Amber turned 6 years old on June 16, this year, and it seems to have been the magic number for a few milestones.  I am still amazed how things just seem to click with kids.  We, as parents, fight and fight for certain things to happen on our timetable, but then all of sudden one of the switches gets flipped.

Amber has been potty trained, without accidents, since she was 3 years old, but not night trained.  She has wet her bed up until this year.  It was frustrating to still have to buy Pull-Ups 3 years after she had stopped using them during the day, but I felt this was not something I really wanted to fight.  I mean, I had just been getting an entire night’s sleep for awhile and really didn’t want to ruin that.  Besides, who was going to know, unless we or her told them.  And trust me, the girl wasn’t shy about her little flaw.  George, on the other hand, couldn’t wrap his head around why she needed Pull-Ups at night.  I figured it was something that she couldn’t control, because, you know, she was SLEEPING, but he thought that he could teach her not to wet the bed. 

We did everything we were “suppose” to do: potty before bed, no drinks an hour before bedtime and a firmly placed pad on her bed in case of an accident.  Without fail I would be cleaning sheets the next day.  Oh yes, Amber is such a heavy sleeper that most times she didn’t even realized she had wet the bed until she woke the next morning, which further proved my theory that she just needed time.  Finally, I had enough of washing sheets everyday (okay, it lasted about 2 days) and told my husband that she will wear Pull-Ups, if only to save water and my sanity. 

Then Amber turned 6 and started making decisions for herself, like how she was going to wear panties to bed instead of Pull-Ups.  I had my doubts, but we started again with the appropriate routine.  The first morning she woke up with dry sheets.  I thought it was a fluke.  I know, way to show confidence in my child.  Don’t worry I congratulated her on a job well done and moved on with my day.  Then the dry bed started happening day after day after day.  Then when my sister (Teen) left, I forgot to put the pad back on and didn’t realize it until recently.  It just further proved that the night time switch had been flipped and Amber was night trained.  We all rejoiced for that extra $20 in our pockets each month and moved on.

Then last night when we got home, I had told the little humans that they will have a bath, get ready for bed and then Daddy would read them a story.  In the rush of coming in and putting up our purchases, Amber had slipped upstairs and took it upon herself to shower and get ready for bed.  She took it a step further when she informed George that she didn’t need him to turn on her lamp or music and could put herself to bed just fine.  Although, I think the bedtime story will stick around for a little while longer.  Once again, another switch was flipped.

I don’t know why any of this surprises me.  I mean my mom doesn’t come over everyday and make sure my sheets are dry and that I have properly washed behind my ears.  I kinda assumed that Amber would push her independence on me when she was ready.  It is a tug of war, sometimes.  I push and she will resist or she will push and I will decide if I want to give in or resist.  I try to not resist too often, in order, to make my life easier. 

I see some problems in this process of growing up, like, large puddles of waters that slip little boys who are minding their business while walking through the bathroom or gobs of toothpaste dried like cement in the sink.  I make my desires of dried floors and toothpaste cement free sinks known and hope for the best, but I don’t get my hopes up, especially since her father can’t even adhere to these small requests.  However, I have taken note that the kids in this house are in deed growing up.  My feelings are mixed, but mostly it is an amazing transformation to watch.

Life is the same old, same old with occasional excitement sprinkled in so we don’t fall asleep in our soups. We have, finally, hit that wall of being so hot that if you stay out too long you get sick, literally. I was doing fine with the weather, lately, but this weekend proved that summer can kick your ass with one little day in the park. A park void of shade. Must write the city and ask where are all the fucking trees.

This weekend our lovely police department decided that they wanted to show off their toyscrime fighting tools .  They, also, did a demonstration that was nothing like what you have seen on TV, movies or the NEWS. It was all a little too calm for me. No one yelling, “DOWN ON THE GROUND, SCUM!” Although, the firing of the really big gun (like my technical terms?) on the S.W.A.T vehicle were enough to give me a coronary. I had told NOLA that the police certainly wouldn’t fire their weapons in a park full of civilians. She swore up and down that, of course, they would and she refused to go. WUSS!!!

We arrived toward the end of the festivities, but still got to see the show, along with touring many of JPSO (Jefferson Parish Sheriff Office) massive toys equipment.  I have seen some of these vehicles at such events as Mardi Gras parades, but I was never privileged, or unfortunate enough?, to get an inside view. 

The vehicles of JPSO:

This appeared to be the older of the 2 helicopters that our police force have.
The kids seem to have no complaints, though.

Oh, look this one has doors.  Well, up front.  Those of you in the back, hang on.

Here is where I wiped the drool off of my husband’s face and told him,
“NO!  You may not have one!” 
Action figures are not included.

An inside look of the S.W.A.T unit.  Just imagine a line of guys in very hot gear
ready to jump out and save the day.
And the center is perfect for sneak attacks or, in this case, trying out your modeling
poses.

Size comparison.
Wee little boy vs massive scary looking vehicle.
I don’t think his head even came to the top of the tires.

