EverAfterLand

Never Trust A Sunrise, Moving Companies, Or The Postal Service

"I got a feeling....today is gonna be a great day!!"

Many of you saw the pic I had posted on Instagram first thing this morning. A lovely shot of the sunrise, no filters or anything, a depiction of all the hope and beauty that could be possible in a day. This was Moving Day and we were wildly optimistic about getting our things out of crates and into our new abode.

(Yes, I know, I still have to finish the story of how we got the new abode, but this is my blog, and I can post whatever I want. Quit being all judge-y and stuff!)

The girls, decked out in their uniforms, had happily boarded the schoolbus, leaving Hubby and me to breakfast leisurely and complete a few tasks before the movers were to arrive. I checked my email.

"Oh shit, NO!"

"What? What's wrong?"

"Color Day isn't next week, it's TODAY!!!!"

Color Day is when the kids are allowed to wear their own clothes to school. No uniforms. No closed-toed shoes. Socks optional.  Usually it is done as a charity event, the children paying a small fee for the privilege of donning their own duds.

Miss Priss was absent from the last Color Day back when she was bedridden from the plague. And she's been lamenting about it ever since.

"I'm the WORST MOM EVER!!!" I cried.

Technically, it was the teacher's fault.  (And when we find them on a pool at 22, that'll be the teacher's fault, too.)  Prissy's teacher had sent a note home originally saying Color Day and a few other events would be on 10/22 (today!), but she had scratched off the date and written "10/28" above. Enraged for making me the Worst Mom Ever, I emailed her teacher, and quickly learned of the mix-up.

This day was not starting off on a good foot.

Shaking off my Worst Mom Blahs, I went with Hubs to the new house, both of us anxiously anticipating the arrival of the movers.

The cleaning ladies who had been there yesterday had done a pretty good job, and the majority of the dust and grime were gone.

And the fumigation?

"They weren't able to do it last night," our realtor informed us. "They'll have to do it today."

Oh. So now we were going to have dead bugs hiding under our furniture. OK, at least they'd still be dead!

We waited, passing the time by opening all the windows, checking all the light switches, and sending updates across all my social media. There were others there also, the security guards waiting to protect our belongings while they were being moved from the truck, other contractors putting the finishing touches on various projects around the house, and our realtor.

Hubster kept in touch with the moving company, trying to determine when they would arrive.

This day required a margarita for lunch!

10:00 am - "We're loading up the truck right now."

11:30 am - "We're loading up, we'll be there at 1."

2:00 pm - "The truck is broken, we've rented another one and will move your crates onto it."

Can I get the rest of that Margarita to go? Why, sure!

Lies. All lies.

Turns out the moving company was also moving one of Hubster's co-workers (who is also our hotel neighbors.) And they only had one truck to do both jobs. Hubs kept in touch with his co-worker, though, and learned that they only had 1/3 of their household goods. And what they had didn't match.

"We've got half of a bedframe, a table with no legs, we have stuff, but we can't put any of this stuff together."

The truck, it seems, was actually broken (or maybe they had a third family?), but by then, we'd had enough.

"Just finish with the other house first," Hubby told the woman on the phone. "Each of us having half our stuff is not helpful. Finish with them, and come do ours tomorrow."

She agreed so readily, that I was convinced our stuff had never made it onto a truck.

It was 3:00. There was just enough time to run to The Embassy and pick up our mail. We had run out of cereal and a few other supplies that I had ordered weeks ago. They should be here by now, we surmised.

I made the trip solo, wondering how I would get all the boxes from the mailroom to the car.

There were two. A long thin one from Amazon, and a medium one from Walmart. Not nearly as much as I expected, but that Walmart one was exactly the size of cereal boxes.

The long, flat one was a pair of angel wings for Prissy's Halloween costume.

The cereal-sized Walmart one contained three small boxes of chewable Tylenol, necessary, yes, but not at this very moment.

Meanwhile, Hubster had run over to the cable company to sign us up for internet and television services (they insisted this had to be done in person, not over the phone.) 

"I need your passport."

"Here's my Honduran ID card."

"But I have to have your passport."

So here we are. Colorless. Homeless. Breakfastless.  Cableless. 

But I see red skies tonight, which can only mean one thing for tomorrow.....

