Miss C after watching Barbie in The 12 Dancing Princesses last night:

“Mommy I want to get married some day when I’m older…like 48.”

Miss C after seeing a Disney World commercial this morning on Nick Jr.:

“I love Disney World.”

Miss A:

“Me, too!”

(Note, they have never been to Disney World.)

I want to post a big thank you to the hubby for taking the girls to the park yesterday and for taking them for a long ride in our bike trailer while I basically laid in bed and popped Ibuprofen and swigged Gatorade and tried to keep my fever at bay. He also went to the grocery store and cooked dinner. Am I lucky or what?

I’ve got a doctor’s appointment this morning. My fever is down to about 99 but yesterday and Saturday it spiked to over 102. Not fun. Not fun at all. I’m not sure at this point if Tamiflu will help or if they’ll even prescribe me anything, but I’m going to go in and get checked out just in case.

I was feeling run down Friday night and yesterday morning, sure enough, I woke up feeling downright horrible with a 102 degree fever.

Did you know the Murphy’s Law of marital romance states if a Victoria’s Secret package crosses your threshold that someone will start hacking or sneezing within the next 24 hours? The hubby came down with a cold just in time for Valentine’s Day, and now I have some sort of heinous crud, which I hope is not the flu but I really hope is not pneumonia because I’ve been there, done that, thank you very much and it’s not fun. I’m not sure which is the lesser of two evils, so hopefully I just have a random last hurrah of winter/three-day weekend/your kids are cooped up and flying around the house like rabid monkies virus with a fever and horrible headache. Because if you’re going to be sick, you might as well do it up right!

Thankfully the hubby and Miss C picked out a lovely G-rated bottle of lotion at Macy’s for Valentine’s Day that I’m enjoying, because my new lingerie is collecting dust and the only small lacy thing I want near my body is a handkerchief.

Ladies, if you are currently engaged or just dating, make sure you marry the kind of man who will take the kids out for the day while you are sick. Hubby took the girls out to lunch and to the mall and video store. Wouldn’t you know they are saying we still have this DVD, but I clearly remember dropping if off in the return box and doing a little happy dance. If we end up paying for that movie? I will weep.

I’m overjoyed to report that Miss A happilly complied at daycare and washed her hands all day Friday, because honestly a sick mama weekend begs for some TV and DVD time and I would have been up a creek without a remote had she not been able to watch TV. When I told her how proud I was of her and heaped on the praise, she looked at me and said, “I TOLD YOU Mommy!” This was immediately followed by the command, “I WATCH TV!” Unfortunately she sh*t in her pants right before the hubby picked her up, but I didn’t pray for her to be accident free now did I?

Since kindergarten started back up earlier this month (cue the gospel choir praise Jesus music), things have run fairly smoothly in the mornings. Lunches and snacks and coffee have been prepared at night. Clothes have been laid out. Alarm clocks have been set. No one has left the house wearing mismatched shoes or without a backpack and the dogs have been quite happy to be able to throw their morning martini parties while we’re away (Bailey is partial to Cosmos and Jack is a classic vodka martini kind of guy.)

The other day I was feeling pretty cocky about my mad household management skills. By 7:45 a.m. Miss C was on her way to school with our neighbor and her daughter, dinner was in the crockpot, dishes were put away, and Miss A was dressed from head to toe in princess pink. Feeling uber sure of myself, I gave in to Miss A’s request to play a game on the computer. Don’t ask. Let’s just say that for a 2 1/2-year-old she has some freakishly adept video game skills. I set her up on my laptop and proceeded to finish getting ready to go into the office for a few hours.

Then I told Miss A it was time to go to school.

Our normally cherubic and agreeable little girl turned into the spawn of Satan before my very eyes.

She wailed, she kicked, she threw a fit. She finally calmed down after I peeled her off of my laptop, literally kicking and screaming, and she perked up when the hubby offered to take her to school. I believe Fruit Rollups were used as a bargaining tool, because, of course, it is totally acceptable to sugar up your child and drop them off with their child care provider.

I huffed and puffed and basically told the hubby that I was an idiot for not turning on the television but then agreeing to let a 2-year-old play a Dora video game and expecting her to joyfully give that up. I mean who could blame her? I go back and forth between loving and hating television or any kind of electronic diversion for the girls early in the morning. I mean Dora makes an OK nanny, but when it’s time for her to go, there’s sometimes hell to pay.

It was the mental equivalent of me crossing my arms, pouting, stomping my feet, and yelling to the hubby, “I don’t wanna be the mommy this morning!”