This is how you get around in South Louisiana. Helicopters are good for places like the other L.A.,
but around here if you want to catch the bad guys you better be able to ride the water.
I am not positive, but I think this is a swamp boat, mainly because of the huge fan in the back. 

The boat must match the water situation.

Demonstration:

Load up guys.  You know the drill.

Hey, wake up over there.  Get ready to kick some ass!

Our target for the day?
This innocent looking car parked in the middle of the park.
Here is where it gets good.

The copters do their part.

Then they call in S.W.A.T.
Now, you are gonna get it!

Remember that sneak attack I mentioned.
Well, here is where I jumped right out of my skin, because I am blind and didn’t realize
that, yes, there is a man that will peek out of that little porthole and blow something away.

Here is where I expected to hear stuff like, “Freeze SCUM!” or “Say goodbye to your MAMA!”
But no, they were perfect gentlemen.
Perfect gentlemen with big guns and severe back up.
I suggest doing what they ask.

Oh, look they got their man! 
Somehow I knew they would.

Now, they check the trunk.  They didn’t let us in on what they found, but it looks
very interesting.

Look at that smug look on that perp’s face.  It is almost like he knows he will never
see the inside of a cell.

One more fly by, then everyone piles on.

And they ride off into the sunset.

It wasn’t all loud noises and busting bad guys:

Look a puppy!
Somehow I don’t think he is your average pet.

There were fun games like fingerprinting the little ones for future reference.
Sam was on to us and refused to participate.
Actually, this was quite cool. They put the fingerprint on a balloon and then blow it up.
You get to see the print in detail.
Now, Amber’s fingerprint is flying high over the greater New Orleans area.

I would have had more pictures of all the other fun stuff, like eating burgers, drinking a gallon of water to cool off from billion degree temperatures and arguing with Amber about why I didn’t tell her to bring her bathing suit so she could run through the water bouncy.  At one point, I really considered tearing off my clothes and running through it myself.  Then I remembered there were children around and tons of cops. I would have rather not been arrested for a crime against nature or maybe, abuse of small children or maybe, public nuisance or just for scarring the public beyond help. After about 2 hours with the sun about 5 inches from my face, I packed it in and sat in the car to wait for my husband to tear himself away from all the toys police equipment and find me melting away in the car.

Thanks to the JPSO and all the officers who endured heat in their massive gear to show us a little bit of what their job is like.  Also, for being very polite whenever they show up at my door for a false alarm and are greeted with me in my pajamas completely frazzled from these crazy kids and never ending barking dog.

We appreciate all you do for our community.

Amber hates our dates night.  So much so, that you would think that when we leave we will never come back and she will have to live the rest of her life with MawMaw.  I haven’t told her, but I think if she just took a minute to thinkabout it, it wouldn’t be such a bad setup.  MawMaw tires easily and is quick to give in.  This pass week, with our visitor, I had decided that it would be better to take her along with us.  This led Amber to more hysterics, because why does Teen get to go and not her.  Well, because I am a horrible mother hell bent on destroying my daughter’s life.  That’s why.  Of course, Daddy rushes in and becomes Amber’s knight in shining armor.  And they say those only appear in fairy tales.  He promised her that they would have a date day, to which Amber excitedly replied, “Wewillgettogotoamovieanddinnerjustlikeyouandmommy!!”  Yes, all in one breath.  It would later evolve into date day with Sam, as well,  where he would be dragged on the big day of fun with Daddy leaving the evil mother (that would be me, if you have lost track) home all by her lonesome.  YIPPEE!!!

Saturday night, after a long day of dropping off Teen and cramming other errands in, I felt a little sickness afoot.  Sunday, I awoke feeling like the living dead, except that wasn’t enough and someone decided to kick my ass, too.  I think I have traced it back to the half eaten brownie that my daughter had gnawed on before rejecting.  It was the last of the brownies and I just had to have it.  Well, I think my little carrier monkey gave me the crud.  Like always, the crud for kids is pretty much nothing, but for adults it leaves you immobile and very cranky.  Oh lucky day, I get to stay home all day feeling like death warmed over while the kids and Dad get to have buckets of fun.

The agenda:
Church
Brunch with friends
Movie
Dinner at Shogun, which has become Amber’s favorite restaurant because all the Asian ladies called her, Princess on her and Daddy’s last date night.  It helped that she had on her very puffy dress and every piece of toy jewelry she could find.
Home

Somehow, George managed to work in some leftover work he needed to get done and a trip down to Da Parish.  Needless to say, I was not happy about it, but decided not to give him too much grief.  I recieved various status reports and while the children were well behaved, George claimed to be tired.  Oh, poor baby is tired.  Welcome to my world, muthasucka!

Me?  I laid around wishing for death and watching a few movies that are inappropriate for wee ones.  On the showing list:
Old School:  You my BOY, Blue!!  And Will Ferrell, you are the master. 
Love Actually:  The best love story that was ever made.  Those British are funny, with all their weird accents and insulting everyone left and right.  Maybe the Revolutionary War was just a misunderstanding of words between us colonists and those squirrelly Brits.  Nah!
My Cousin Vinny:  More funny speaking humans.  Marisa Tomei really deserved that Oscar for that movie.  Favorite line:  It’s called disclosure, DICKHEAD!!  Well, you know it is better if she said it.