Sailor's Delight

 

Mommy of the Year - Sledding for Ages 3 and Under

What with all this winter wonderland that's been dumped on us over the past few weeks, we thought it'd be a good idea to take the girls out sledding. 

"WHAT??!??  Take the BABY sledding???" I can already hear your cries, "What kind of a looney tune are you?"

Well, yes, we did take BOTH our girls sledding.  This is New England, after all, and around here it's totally normal to see a four month old barreling down a hill precariously perched atop a piece of plastic. 

Although, I have to say, she didn't look all too happy with the whole situation....

Ah, well, maybe next year!

Mommy of the Year - Corporal Punishment

"I...can't....do...this.....anymore," she panted.

"Tough, keep going," was the response.

No warmth, no love, just the cold, sharp words slicing through the air like daggers.

"But I'm tiiiiiired," she pleaded, about ten seconds later.

"I don't care.  KEEP GOING."

The small girl continued on her grueling task.  She had to.  She was too afraid of what might happen if she paused in her work for even a second.

"My arm hurts," the sweet child whimpered, hoping for a twinge of humanity out of this heartless woman.

"YOU did this to YOURSELF," the haggard woman shrieked, "Now quit whining and KEEP WORKING!!!"

There had been no trial.  No fair and balanced judicial system.  Simply the will of a tyrant wielding her power over a small powerless girl.

Now I ask you.... did the punishment fit the crime?

 

Oh, yeah, WE'RE BACK, baby.

And like that pathetically re-rolled spool of toilet paper, we're a little bit bigger, we're in a total state of shambles, and the shit just won't stop coming.

This is Happily-Ever-After-Land -- Signing On.

Daddy of the Year - A Whole New Kind Of (Mer)Man

When your favorite Happily-Ever-After-Landers hit the beach last week, Papa Bear did what is expected of any dutiful daddy - he carved a shallow pit in the sand to assure his back would be comfy, then laid down and waited to be buried.

Ahh, but Miss Priss wasn't alone on this one.  She was joined by her 11-year-old cousin and friend.  Girls who knew a little something about sculpture.

They had a vision.

And when they started out, if I recall, certain promises were made.

The sculpture commissioned was supposed to be that of a "MerMan."

After completing the tail, the girls combed the beach for decorations.

"We need necklaces.  And a shell bra!"

"Ummm, girls, is he supposed to be a MerMan or a MerMaid?"

"A MerMan!"

Oh yeah?  Then how'd he wind up with these???

      

Apparently, MerMen have evolved with the ability to nurse their young. 

Think it can still work with sand boobies?

Daughter of the Year - The Water Girl

It melts my heart when the two-year-old takes the initiative and does some seemingly small and trivial thing because she wants to make mommy happy.

Like the other day.  We headed out front to blow some bubbles and make some sidewalk art.

We had taken a couple of water cups outside with us, cause you don't mess around with hydration when it's around a hundred degrees at 5:00 in the evening.

We bubbled.  We colored.  And after some time, while seated half-way down the front walk, making yet another Mickey Mouse out of a lopsided chalk circle, Miss Priss jumped up and ran over to the water cups.

She picked up her blue sippy cup.  And then, wonder of wonders, she picked up my green cup, too!

It made my heart swell with joy!  My thoroughly selfish, adorable little angel was bringing my water to me.  An action to benefit somebody outside of herself.  A little piece of humanity peeking out for just a moment.

"Aww, are you bringing mommy's water, too?  That's so NICE!.....

WAIT A MINUTE! Are you bringing my water so YOU can drink it???"

The guilty look on her face was enough of a confession, as she tried to twist her mouth away from my straw and play it off like she was angling for her own.

Oh well.  She's only two.  I suppose I can't give up on her yet.

Hubby of the Year - Meanest Expectant Father EVER!

(Subtitled: What's The Point Of Having A Blog If You Can't Bitch About Your Spouse?)

Anybody remember the "Waffle Incident" from a couple weeks ago? 

The handful of you that follow my antics on Facebook and Twitter (Hi Aunt Lori!) as well as this blog may recall that weekend morning a fortnight ago (Haha!  I used antiquated speech!  I'm SO cool!) when I BEGGED Hubby for some waffles. 