I love being a parent, but I sometimes don’t love parenting.

Dear Grandmotherly Type in the White Chevy Malibu:

Why, oh why, did you have to do a flagrant u-turn in the school parking lot yesterday so you could cut in front of my car?

Yes, it was raining, but you had an umbrella.

And I did not.

The Bijon Frise sporting a Santa hat riding in the mini van in front of me today totally made up for yesterday, though.

Signed,

Blonde Mom

p.s. I finally mailed our Christmas cards yesterday. And you?

My apologies to anyone who tried to log on last night and enter the giveaway for the PeaceLoveMom t-shirt.

The URL for my blog was redirecting to my husband’s old business website. He chatted with someone online last night at Bluehost, the company that hosts my blog, and also spoke with a real live tech over the phone. Bluehost attempted to fix it but it was still redirecting to the wrong site this morning (sorry all you late-night pervs who find my site by Googling mom boobs…the joke’s on you!) Thankfully I am married to Mr. Technology and he was able to fix it himself. I’ve been with Bluehost for two years and have never experienced anything like this.

I lost the huge link post I had uploaded yesterday morning and there were some charitable holiday giving ideas that I want to repost, not to mention the funny kinky Mrs. Claus video. Because we all know how important that was.

Since my site was down for a good 12 hours I’m going to leave the comments open until noon tomorrow for the t-shirt giveaway. Some of the later comments to that post were lost but I have them in my blog e-mail. I’ll post the winner’s name tomorrow night. Thanks!

To the mother of the cherubic, not yet mobile, baby boy peacefully being pushed in the green shopping cart the other night at Dollar Tree.

Yes, my 2-year-old regularly runs away from me in public places.

Yes, I normally look this stressed out.

Yes, if both my children decide to run away from me in a public place and run in opposite directions, I look doubly stressed out.

Yes, I did bribe my children to dutifully follow me to the checkout line, which always manages to go from empty to spilling over with customers with 25 items each and nothing but wrinkled dollar bills and pennies crammed in their pockets or debit cards that get rejected as soon as I so much glance that way, with the proposition of driving around to look at Christmas lights.

Yes, my oldest daughter said, “I’ll love you forever mommy if you get these” when presenting me with princess ring pops as we approached the checkout line for the third time and baby sister ran toward the household cleaners like the Tasmanian Devil.

Yes, I did reply, “I know you will love mommy forever even if I don’t buy them. We still have candy left over from Halloween! WHERE THE HECK IS SISSY? GO GET HER ARRRRRGGGHHHHHHHH!”

Yes, for a second I thought I might spontaneously combust from stress.

Yes, I did cut in front of you because by God I had to get out of that store before I had a nervous breakdown and I think you could sense that as you seemed to be afraid of me.

Yes, I saw you look at me and STEP ASIDE.

Rethinking that second child in 2008 now, aren’t you?

I had to be downtown for a 9 a.m. doctor’s appointment last Tuesday. For some of you that might be an accomplishment of insignificant proportions, but lo, I am spoiled, and have not had to drive downtown in God-forsaken morning traffic in seven years. I should mention that the hubby also had to be downtown at 9 a.m. Would the girls arrive at school fully clothed? Would I arrive at work and realize I had on one navy and one black shoe? (Which has, unfortunately, happened.)

I knew they would take a blood sample at the appointment, and knowing that I would pass out unless I got something in my system besides coffee and a bite of toast, I cruised through good ole McDonalds. I got turned around on the way to the hospital parking garage, because sometimes my rural upbringing rears its ugly head and I get confused if I have to maneuver through one-way streets. I finally made it to the appointment and an hour and a half later was on the way to work.

I finished up at my office pretty quickly and when I went out to my car I could not open the driver’s side door. I unlocked it and locked it several times to no avail. I had to walk around to the passenger’s side, unlock that door, and crawl over to the driver’s seat. I then realized why my driver’s side door was not opening. I had somehow freakishly jammed my seatbelt in my driver’s side door. I buzzed the hubby, told him what was going on with my jammed car door and said, I quote, “only me!”

I drove home illegally, without wearing a seatbelt, because it was jammed in the door, and with my interior light flashing on and off because the blankity blank frikkity freakin’ frakkin’ door was jammed. I got home, and worried that my car battery would die until the hubby could get the door unjammed, I did what any able bodied woman would do to shut the door tight. I turned around and butted it as hard as I could with my rear end.