So.

 

Long week everybody. In the last 3 days we've experienced just about every kind of weather possible. Sunny and warm and breezy, foggy and muggy, rainy and windy, haily and stormy, snowy and blizzardy, and finally, sunny and warm again. Oklahoma is insane. And our garden is shot--SHOT--all to hell.

 

The last of our company left this morning bright and early. Today Cheyenne and I are cleaning like nobody's business and airing the funk out of our house (it's not that our company stank; it's just that when you have 9 people cooped up in one place and you can't open windows due to FREEZING WIND, things tend to get stuffy inside.) Caleb's working on repairing the electric dog fence and salvaging what's left of our plants. Mia...is playing My Little Pony on the kitchen table and I'm pretty sure Merrick will be as fussy as he can since I have things to get done today.

 

Last night we had a school carnival. I cranked out some kick-ass posters (that I didn't even know I was supposed to make until 3 nights ago) and volunteered to work the "Potty Toss" game in the Pre-K hallway.

 

Mia is a t-ball progedy and she is having the time of her life with it. We don't have to force her to practice like we did with Cheyenne--the kid would play all day long if she could. Except for right now; she's dragging a rolling carry-on suitcase around the house and singing a made-up song about taking a "fff-cation" at the beach in Pensacota City, California.

 

My mom and my sisters are on a mission to get us all down to Pensacola there sometime this summer for a visit. Caleb and I have had a limited amount of time to talk about it, but I've got my fingers crossed, and I hope--after he gets over the money we'll be spending on car tires and alignment and dog shots and heartworm medication and Cheyenne's glasses and Mia's cavities and Merrick's surgery bills--I hope he'll see what a brilliant idea a Florida vacation is.

 

And now I've got to get off this computer before Merrick wakes up from his nap and decides to jack with my cleaning plans.

 

Our company is here. With gusto.

 

This visit so far has been a whirlwind and we've barely left the house. The boys have been showing off their mad skateboarding/tree-climbing/hole-digging/baby-chasing skillz, and Sam and Jason have been doing what they do best--EVERYTHING.

 

Merrick LOVES Uncle Jason. He cries for him whenever he hears Uncle Jason's voice. Merrick loves Uncle Jason better than me or even Caleb and it's weird.

 

Those boys are hilarious. Cheyenne and Wyatt and Joey have been getting along well--a little too well, and they all gang up on me until I feel like grounding somebody.

 

Sam can bat right-handed. She can bat left-handed. She can bat one-handed, and backwards. She can fix a dead car. She knows how to use a sewing machine. She can leap tall buildings in a single bound and she can look like Pamela Anderson while she does it all--at the same time--blindfolded--with kidney stones. I love Sam. If she had a poster I would so buy it and put it above my bed.

 

Today Sam and Jason went shopping. Long story short, everyone now has a brand-new wardrobe for spring and summer. Caleb has a new grill. We have a month's supply of dogfood and papertowels plus groceries to last through the week. Mia has all the t-ball paraphenalia that she'll ever need. It's insane. It's unbelievable.

 

And I can't really even think of anything else to say.

 

Caleb and his neighborfriend are now running on the paved mini-hills of the abandoned half-finished golf course in the back of our neighborhood, which means so am I. And running is officially kicking my ass.

 

Wednesday my husband shows back up at home, slightly out of breath and beaming with pride at the fact that he made it all the way around the trail. He promptly sent me on my way, and I busted my hump in order to get through the same route in under 20 minutes so I wouldn't look like a total sloth. I made it in 14--but it just about killed me. Caleb? Made it in the same time but didn't even break a sweat. My plan to spank him at running is so far not working out.

 

Need. New. Music.

 

And maybe a running buddy. Cheyenne has a problem with sweating, and while Mia would love to come with me, I....just don't think I could take being outrun by a 4-year-old.

