satisfaction in the knowledge that I gained more weight than he since school, and now he could move on? What was it?! Why would he defriend me?!

And yes, this is what went through my head as I prepared dinner last night. Facebook has reverted me back to a socially insecure highschooler. The horror.

Super Freak

So, I really enjoy using the word "freaking". Not nearly as much as it's cousin, the F bomb, but in a very poor attempt at censoring myself, I use freaking. A lot. In fact, I have quite a few words and/or phrases that ummmm, color my language. "For the love of god" is one. I attribute that to my Jersey days. It's just a very Jersey thing to say, I think. Oh, and along those same lines I say "oh my god, I almost died". "Crap" I say way too much, which is another pathetic try at not saying shit. Although I still say "shit" a lot too, a favorite phrase being "I don't give two shits..."

But anyways, I digress. Hmmmm, that's a word I don't use often enough. I'll have to remember that. Ok, back to what I was saying. About a month ago, my Dad was visiting and in the course of our conversation, I probably said "freaking" a good 5 times. Which he felt compelled to point out, saying "you know, you say freaking a lot, you should probably watch that or your kids are going to start saying it"

Arghhh... my Dad freaking jinxed me!

Today, I was standing on a step stool, digging out the finger paint from the top shelf in the craft closet (which EVERYTHING is on the top shelf in the craft closet, come on, you've read this blog, I can't leave anything lower!) While I was digging around, the bag of playdough fell and scared D1. Can you guess her response? Here it was: "Freaking playdough, you just freaked me out". Ahhhhh.... thanks Dad!

After I stopped laughing, I called hubby to tell him. And after he stopped laughing, he pointed out what a smart girl D1 is. She figured out how to use "freaking" two ways! As an adjective and a verb! Words can not fully express how freaking proud I am.

Broken

So they broke me. I'm certain. Cracked beyond repair. My mind is gone. Spirit gravely injured.

I woke at the usual time today, in the usual way: D1 arriving in my room at 7:30. But from there, things went a little differently. First of all, D1 greeted me with poop ass. What a duty, to wipe someone else's bum before you've even had time to wipe the crusties from your eyes. Then, as I gained more consciousness, I thought to ask - "where are your pants?" to which she replied "downstairs". Hmmmm... downstairs, already?

And so after collecting D2, we go downstairs. Where I find the refrigerator door propped open with a step stool. Pudding and juice on the counter. Then I head into the family room - tv is on. My little angel is so self sufficient, isn't she?

Breakfast is a mess. A lot of crying, pushing and fighting over cheerios. There's probably more to say, but I'm already starting the process of blocking it all out.

Ok, bath time! I've heard other people remark that bath time is such a fun, relaxing time in their house. Huh. Can I move in? Bath time in our house involves Mommy yelling not to dump ALL the water out onto the floor, and then very aggressively washing hair, because I haven't found any other way to get it done.

Ok, next I dare hop on the computer for a few minutes. Check email, send an email, and see if I can find any sort of free activity for the morning. Afterwards I come downstairs to see D2 covered in red sharpie marker. Her new pink pants stained already. And don't even dare ask why I would leave a sharpie out again, yeah, I know, I should have learned my lesson after the carpet incident. Well, here's the thing: I didn't actually leave it out. Well, yeah, I did, sort of, if you include leaving it on top of the fridge as "out". The little angels now know how to scale the sides to get the things on top. I'm going to have to start leaving things in nets on the very tops of our trees to keep them away from my sweet babies. I'll have to train pigeons to fetch stuff for me. My hubby was right, a helper monkey really would be wonderful.

Next comes trying to get them to go to a park to play for a while, take advantage of this crazy warm weather we are having. Well, after several meltdowns, in becomes apparent that they do not want to go outside. Ok, maybe D2 needs an early nap, she's still not feeling 100% after last week's bug. Into crib, and starts a 20 minute tirade. Out of bed. Ok, let's play in the basement. As I'm walking down to the basement, a friend calls and I attempt to have a conversation. Silly me. In the 10 minutes I'm on the phone, the girls unroll an entire thing of wrapping paper. Then begin to fight over it, which leads to a sword fight with the legs of a dismantled table. My friend remarks that my house sounds like a chinese take out kitchen. I'm thinking more like a cock fighting arena. I abruptly end the conversation when it becomes apparent that D2 has been injured by the sword fight.

Ok, lets have snack lunch! Snack lunch is when Mommy doesn't really feel like making "real" food. I bring out a bunch of snacks and let them eat it on the floor in basement. A relatively good time for a while.