The day would conclude with me greeting the kids home with hugs and kisses, because I missed them, then quickly realizing why I needed a day off.  Only next time, God, when you answer one of my prayers make sure I am as not sick as a lab monkey.  Thanks.

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Today, I woke up worse than yesterday.  I had hoped and prayed that it was a 24 hour thing, but sadly God doesn’t answer prayers of those who don’t go to church come hell, high water and massive mucus build up.  Oddly I did have the energy and will power to clean house.  Needless to say, we missed swim class, because hey who wants to be in cold water in the hot humid summer while your head is as filled as a zit ready to pop.  Then there is the fact that no one wants to be near you, your dripping nose and swim in your snot.  I think I made the right decision.  However, I knew that I needed to get out of the house at some point.

I had a hankering for fish.  Not just any fish, but Zea’s Trout Lafitte.  Oh, the creamy sauce with huge lightly fried shrimp swimming over a perfectly grilled fillet of trout.  One thing I didn’t realize was that it was “Be a Huge Asshole Day” at Target.  First, no parking spot to be found.  No big deal, I am willing to walk, even if I am half-dead and craving fish flesh.  A new kind of zombie.  I do not like finding a parking spot in the vicinity of Timbuktu only to have to push 2 carts out of the way and then to the cart corral.  Oh yeah, I am nice like that.  Of course, you know I cursed the sonabitch that left them there.  I thought of just leaving them in the middle of the parking lot, but then I got a glimpse of Karma having someone hitting said carts right smack into my car. So, I walked my sick ass pushing 2 carts and guiding 2 wayward children away from certain death by car.  Our journey wasn’t quite over as we stood at the edge of the parking lot waiting to cross to get to the restaurant.  Not one rude ass muthafucker stopped to let us pass.  There were old men barely able to see driving at top speed, there was the stupid bitch oblivious to the world around her on the phone and just random assholes not willing to stop for a mere 20 seconds so we could cross.  So, if the kids and I wanted to eat we had to make a run for it.  I held onto Sam’s hand tight and instructed Amber to RUN FOR HER LIFE!  I am proud to announce that we made it safely to the restaurant and enjoyed our meal.

While at Target, I got a neti pot .  (Oh wait, how did I just make it to Target?  Well, the restaurant is in a mall that has a Target, duh.  Keep up will ya.)  I get these sinus problems often and my friend has told me many times to get this little marvel of the times gone by and all will be better.  I think I need more practice.  First, I had to ask the Pharmacist for one, which made me wonder if I really wanted this device.  You know anything behind the Pharmacist counter should be handle with care and by a professional.  I am capable of neither. 

Then, I use it.  Holy mother of God.  One must remember to leave one’s mouth open.   I forgot and paid dearly.  This leads to much choking and disorientation.  I didn’t see any mucus removal, but there was much tearing and tasting of salt water.  The kids, of course, gathered around to watch the spectacle that is their mother.  I mean how many times do you see your mother make a little pot of salt water tea and then proceed to shove it up her nose to only watch it drain out the other side.  If this was back in the olden days, I would be proclaimed a witch and burned at the stakes.  Anything for some relief.  Afterwards, I did feel a little bit better, but suddenly I could hear the ocean in my ears. 

Another helpful reliever of my sinus problems is the Coke Icee.  And you don’t need a prescription, just a freakin place that doesn’t have their machine on defrost.  I stopped at 2 Burger Kings, my regular dealer supplierplace to get an Icee.  What the hell is going over there?  At 2pm in the afternoon, both places were packed.  Did someone get the munchies all at the same time?  Oh, but I remembered, hey, I could use some gas and they sell Icees at my local gas station. What I found when I entered was not Icee, but something called Snoee.  What the fuck?  Well, I was desperate and much like the drug addict who will smoke oregano when faced with no hope, I went straight for it.  Wasn’t bad.

Our gas station has recently be taken over by a large group called, Brothers.  They are forgein.  Don’t ask me where they are from, because I don’t care as long as they have some form of my drug beverage of choice.  I asked the guy at the counter if they were still going to sell Shell gas.  He said, “Chicken?”  ”No,” I say “Shell gas.  Are you still going to sell Shell gas?”  Unintelliable, “we will have a kitchen over there,” he replied  I give him the money and wonder if I have gone deaf, like someone else, or if I am just crazy from the sickness.  I chosen  to believe he doesn’t speak the English too well and go about my business. 

Next stop to drop off my directionally challenged daughter at gymnastic class.  I don’t normally just drop Amber off, but I was way past due on my oil change and thought my hour sitting trying to see her class alllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll the way in the back would be better spent getting said oil change.  I told Amber to take off her dress, get out of the car and go into the building.  The first thing my lovely daughter does is go the wrong way.  The gym is in an industrial area and there are many large trucks barreling through the parking lot.  I promptly yelled, as she had already made it about 2 offices down, for her to get her lily white heiney back here .  Then I noticed that her leotard is on backwards.  Good Lord!!  Help this girl make it through her elementary years.