 

On a high note, I'm having no trouble falling asleep at night. Caleb loves that I'm getting my He-Man legs back, but the attention they draw from other people skeeves me out sometimes. Everyone that knows me knows the story of the downtown night-shift gas station man who screamed at me in a convenience store full of onlookers "WHERE YOU GOIN' WIT DEM BIG OLE LEEEEEGGGGSSS?!!!" Me: "Um, nowhere?" Awkward.

 

Today, or maybe tomorrow, or perhaps Sunday, we're getting company in the form of Caleb's brother Jason, his girl (and my hero) Sam, and their kids Wyatt and Joey. It's been almost 2 years since we've seen all of them, and I'm looking foward to seeing how big the boys have gotten. (Don't I sound like someone's annoying great-aunt something when I say that?)

 

One last thing I feel compelled to mention before I go is the upcoming release of the Wolverine movie. I swear to God I'm going to tape the trailer and have it play over and over on its own golden TV next to my bed all day and all night long. I'll die if I don't see this movie on a big honkin' movie theater screen and I'll probably die if I do. Can anyone say "Hugh Jackman as Wolverine is the most beautiful most awesome most hot most I'm-going-to-rip-off-your-clothes-and-do-you man that our good God ever put upon the face of the earth ever"? I mean Holy Shit.

 

I need to tone down the mutant lust. My grandma reads this blog...

 

But she'd probably agree.

 

Caleb and I have taken up running.

 

After 8 years of asking him to run with me, he finally decided to run with...a neighbor. They do their thing on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays; I decided to do mine whenever I can fit it in. I find motivation in kicking his ass at running just for spite...but deep down I know I'm running mainly because I don't want to be a fat-ass bridesmaid in my little sister's wedding next year.

 

Anyhoo, when this whole idea came about, I started looking at jogging strollers. But last night I hit the open road while Caleb stayed home with the kids, Caleb cooked dinner with Merrick hanging on his leg, Caleb tried to get Mia to eat just 3 more bites of vegetables, Caleb dealt with a moody Cheyenne, and Caleb fed the dogs...and now I'm thinking I should skip the stroller and just enjoy the 30 minutes of me-time (and the payback my husband experiences while I'm gone).

 

I borrowed Cheyenne's I-pod before I left, and now I kinda wish I wasn't so picky about the music I let her listen to, because the soundtrack to "Hairspray" didn't exactly get me all pumped up. But I can't be the only parent who's fed up with what's on the radio lately, right? Seriously, whoever knocked off Frankie Goes to Hollywood totally killed that song. Killed it. ("When you go down, when you go down!" How stupid. Now I can't even listen to it with the kids in the car.)

 

Spring break is this week. The girls are home and the weather is supposed to be great. So far we have plans to make good on a coupon for a free game of mini-golf. Tuesday Mia, Merrick and I are psyched to wear our matching St. Patrick's day shirts (Cheyenne? Not so much.) I wanted to take the kids to the library, the park, and somehow squeeze in a little T-ball practice.

 

T-ball. Mia's playing for "The Little (or is it Lil'?) Rascals" this season. (Thank God someone talked the coach out of the name "The Bratz".) And what is it that coaches find so cute about a bunch of 4-5 year-old girls playing sports in light-pink EVERYTHING? Can't we get a little gutsy and go red, or orange, or neon green? Aw, well. Uniforms aren't everything. I just want Mia to learn the game and enjoy playing.

 

Merrick is such a happy baby lately. He's so freakin' playful and silly and loveable. I never knew boys could be so sweet.

 

Cheyenne has completely purged her room of all things bright and colorful (perhaps in her mind childish?) which normally I wouldn't really have a problem with except now the room is completely bare. Bare, bare, bare. And boring. There's nothing in there that's "Cheyenne" anymore; instead, the whole room screams "neglected step-child" and it's bothering the crap out of me. She claims to love the plain look, but Caleb and I keep asking her what color she wants us to paint her walls, or what kind of things she'd like to buy for her room. She won't crack. I'll never understand that girl.