"The Baby wants WAFFLES!" I informed him, batting my eyelashes and trying to look coy (which is next to impossible with a boulder attached to your front middle, but whatev.)

"We don't need to go out for that.  We can do pancakes here at the house," was his oh-so-heartless reply.

"Pancakes???  That is NOT the same as waffles, and The Baby was very specific about WAFFLES," I answered in dismay.

"Well, I'm making eggs and bacon, do you want some of that?"

I grudgingly agreed and had to suffer through a breakfast of eggs and bacon.  The poor Baby was NOT pleased.  And she kicked around until she was sure I was just as unhappy as she was.

Well, folks, I wish I could say that had been an isolated incident.  But I'm sorry to report, it's happened again.

It began with a phone call I made to Hubster's cell phone around 11:30 this morning.

"The Baby has to have McDonald's chicken sandwich and fries for lunch."

"What?  Who is this???"

"It's your baby's momma!  You took off with the carseat this morning, and The Baby is desperate for McD's."

"I'm on my way to lunch with the guys," was his retort.  And as if that wasn't insulting enough, adds, "There's leftovers in the fridge."

What???  LEFTOVERS!?!??  Does he think The Baby doesn't already KNOW that?  She ate the leftovers for dinner last night.  The Baby is very well aware of what leftovers are in the fridge!

"But...but...but..."

"I gotta go.  We're on our way to lunch right now."

I ask you, The People, is this any way for a supposedly "loving" husband to treat his nine month's pregnant wife?  The one who has to gain all the weight and push out the baby and spend months being a slave to HIS child.  I think the occasional Southern Style Chicken Sandwich is really a small price to pay for bringing HIS SPAWN into the WORLD.

This story would have had an absolutely tragic ending, if it were not for the fact that, while choking down said Leftovers, our friend Anna called and offered to pick me up some fries and sweet tea. 

Which is a good thing for Hubby, cause this post was going to be a LOT angrier before the fries showed up at my door.

Addendum:  OK, so MAYBE I asked Hubs if he could get home from work early today and MAYBE, spotting the complete exhaustion that had overtaken me, he MAYBE took that to heart and MAYBE, just MAYBE he really did make the extra effort to get home early so I could take a nap and Miss Priss wouldn't be TOTALLY neglected.  And MAYBE this post could have just as easily been entitled, "Wife of the Year: Why Do I Put Up With This Self-Possessed Walrus?" But until Hubs has his OWN blog, he'll have to settle for whatever post titles I come up with.

Parents of the Year - A Twista! A Twista!

Hubs and I never claimed we were the ULTIMATE in parenting.

But I'm pretty sure that "GOOD" parents,
upon the discovery of their two-year-old in bed like this...



do NOT run off to get the camera BEFORE ensuring the child
has NOT smothered herself.

And I'm absolutely CERTAIN that even half-way DECENT parents
(with the oxygen availability for said two-year-old still in question)
would NOT start giggling about the
resemblance of the sleeping tot to
the Wicked Witch of the East
right after she'd been crushed by Dorothy's house.

(Oh, come on, with those striped pants?  Don't act like you weren't thinking it, too!)

But eventually, after squelching our chuckles and carefully putting the camera away,
even totally SELF-INVOLVED parents, such as ourselves,
FINALLY took a peek over the pillow
to check that our dear Miss Priss was still breathing.



Which, thankfully, she was.

And after much reorganization, the lovely Miss Priss was no longer reenacting
The Wizard of Oz,
but rather looked more like a normal two-year-old who sleeps
on TOP of pillows and UNDER the covers.

(Should I start being concerned about "what goes around comes around?"  Cause I can only imagine how this kid's gonna treat us in our old age.  And we will have totally deserved it!)

SuperDad of the Year - The Exterminator

All we wanted was a bit of supper.

A special night out, consisting of a smorgasbord of
fatty, deep-fried goodness at a favorite fast-food stop.

Innocently, we ordered our food, then sat down with our trays at one of the empty booths.

That's when the horror began.

It started with one, then two...

before we knew it we were being dive-bombed,

swarmed,

by hundreds (seemed like, anyway) of the black, winged miniature beasts.

In our hair, on our arms, angling for their own taste of the grease laden buffet before us.

What were we going to do?

Who was going to SAVE us???

Our mild mannered husband and father sprang to his feet, ready to take action!