I hopped out of the car giving Amber an earful as I stripped her down in the back of the Sub to right her leotard and get her going in the right direction.  Ah, unseemly, maybe, but sometimes you got to do what’s you got’s to do.  I informed her that she was headed in the wrong direction and maybe she would have more fun, if, you know, she didn’t go into the office furniture store but into the gym.  My completely blonde little girl, without a clue, shrugged her shoulders and, finally, made it to the correct door.

It was a long mucus filled day with many adventures.  One I am happy is over.  Now, onto the next day where I hope we will find ourselves at swim class or have us swimming far into the winter months.  *sigh*  My life, can someone stop it so I can get off?

As I walked into the restaurant, last night, I guided my brood.  I had successfully guided them throughthe dangerous parking lot, intact, and was attempting to guide them to the front of the restaurant without tripping a server, who would, with my luck, be loaded down with hot steaming food.  There was Amber (6 yrs old) in front, Sam weaving in and out of our line, my 13 yr old sister (staying with us for a week) and little Sun hanging on my hip.  I had just spent a very exhausting day feeding bottomless pits, breaking up WWIII between Sam and Sun(She, with a lot of glee, kept knocking down his train track), not yelling when someone repeated whatever I just said and trying to let it go whenever Amber bugged the Teen.  Yeah, welcome to the world of young siblings.  HA!HA!  Then I heard it.  It was faint and not for my ears, “Did she just push her?”  If I had any strength I would have whipped around, with baby on my hip in true Redneck fashion, and torn a new one into this perky chested, flat stomached, obviously childless bitch who dare judge me for a small action capture in a second time period of my day.

Have you ever tried to steer people who don’t know their left from their right? (George, you can shut up right about, now)  Have you ever tried to give directions to small children in a loud restaurant?  Have you ever tried to get to the front of the line, you are trying to guide, weighed down by 18 lbs of toddler,  while avoiding stepping on a small toddler that loves to be underfoot ALL THE DAMN TIME?  No, well it is like herding cats.  Have you ever herded cats?  Well, give it a try and when you are found in the bathroom sucking on a bottle of whiskey to erase the memory, you will be close to where I was last night.  I was yelling at the top of my lungs, which I am sure the other patrons loved, for my lovely daughter to go forward.  When that didn’t work, I tried to yell go straight.  Hmmm…no luck.  You would think that these directions would be easy enough for a young child or 13 yr old to follow.  Not really, when the 6 yr old can’t find her way out of a wet paper bag with a flashlight and a map and the 13 yr old claims, “Well, I have never been here, before.”  So, I reached over and let my hand guide Amber in the direction I needed her to go.  I pushed her head forward so lightly, that I don’t think she even noticed, and you know what happened?  By golly, my little preshus knew actually where to go.  Or it jogged her memory, because we have only eaten at this restaurant about a million and one times.  Ask me how it went when I discovered that my friend was already there, seated in the far back, and I had to guide this ban of unruly through the restaurant of many tables close together.  On second thought, don’t.  It would contain more curse words than I even know and most of them would be directed at the customers laughing and pointed when we hit a dead end.  In case the server finds this blog and wonders what happened to that poor little girl, who didn’t even blink an eyelash when I pushed her head? She got a big ole cup of ice cream after dinner.  Mainly, because I needed some and I am not that kind of cruel that makes her sit and watch me eat ice cream while making yummy sounds at her.  Now, that would be a justified case for CPS to look into.

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I never thought that adding a teen into the mix would be that hard.  Hey, for a little bit I thought, “Great free help.”  That hope dashed when Teen and Amber started arguing over the dumbest things I have ever heard.
“Stop! touching me!”
“What do you mean?”
“You are touching me with your feet.  I hate that.”
“Hee, hee!!”
Teen moves to the floor and Amber gets that whole side of the sofa for herself, which I think was her objective.  Therefore meaning she is an evil genius and must not be leashed out into the world. 

Or that the teen gets mad when Amber “teases” her or repeats something she says.  I find this hilraous, because karma is, well, you know.  Teen has been following me around repeating phrases that I say.  I am not sure why, but I choose to ignore it because 1. I don’t have the mental energy to try and figure out these younger than 30 types and 2. it is better to not ask.  So, I was confused when I heard this:
“That is not nice, Amber!”
“What are you talking about?”
“YOU are being mean.  I am not going to stay in this room with you if you keep teasing me.”
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN? I AM NOT BEING MEAN!”
Then Teen walks down the stairs and I ask for the story.  It seems that Amber was telling Teen that she is “an old lady”.  I had to laugh, because this is something that my mom tells Amber whenever she jumps with glee announcing her birthday.  “OH!  YOU are such an old lady!”, my mom would say and then Amber would giggle.  But then again, that little thing called karma rears it’s ugly head.