Merrick is walking. He walks on carpet. He walks on tile. Without a helmet. When I'm least expecting it. He's walking and he won't stop. I'm afraid he's going to kill himself or at the very least knock out his two front teeth. It's cool. I mean, it's not like I don't want him to walk at all. But a 10-month-old does not have the balance and coordination of, say, a one-year old. I have mini-heart attacks all day long.

 

Mia's a sassy little thing lately. It's like she skipped ahead 8 years and everything I do or say sucks. It could be that she gets some of it from Cheyenne, but that doesn't explain why she still thinks Caleb is the greatest man to ever walk the face of the earth. Some days I think I have the word LAME tattooed on my forehead.

 

I'm freaking out these days. I'm moody as hell and there's no telling how I'll feel from one minute to the next. I can't finish the smallest tasks (probably because I'm either chasing after Merrick or comforting him after he's already hurt himself.) I just can't keep up with anything.

 

That said, I'm going to get my semi-weekly shower before Merrick wakes up.

 

I tried. I really thought I had him. But I didn't play my hand the way I should have, my husband stayed cool as a cucumber, and now I won't be getting the yellow Ipod I thought I could guilt him into letting me buy. Damn.

 

I took Cheyenne in for a haircut yesterday at a cheap place over in Norman where the people dress in all black and their eyes aren't glazed over. $5.99 later, Cheyenne walks out of there feeling--and acting--like a million bucks. I'll do almost anything to help her feel good about herself these days; I remember what it was like to be almost 13. She's always begging me to change her name; apparently Cheyenne is THE ugliest name a parent could bestow upon a child and she'd like something a little more refined--"Rae", or maybe "Juliet" are the two she's been tossing around. She's extremely self-consciuos about her nose and from time to time will ask about the possibility of a nose job sometime before she turns 18. I tell her that unless she's going into witness protection, the name change and the nose job will just have to wait until she moves out and can pay for said things on her own.

 

Cheyenne won't hug Caleb these days. She won't tell him "good-bye" in the morning, or "good-night" at bedtime, or "I love you" at any given point during the day. Caleb thinks it's because she hates him (curse step-fatherhood!) but I think it's just a funky stage. I can't explain it, but there was a time when I felt weird hugging my dad--my real dad.

 

My sisters and I were what you'd call Momma's Girls, all the way. My dad travelled a lot in the military and my mom and us just sort of did our own girly thing. When he was home, he'd retreat to his office to eat dinner alone and watch Star Trek, while us girls cackled over God-knows-what out in the kitchen. There were some things I talked to him about, and some things I talked to my mom about, but at 12, I don't recall talking to him much at all. I was so moody; I didn't know what to say to him, and the stuff I wanted to say I felt sure he wouldn't understand.

 

It wasn't until almost high school that we really started doing stuff together--he coached my softball team. He made me do yardwork, and when I was with my dad, it didn't feel like a chore. While we were in Italy, he got me into running and I went to these Hash House Harrier thingies where we followed trails and chugged coke from bedpans afterwards. On Saturdays after softball he'd run around the park (which--so cool--was set inside an inactive volcano) and although I'd be sweating bullets in my uniform, and my feet would be killing me in those cleats, I'd follow him the whole way. In high school he came to all my track meets and my cross country races. There could have been a million other people cheering for me, but everytime I saw my dad running along the sidelines shouting for me at different spots, I'd run a little faster, and I felt on top of the world. As cheesy as it sounds, I remember the feeling of my heart absolutely soaring. I don't know if I ever told him that, but I would look for him; I expected him to be there. I needed him to be there. And he always was.

 

I hope Caleb doesn't give up with Cheyenne. She knows she's always got me--that's probably why she rolls her eyes so much--but a girl wants her dad, even if she doesn't act like it. And Caleb's the only one she's got.

 

Alright, enough with this gooey sh-----shhhow of emotion.

 

Mia and Merrick both have hacking coughs, and Merrick is an absolute snot fountain. He's at that wonderful age where separation anxiety is kicking in full force, and he screams bloody murder if I leave the room...or if I put him down and walk 2 feet away. It's...lots of fun.

