HAPPY BIRTHDAY, STITCH

Well, I really don't call him Stitch too much anymore.  He's still My Mason, though.

I was working at the preschool, still in the classroom then, with a couple of awesome ladies.  I had one monstrous cycle in November-Decemberish, and was pretty sure I was having another round of bursting cysts (ever experienced that crap?  Not fun).  My friend Sherronda was driving one of our students home about a month later, and the little girl fell asleep.  When her mother got her from Sherronda, she opened her sleepy little eyes and said, "Ms. Angie's having a baby."

Cue Twilight Zone theme.

We laughed it off, just like we laughed off my bloated belly ("I can't poop!"), my constant hunger and exhaustion, and my concurrent bad moods.  Then came the night I was online trying to find stretchy-waisted pants to get me through that awkward non-poopy period, when every search brought up maternity pants.  Again and again, maternity pants, no matter what key words I used.

Do do do do. . .

So, I peed on a stick and BAM, instant blue lines.  Like, I wasn't even finished peeing and it was showing positive.

8 months later, we finally got our boy.  Our beautiful, brilliant little boy, with the gorgeous dimples and big chocolatey eyes.  This is Mason Austin, named for the line of bricklayers and Freemasons on my mother's side of the family, and for my little brother Austin.

Today, Mason is 6.  He's still a baby to me, although he's in kindergarten, and his teachers all brag about his smart he is, how helpful and mannerly and sweet.  I know better.  He's a mama's boy and a rotten little brother who hides in his sisters' rooms and tattles daily.  He cries and whines and screams.  He laughs and sings and dances and loves Power Rangers, Spiderman, Doctor Who, and Supernatural. He's already reading chapter books and he can recall whole conversations that I wish we hadn't had.  He's My Mason and I wouldn't change a thing about him.

TURN AND FACE THE STRANGE

Been a while, ain't it?

I've been thinking, and apparently, this whole "be yourself" and "say what you're thinking" and "nevermind what others think of you" deal just doesn't work for me.  Seriously, it has gotten me pretty much no where.  Changes need to be made, and the easiest place to start would be here, where no one really goes anyway.

Maybe it's a sign of maturity (doubt it) but looking back on old posts I'm a little blushy about all the "language" I used.  I still think words are words and that people who get offended by cuss words are kinda idiotic (really, there are worse things out there), but I do tend to overuse.

I also fuss a lot about stupid people.  Can they really help it?  Does it really need to be pointed out?  It doesn't do anything but 1. make them feel bad, or 2. make them angry, or 3. set them up to deny it and put them on a defensive strike to try and make me/others feel bad/angry.  So there's no point.  In most cases, just let stupid people be stupid.

Man, about 3 this morning I was writing this in my head and had so much more to say.  I knew I should've gotten up then.

Now, I'm not committing figurative suicide here--I'm still me, I'm not letting another persona take over, nothing like that.  I'm just trying out a few new things in simple attempts to live better.  At work, this includes keeping quiet AT ALL TIMES (since giving advice when prompted has before gotten me in trouble), having a more positive goal-setting method (with the kids as well as myself and the program), and socializing less (yep, that'll be a good thing, according to superiors).  Outside of work, it entails cleanliness by way of thinking, speaking, and living. . .but, you know, with dirty jokes and Netflix and occasional junk food binges and beer.

I can't give up everything at once, get real.

HARRY POTTER PARTY PT.3--HONEYDUKES BUFFET

It ain't a Harry party without Honeydukes!

Gummi Worms--these went quicker than anything else

Mini candy bars=Dementor Relief

Take Home Bags--plain white paper sacks, with the
Honeydukes tags
printed on large sticky labels and cut to size

Dumbledore's favorite---oh, my poor little fangirl heart, DUMBLEDOOOOOOOORE!

Chex's "Muddy Buddies" recipe
labeled as "Sirius Black's Puppy Chow"
This was 2 batches, roughly 20oz of cereal, plus all the yum
The kids barely touched it.  That night, the Big Munky found Tater and I  had
dug into it

. . .and consequently passed out on the comedown

Got froggy molds from Amazon.com for, like, $6
LeNell Chandler made them with melting chocolates and candy eyes

These were a pain in the ass to find out of season--again, it was Amazon to the rescue
Candy Apple, or Fall Flavors candy corn, for "Werewolf Fangs"

Another Amazon find--a box of 48 for less than $12

A buttload of different jelly beans, with a couple of boxes of real
Bertie Botts' thrown in for "flavor"

Ran out of time to do this right--Dum Dum suckers and Pop Rocks
for the "Acid Pops"

Cupcake cake, made by the awesome Carrie Sestina (fresh out of the hospital and STILL
MADE A CRAPTON OF CUPCAKES--what a woman, right?!) who also did the cake last year

Printable/editable labels, recipes, and great ideas can be found  here
Printable signs can be found at this site
This page has a ton of ideas as well.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PRINCESS!

I was 18 when I found out I was 3 months pregnant with the Princess.  Things didn't start off too great, but we'll skip all the drama and get right to the day she was born, in May of 2002.  It was hours before dawn when we checked into the hospital, and I was there all day afterwards hooked up to a Morphine pump, so I don't remember what kind of day it was.

What I do remember, besides blurred faces of visitors in and out of the room and begging them to take me off the pump and pull out the evil catheter, was that Anistyn was so tiny, so dark, and already so alert. . .her eyes wandered and focused over and over again, like she was silently taking it all in.

She was the perfect baby, I thought, having had no previous exposure to babies.  She got fat quick, got smart even quicker, and laughed all the stinkin time.

We'll skip over more drama, that of her toddler-grade school years.  I had many proud mama moments, and she made me so happy, but the biggest memories of that time have to deal with her "issues" coming to a head and running rampant.

Tomorrow, she will be 11.  ELEVEN.  She's half grown.  She's an inch shorter than me.  She's wearing bras.  She's shaving her legs (well, no--I'm shaving her legs.  I'm crazy, but not crazy enough to give her a freakin razor) and doing her nails and gettin all girly and crap.  She's made friends and draws a lot and makes her own comic books.  She sings, and plays piano and soccer.  She does daily chores to earn phone minutes every night.  She's so damn grown.  I get so sad thinking about it, and her going to middle school in August. . .crap.  Here, let's just go to pictures.

The purple-haired Princess

First day of preschool
"I'm too cool for this crap"

Attempting a "Care Bear Stare" to get out of trouble

The first time she scared the hell out of me--fell out of her "big girl bed" the very first night she slept in it,
3 stitches.  The scar and consequent bald spot remain.

Santa was not very bright that year

Using my fabric scraps to make her own Barbie clothes.

With the awesome Ms. Rachel

First day of fifth grade--seems like forever ago.

I think she may be a little excited about this.

5th grade graduation and awards ceremony.  She was the only kid in her class to get straight A's all year, and had the most Accelerated Reader points (thanks mainly to the Harry Potter books).

I hate that my computer is jacked up--that's where a crapload of pictures are.  These are just the ones on the Big Munky's laptop.

Oh well.

Happy Birthday, munky-butt, you drive me nuts--but, I guess that's your job.  I love you and am amazed at all you're able to do.