What I have learned from this little experiment is that I don’t want my kids to catch this terminal illness called teenager.  Where you are unable to fill their tummies, their wants, their expectations, etc.  I have given up, because I was trained by the best carrier of the disease, the Teen’s older sister, my now 20 something year sister.  I have learned to not look into the face to judge how the trip is going.  Don’t stare at them, because they tend to take the fight stance and it always starts with a “Why are you staring at meeeeeeeeee?”  And never under any circumstances tease them about being a teenager, because that will just result in your immediate demise.  I feel the daggers shoot from Teen’s eyes whenever George teases her about teen angst and then I jump out of the way, because hey we have small children and someone has to be here to take care of them.

I know, I know, my kids will one day catch this disease and there is nothing I can do to stop it.  However, I have a simple solution for some short relief, a long visit with their old and feeble PawPaw.  I can be found on an uncharted island sipping tropical drinks and soaking up the rays.  It is called the circle of life, get to know it.  MWAHAHAHAHA!!!!

Are you sad and weepy from being unable to attend BlogHer? 

Are you tired of everyone in the Blogsphere talking about BlogHer and how they are going to meet so and so?

Are you unwilling to sell your first born just to attend a conference across the country in a city that would never allow you to walk down the street with alcohol in your hand or maybe get a glimpse at some random woman’s boobs?

Are you really just looking for a way to get away from your kids and husband for a couple of days without packing in the cover of night and sneaking out the door?

Then I have just the thing for you, SoBloU. 

The great and mighty Queen of Shake-Shake has convinced me, with all her whining, to invite her, and anyone else within a good reach of New Orleans, to come on over, get together and have a little fun.  We may not have all the fancy that BlogHer has, but that just means you can spend more money on liquor and great food.  We will, also, have NOLA, whether she knows it or not.  Who else will know where the absinthe can be found?

There won’t be any speakers on how to self host and bring in new members, but I am sure at some point someone will stand up and proclaim their love for the whole table and then promptly fall to the floor. 

There won’t be any great swag bags overfilled with free stuff, but you will learn how to avoid street performers, nudie girl pictures, the lure of the Lucky Dog and how to stumble down a crooked street without spilling your drink. 

You probably won’t meet all those big bloggers that you have been reading for years, secretly in your office late at night, but you will meet some of the most interesting people that ever graced the earth.  You do know that they most interesting people live in the South?  We are kinda too busy not dying from the intense heat.

There won’t be any scheduled events, except maybe the drinking and eating.  Sorry, but that is very important down here and we must keep to a schedule. 

There will be sessions of exploring the French Quarter and Magazine street.  Again, sorry, but if you come on over and I have escaped the company of my husband and kids, I am going to go to Magazine street and shop. DAMMIT!  So you can either come along for the ride and no one gets hurt or you can sneak away and drown your sorrows in one of the many bars that can be found just about anywhere in this city. 

If this interests you and you promise not to blame the missing of a huge Blogger conference in San Francisco on me, then by all means drop me an email or leave a comment.  I will be more than happy to call some hotels, get some rates and have a loosely thrown together agenda ready.

Did I mention that there will be drinking and eating? 

We are planning this for the weekend of July 18-20.  Nope, you read that right. 

I knew boys were different than girls, but no one mentioned the blood factor.  We are not about gender stereotypes around here, because Lord knows that Amber has taken her fair share of spills but rarely do these encounters result in massive blood loss.  Mostly there are massive tears shed, which is fine since losing large amounts of tears doesn’t result in death or maniac trips to the ER. Only nominations for the Most Dramatic Child in the World award.

Today started out like any other Friday, during summertime.  I knew there was grocery shopping to be done, but had no desire to actually do the work to make it happen.  So, we all lazed around for the morning until the guilt over my computer usage got to such a level that I knew SuperNanny was waiting to break down my door and tell me to acknowledge my kids, ALREADY.  I won’t bore you with the list of things that I did in preparation to go grocery shopping, but know that my timing was off and it would make matters that much worse later.

Things went as expected while at Target and the grocery store, except maybe for the escape Sam tried to pull in the parking lot and the stupid bitch that was too busy on an all important phone call to check to see if anyone was walking behind her parked vehicle.  Funny, she seemed totally surprised when I yelled, “Get off the phone, dummy!”  Nonetheless we did our shopping and rushed home to prepare to go to Amber’s gymnastic class.  For some reason, I can’t get the hang of these classes, which results in me either completely forgetting about them or remembering at the last minute.  Thank god, for the make-up. 

As I am throwing groceries into their appropriate places, Amber is getting ready for class and Sam goes into normal coming home from absolutely boring and torturous errands with mom mode.  This entails running around while taking off his shoes and screaming at decibels only dogs can hear.  After much yelling at Sam to put his shoes back on and get to the car, we are moving.  I, of course, am trying to do too many things at once, because my brain will not allow me to let my grocery bags sit in my house when I can save time by putting them back into the car as we leave.  This means I have my hands full while trying to deal with a toddler who must have food this very instance before he dies.  No matter that he has been fully snacked while out grocery shopping and on the way home. 