 

Mia has night terrors. It's horrible, really, really horrible. Night terrors differ from nightmares in that although she'll open her eyes and look straight at you, maybe even say few words (of course, half the time, they make no sense) she's totally asleep. She screams and thrashes and will even get up and run around. It's awful. It's been going on for over a year, but just in the past few months they've been happening every. Single. Night. At least once a night, and I. Am. Tired.

 

I know, right? I should be compensated for all this with a yellow Ipod.

 

Today I got a facebook message from a girl claiming to know my husband. She didn't say where she knew Caleb from, and I was semi-curious. Okay, fine. I was instantly intrigued and the wheels in my head started turning.

 

What lies before me now is a tremendous opportunity to really jack with my husband.

 

You see, although Caleb has millions of friends he'd do well to keep in touch with, Caleb refuses--REFUSES--to get a myspace or facebook account. And that's fine. He claims to be one of those people that think such networking websites are the work of the devil. However, I know him better and I'm pretty sure he's keeping a low online profile so as not to be tracked down by a psycho ex-girlfriend or baby-mama. Obviously, his plan to remain untraceable isn't working out.

 

Muaahha-ha-ha.

 

(Cue scary organ music.)

 

"Hey babe. How's your day going? Mine is fucking great. Except for one thing--this chick e-mailed me and asked how many kids you have and how much money you make. She's says she's coming to Oklahoma next week and she's bringing you a surprise. Is there anything I ought to know about? Cough, cough, BASTARD, cough!"

 

I just like to see him sweat. It's tempting. It really is. I love my husband. But I've heard the stories--not from him but from everyone that knows him--and apparently he was such a dog before I knew him that it's almost comical. Caleb? My Caleb? The guy that's been wrapped around my pretty little finger since the night we met? My sweet, loving, devoted and attentive husband Caleb? Surely you jest. This man? This man that gets me flowers every week just for the hell of it, who cooks and cleans and changes diapers and reads bedtime stories to our two darling children? Him? That guy?

 

I do know one thing about my husband. People--not just the ladies--fucking love him. They can't help it. He can't help it. He just walks in the light. He's a people charmer. When he smiles at you and looks at you with those brown eyes of his, it's like you're the most important person in the world. After 8 years, I still can't get enough of it.

 

Covet: aspire to, crave, desiderate, envy, hanker for, have eye on, have hots for, itch for, long for, lust after, spoil for, thirst for, want, wish for, yearn for, yen for.

 

Today I am thinking about a new bag. I shouldn't be. But I'm filled with wild desire for this:

 

 

Or this...

 

Or one of these...

I love love love a KAVU bag. I have one called the Sydney Satchel; it was given to me by my brother-in-law 2 Christmases ago and I have almost completely killed it. Oh, don't get me wrong. They're durable; but I've just used the living hell out of mine.

 

Sigh.

 

I watched The Bachelor last night. I've been watching for about 3 weeks now; Caleb loves it for reasons beyond my comprehension. I can only hope it's just because he has a fantasy about being the one man in a room full of girls. Otherwise, there's a problem. Personally I hate the show and I always have. The girls are stupid and desperate. The guys are jerks--always. And it hardly ever ends well for anyone. This season in particular has pissed me off from the get-go. How does anyone figure that this Jason character is such a nice guy? What kind of parent tries to pick a wife and mother to his son by going on national television and dating 25 semi-sober women all at once? And let's take the kid out of the picture and just assume he's looking for his one true love. He's either out for fame and fortune, or he's totally delusional--neither of which scream "husband material" to me. What an asshole.

 

And that's just what I thought of him before the season finale.

 

I want to take all the girls and shake them. Just shake the crap out of them. Did they honestly think...nevermind. What really ticked me off on last night's show was Molly. She didn't even play hard to get! She just rolled right over like a dog and took that bastard back. She might as well have piddled right there on the floor in submission. What the hell? Where's your sense of dignity for Pete's sake? I hate her. I hate him. I hate them all. They're all ridiculous.

 

Ridiculous.

 

That is all.