As they are finishing up, I run upstairs to brush teeth and do a few things so we can go to the open gym time at our township building. A few minutes pass, and D1 comes upstairs. Naked. Informs me that D2 has made a mess in the kitchen. "but where are your clothes, D1?, Did you pee?". "Yes, Mommy, I did not make mess in kitchen". Which, for those of you who do not interpret 3 yr old speak, means "I made a mess, but blame my sister".

So I go downstairs. I find half a dozen eggs broken all over the floor, with half chewed pepperoni mixed in. Their clothes thrown on top. I big eggy disgusting mess.
Naked D1 climbs on top of the counter and starts to jump up and down saying "not me! not me!" D2 wines and cries because she can't scale to those heights.

I, I begin to cry. I call hubby, and tell him "I'm broken - they finally did it - they broke me" He tells me to put them in their rooms, and take a shower. Tells me to leave the eggs on the floor.

And that is what I do. D2 into her crib. I put the safety handle on D1's door so she can't get out. And I take a long, long shower. My shower has a little bench in it. I've never used it. I mean why would I? I did today. Sat there, head to knees and watched the water go down the drain.

Now, I'm writing this, with wet hair, wearing my bathrobe. I can't get myself to go downstairs and clean that mess. Nor can I get myself to go into D1's room to see the mess she has created in there.

I know

So, I just want you to know that I know. Ok? I know my hair looks like shit. I have a hair appt for next Saturday, ok? I know, What's up with it, right? It's the freaking water here, that's what's up. The hard water in the Lehigh Valley is doing some serious beauty damage here. My stylist told me to start using a shampoo for color treated hair, said it would help my hair from turning this weird brassy color. It helped, sort of. But maybe I bought the wrong kind? It's totally making my hair look greasy and limp. Ok, ok, I know, I know that's not the only problem with my hair. I'm WAAAAYYYY over due on the hair dye thing. My grey roots are to my ears. I KNOW. And yes, I know if I took the time to blow dry it after my shower it wouldn't do this weird flippy thing. Yeah, I know. But if I'm using the hair dryer, then I have no idea what D1 is up to, and I already took a huge risk of house damage simply by taking a shower. Besides, the hair dryer could wake up D2, then I would really be in shits creek.

Yes, yes, I know that if I took 3 extra minutes to apply some concealer and blush I would look awake and probably like 15 years younger. I know. But then D1 and D2 would want me to put make up on them, and it would become this long THING. This THING that would eventually turn into yelling. Anyways, most of my makeup brushes are completely ruined because D1 dipped them into lip gloss. And I'm not buying any new ones till they are in middle school, at least.

Of course, I know my shirt has a stain on it. There AND there. I know. It's just that if I bought a new one, it would be christianed with a stain within the first hour of wearing it. Yes, I know, if I was more careful, or treated the stain right away, it would wash out. I know this. I don't do this. I take the shirt off, run around half naked, and then forget to pre-treat the stain, because I'm yelling at the girls for emptying out my dresser.

So I just want you to know that I know, ok?

And knowing is half the battle, right?

SOS

Help me.

It's been seven days since my captors have held me here in this place. At first they showed mercy upon me and allowed me to quietly work as their servant. But several days ago the melee really began, after I angered them by encouraging them to get some sleep, they have become quite insane. Their actions are completely irrational - I never know what to expect or how they will react to me.

I'm frightened.

The germ warfare is relentless. Just as I feel myself gaining strength, they reinfect me with their horrible colds and flu. I have been continuously ill this long, long week.

The larger one - the one they use to communicate with me - is using my lack of patience as a sort of torture. She is creating horrible messes that she then requires me to clean up. Seeing my fatigue, she has increased the frequency of these disasters, in order to break me, is my thought.

The smaller one is following the larger ones orders, I believe. She has also added to the torture by emitting these strange, high frequency sounds, screeches really, over and over.

They will not leave me alone for even one moment. Not even to pee or shower. I believe they fear I will escape. And the sleep deprivation, oh the horrors of this. I am beginning to hallucinate from the lack of sleep.

They have left crumbs of food all over the family room. In an effort to invite ants in from the deck. It has worked. Between my captors and the ants I will soon break.

My husband has managed to escape, he promised to send back up, but I fear he has abandoned me.

I've repeatedly asked what their demands are - what do they want in order to let me go. So far their only request has been cookies - but every time I give them some, they go back on their promise and do not release me.

Please send help..........