Amber is ahead of us, almost in the car. Sam is moving through the garage and I am setting the alarm.  SMACK!!!!  Sam trips over his feet, the imaginary lump in the floor or the weight of the world, who knows, and starts screaming.  I quickly pick him up and shove him out of the garage, because if the alarm goes off then I will have to deal with the alarm company and police.  They tend not make things move quicker.  I turn around for some reason, don’t remember what, when I hear Amber scream as though Sam’s head just fell off of his body and rolled under the car.  Instinctively, I run to turn off the alarm and see what the hell is going on.  Sam’s face and hand is covered in blood.  I turn to Amber and tell her something about not being ONE OF THOSE females and bring Sam into the house.  I clean his face and discover that he has not broken or lost anything.  He simple has hit himself hard enough to cause the Niagara Falls of blood to come gushing out of his nose.  Have you ever tried to pinch a toddler’s bloody nose or explain how he needs to hold his head back?  Well, before you do that why don’t you try explaining to your cat how he should be more open to your feelings instead of doing whatever the damn hell he feels like. 

We return to the car and arrive at gymnastics on time, with a lot of direction from Amber on how Sam should wipe the blood running out of his nose with the napkin  Apparently, he heard throw the napkin over your head and you will be fine.  Now, if I can make it through gymnastic class without CSI dragging us out to test our clothes. 

After that hellish afternoon, I inform the hubs that I will not be cooking any dinner and to meet us out to eat.  The kids and I arrive at the restaurant first.  You would think being seated by a hostess is a boring and fairly safe situation.  Well, you haven’t met my boy, who can cause blood to flow from his body by the mere mention of a fall.  Sam goes to climb in his big boy chair and slips.  Again, a scream heard round the restaurant comes out of his mouth and so does the blood.  I have no idea how he slipped and what he hit his face on, but he succeed in giving himself a fat lip.  After all of this, we felt he was much safer strapped into a highchair.

There are many times when I go over in my head, did Amber do this?  Only to be met with a hell no.  Amber is no delicate flower and has taken many a fall, but never once has it resulted in blood gushing from her face.  This boy has been walking for 16 months and from the first fall he has produced blood.  Is it a gender thing?  Or is it simply a tool to keep me on my toes?  I had become so use to Amber falling and getting up without as much as a scratch that we tell Sam to just brush it off and you will be fine.  I highly suspect that maybe we should take him in for an ultrasound or something to make sure his insides are not filling up with blood.  I mean he did slip a little on his way to bed and anyone knows that if you fall on a mattress you can cause massive internal bleeding.

…and her tombstone will read: It was the chocolate shake that killed her.

Every summer we put our SUV to good use.  We pack it up and head East, to the land of sunshine and clean beaches, Destin, Florida.  This year was different and we hoped it would give us the same feeling only closer to home.  George has 4 fairly new businesses that he is keeping fed, diapered and producing.  It would be too much for him to pick up and leave to go 4 hours away for 5 days.  What if one of his babies hiccupped or his employees let them go hungry?  So we fooled ourselves into thinking that we could get away in our own city.  I mean, New Orleans is tops on many a tourist’s list and we live only 30 minutes away.  So, we decided to become THOSE people that I constantly yell at to MOVE and threaten to run over.  We would walk aimlessly down the middle of Bourbon street, before it closed to traffic, and wander in and out of the t-shirts shops giggling at the dirty sayings.

We found a hotel with a pool, which was the main requirement of the children and headed across the river for some hot and steamy fun.  Not that kind of hot and steamy.  More of the kind that makes you want to drill a hole in your head for ventiliation.  You can pretty much swing your screaming credit card anywhere in the French Quarter and hit a very nice and expensive hotel.  Being the summer, we got a deal.  As a rule of thumb, there are not many visitors to our fair city during the summer. The heat level gets raised to above hellfire and many a northerner has burst into flames at the mere mention of our temperatures.  However, we were so lucky to pick one of the few weekends where our hotel was booked.  No matter, we still paid less per night for the Royal Sonesta than we normally do for the Holidome in Destin.

What I would come to find, after plastering my face with a smile and trying very hard to ignore the small whiny humans that kept following us around, is that the only thing to break my carefully planned facade would be a chocolate milkshake all over my dashboard.  Even the act of cleaning up fresh vomit containing grits and yogurt (Don’t ask) would find me with a shakeable smile, yes, but still a smile.  However, the milkshake incident of ‘08 would be the thing that killed me.   

If we were to do this again, it is very important to shake these little whiny humans from us and run for the Quarter where we can eat, relax, and walk without a care. Not worrying about certain unnamed humans complaining about the heat, food, walking and the fact that she ONLY got to swim  10 times in the hotel pool .  Even when the heavens opened up and rained down on the Quarter, it would somehow still be us, slightly taller humans, just keeping the smaller whiny humans down by not letting them SWIM ALL THE LIVE LONG DAY!

It wasn’t all a complete waste of time, I got some lovely pictures of the memories of good food, nice weather (after a big ole rainstorm the Quarter was absolutely pleasant weatherwise, although the smell…) and rediscovering the wonders of our city:

First up, our hotel:

Fancy, do you think we can fit it into the suitcase?

Comfy, wake me when it’s over.

Courtyard.

Look, free oranges, if you can get them.

Oh look, water.
Then I fell over and never awoke, after looking at the price.
But before I died of sticker shock, I warned the children that if they dare to open one of these bottles
all the unicorns and princesses in the world would die.

Oh, the sights we will see in Da Quarter:

Our alcohol is large and our women are naked.
Be careful if taken together, someone may wake up with a wallet missing.

Our street performers are very kind and kinda pushy.
For our “donation” we got this picture and I got advice:
“Watch your man, Miss, there beez loose women out here.”
My reply: “Where do you think he found me?”
He didn’t know who he was messing with.

Things you should never put in your mouth.
There are many others along Bourbon street, but this is a family blog.

Weird bird like children. 

Beads, beads and more beads.
Don’t worry all you have to do to get these beads is flash a few Washingtons.

Iz holds the secret to cheap ATM fees.

What you mean we have to keep walking?
It is the law of Da Quarter, you walk to get to the next goodie.
You walk and walk and walk and walk…

Zoltar will tell your future for ONE DOLLAR.
Your future, little girl, is to continue to walk until your legs fall off.
And yes, your mother is the devil.

I fall under your spell, oh great Blue Dog.

The food:

The fairy princess is not happy to sit next to other’s cast offs.
Bring her beignets, stat!

AH, the elixir of life has arrived.
I had to stop taking pictures, because the carnage was just not suitable for publication.
Not responsible for short circuiting of any computers.

Napoleon House Bruschetta.

Best red beans and rice in town.
Again, Napoleon House.
We fought a torrential downpour to get to these.
It was worth every drop that fell.

Half a muffuletta.
Because a full one will kill you.
But you would die happy.

Claiming that red beans and rice are disgusting (Can’t blame her. She has been
served red beans and rice every Monday for 4 years), Amber opted for the Casear salad.
Don’t worry it got the New Orleans treatment, with some kind of creole mustard Casear dressing.
Even lettuce tastes good down here.

A little too spicy.
I am sure we have something for you to wash it down.

The last stop of the day, Storyland, not to be confused with Storyville:

Finally, smiles.

Now, there is something you don’t see everyday.

Quick, they are trapped, RUN!!

It is always good to move in a good school district.

Big bad wolf or Katrina?
Does it matter?
Your house is gone.

Amber shows love.
Sam shows his ability toward either government work (FEMA) or insurance work.
“Are you sure it was wind and not flood, because you know you are covered for wind, but not flood?
It looks like flood to me.”

Happier times.
Before her Linda Blair act in the car.

Hello, anyone home?
MWAHAHAHAHA!!!

…and Mother Goose watches over all.

To see all of over adventures, go here.

 *Fake-cation was coined by this woman’s husband.  I always give credit, because if I don’t I will never hear the end of it.

Updated below

I remember very little of what I learned in college and even less of what I learned in high school, but I thought somewhere I learned that America was not only a democracy, but a capitalist society as well.  So why in the hell am I, and the rest of us, being raped on a daily basis by monopolies?  I have had my problems with Cox and basically think they are the devil sent to earth to drive me batshit crazy up the fucking wall, but now they have a new partner in crime,  AT&T.

Recently, I have noticed the house has become very quiet.  I soon realized that we are unable to receive phone calls in our home.  Odd, eh?  I instruct George to call the phone company.  He deals with them on a regular basis, so he should know how to get them to fix this problem, right?  WRONG!!  He calls them and tells them the problem.  I hear nothing about it and assume all is well.  I will never learn.  We arrive home, from Amber’s dance revue, to find a lovely note so well written it made Baby Jesus cry.  I figure great problem solved.  It won’t EVER be that easy.  So George calls them again.  They are set to come sometime between 2-6pm on Monday.  Don’t you just love that?  It basically says, drop your whole day and we will show up when ever the damn hell we feel like it. 

An AT&T tech shows up early within the time frame given and sets up to figure out the problem.  He checks the box outside our house, makes me do some kind of song and dance regarding unplugging and replugging my phone and declares that he is finished.  All is well outside the house.  Well, sorry my phone still doesn’t work.  “Well ma’am, it will cost you $110 for me to step inside your house and discover the problem.”  Uh, yeah you can go, now.  Later, George got upset because I sent away the one man in the universe that can fix his precious phone.  I politely explain to jackass my husband that I could not reach him on his cell phone to discuss this little issue of the shakedown, so I let the man go.

I ask George to call a friend of a friend that happens to work at said phone company and ask what they can do for us.  Well, it turns out nothing, but he could me that we were charged $85 to come out and determine the problem.  This is when my head explodes and the curse words start piling up.  I call AT&T and proceed to get connected to the 2 most uncaring people in the world.  Basically, there stance is “Your problem not mine” and have a fuck you kind of day.

The best part was when I asked to speak to a manager, the lady comes back and says he will call me back.  After about 20 minutes of going over my problem with my phone and my huge problem with them charging me to come out “just to see what the problem might be” and then never explaining the problem, I exploded, “NO, HE CAN’T CALL ME BACK. MY. PHONE. DOESN’T. RECIEVE. PHONE. CALLS. DUH!”  About the only thing I didn’t do with these 2 non-helpful customer service representatives was curse at them.  You know, because I am a lady and no matter how badly I get treated I will not stoop to their level of stupidity and unfeeling jackassness.

I spent another 30 minutes on the phone with this so called manager who has the power to tell me nothing.  He would inform me that if only I had the maintenence plan all of this would be taken care of free of charge.  Well, where is the information regarding this PLAN?  I was never informed that there was such a thing.  I am told that I should have been told about the PLAN when I got my phone service.  Well, I think if I was told about the PLAN, then I would have asked some questions.  I just always assumed that anything to do with my phone was the business of the phone company and they were suppose to fix it.  I guess that would mean they actually did something for their money other than give me the privilege of a dial tone in my house. (Please do not tell me about internet phone service.  We can’t use it and I will be damned if I give more money to Cox Cable.) Then he goes on to tell me that there is info about the PLAN on my bill, that is sent every month that I pay well ahead of time.  See this is where you don’t mess with me.  I have everything filed away and I usually have 2 years of anything at my finger tips.  I look through my entire bill and past bills, nothing about the PLAN.  I ask the man on the phone where on the bill…and that was the last I heard of him.  I am thinking this was the time wild boars broke into the office dragged him off to eat out his brains, because why would someone in customer service not answer a simple question?  I change my line of questioning, “If I sign up for the PLAN, can you be out here tomorrow?”  Oh look, wild boars didn’t carry him off, because he said, “Sorry ma’am (in case you are wondering, in this situation ma’am stands for bitch.  I ain’t stupid, I did it myself when I worked in the service industry), you will have to wait 30 days for the PLAN to be activated.” “Why don’t you send someone out, tomorrow, and I will pay the $85 blood money you already charged me and I will keep the PLAN on my bill for the rest of my life?”  “Oh we can’t do that.”  “How about if I cancel the PLAN before the month is over you just charge me your stupidly overpriced fee, anyway?”  “Oh sorry, I can’t do that.”  “Well, why don’t you give me the name of the CEO of your company.  I would like to ask him what he does with my money.”  Again, those wild boars busted into the office and began feasting on his innards.

My biggest problem is that whenever I call with a problem, it appears I am bothering these people.  I mean it is not like I am a paying customer or anything.  It is not like I am keeping their jobs firmly in place.  Hell, when I call and get India, I may not be able to understand them, but I understand enough to know they are not wishing my death because I called their center for help.  Well, at least, they don’t show it.  When I continued to ask this manager, if that is what he can be called, why I wasn’t given all the information by the tech or his company, he had no answer.  I told him all I want is answers, because it is not my habit of opening my front door and throwing money to the wind.  If it was my practice, I would be a more popular neighbor. 

Look, I know it sucks to listen to problems all day, but what ever happened to treating the customer with a little respect?  What happened to fake caring to get your paycheck?  I recently called a hotel we are going to be staying at, soon, and asked a few questions.  I literally heard an audible sigh like I had just interrupted her important nail filing and Cosmo reading, because I wanted to know about their Internet service and available safes.  I would just like to let everyone out there in these big companies know a little something: If it wasn’t for me and my dumbass questions, YOU WOULD BE OUT A JOB.  I know it is a sucky job, but at least work a little for the money and do like the rest of us did, talk about the dumb fuck after they have hung up.  I can’t tell you the amount of wine and cheese trays I sent to dumb hotel guests who yelled at me because their travel agent screwed up.  However, when I was super nice and even gave them something free, I felt not ounce of guilt telling everyone in the bowels of the hotel what an PUCKER ASSFACE you are and your room number.  Hey you get your satisfaction where you can.  Learn a little respect for the customer and how to properly blow off steam when you are done talking to them and then you won’t get me yelling at you for over an hour.  Because let’s face it, I am a stay at home mom.  I have no where to go and I am surround by whiny little humans all day.  I get my satisfaction where I can, too.  SHITFACE!!!!

I asked the hubs to take a look at it, since he works with phone lines a lot in his line of work.  After much huffing, puffing and general disgruntlement, he agreed.  I am glad to report that we, now, have a completely working phone at the mere price of 3 seconds of work from changing the line from the phone to the wall. 

I have decided to blame my husband for most of my grief and he has paid dearly. 

I know it has been awhile since I posted over there, but I have a new post up, today.  Do you get heart palpatians when you shop for swimsuits for your little girl or girl teenager?  Well, join the club.  Please tell me your position on this heavily debated (and I mean on Mommy boards everywhere) topic.