At first, he tried to suppress his super powers...

he marched up to the counter and complained.

But their response triggered a deep, undeniable, emotional response to

SAVE HIS FAMILY!

They handed him a fly swatter.

(I know, right?  Really?  Apparently, if they're attempting to eat at your table, they are technically "yours.")

And so, our mild-mannered Naval officer promptly changed into...

THE EXTERMINATOR!!!!

And with ninja-like reflexes, saved his family (and, more importantly, their dinner)
from a brutal, inhumane fate.

Our HERO!!!

 

The Exterminator:  20

Flies:  0

(Disclaimer: All flies were most definitely killed during the making of this post.  And damn proud of it!)

Mommy of the Year - The Photo Shoot (Subtitled: The Last Pictures From Yosemite, I Swear!)

I really think it's a requirement for mom-hood.  I don't know if it was a shot they gave me, or a contract I signed while still doped up, holding a teeny tiny Miss Priss in my arms.

Or maybe it's just my psycho Virgo-ness.

I mean, of course, the primal need, urge, desire to dress up our tykes and subject them to blinding flash photography, with a barrage of threats if they don't stop wiggling and promises of sweet treats if they'd just smile AND look at the camera, all the while insisting on that PERFECT shot.

My mom did it to Sissy and me.

And, judging by the photos I've seen of my very tiny, and very adorable, mom and Uncle John performing the Mexican Hat Dance (complete with smiles plastered to their faces), I can rest assured my grandma did it to them (and, apparently, had threat level I can only dream of).

I believe the Family Photo is the whole reason the first caveman drew on a wall.

Cave Wife: I just want one DECENT drawing of all of us together.
Cave Husband: Well, I'm doing the best I can here. I've only got a rock to work with.
Cave Wife: Kids, sit STILL!  Your father's almost done! I swear, if you don't sit still, I'll throw you to the next saber toothed tiger I see!!!
Cave Kids: But Mooooooom...
Cave Wife: Don't tempt me!  You know, you USED to have a brother!
Cave Husband: There!  How does that look?
Cave Wife: Ugh! I look so FAT.  Can't you do it from a different angle?
Cave Husband: (mumbling) How exactly does she expect me to thin out a frickin' STICK FIGURE?!? Make the LINE smaller??
Cave Wife: Hmm, what's that?
Cave Husband: Nothing, dear.

So I'm sure it comes as no surprise to all of you, my dearest readers, that this Momma, looking every bit her seven months pregnancy, was in desperate need of having portraits done.  Just Momma, Preggo Belly, and Miss Priss.

I know, I know, I can hear you already.  "Miss Priss is only TWO!  Good luck with THAT!"

Well, believe me, I am very aware of this.  And I have flat out refused to do studio portraits with that child.  It's always the same - the threats, the torture, the need for a very large margarita - and all we end up with is one half-way decent shot where she's not even smiling that you get the pleasure of paying two-months-worth of salary for (because family portraits are akin to engagement rings) and I can't even post on my blog for "copyright" reasons.

So until Priss understands the value of a dollar and I can PAY for her cooperation, we are not stepping foot in a studio.

We've got our own MacDaddy Nikon Camera, I thought, Hubs is just the best photographer EVER (let's all make him feel good today, OK?), and, (here's where the derangement sets in) I'll get Priss dressed up at Yosemite and we'll be in NATURE!  Great, right?

Me and my idiotic ideas.

Anyway, we got a few shots at least, and managed to NOT get eaten by mosquitoes, snakes, mice, or any other vermin hanging out in a meadow.  Plus I bought this gorgeous frame with stained glass butterflies specifically to hold this amazing wondershot. 

Now I need you, my most discriminating of readers, to tell me - which of these shots should go in the frame???

(OK, I recognize how much funnier this post would be if I showed a bunch of the outtakes [all 120 of them], but seriously, folks, I need some help here!)

1 or 2 or...

3 or 4 or...

5 or 6...

Please leave your vote in the comments below.

And tell me again, how much longer till I get my margaritas back???

Mommy of the Year – Overheard in Happily-Ever-After-Land

Your favorite Happily-Ever-After-Landers took an overnight trip to Yosemite National Park last week.

No, we did not see Yosemite Sam.

No, we did not see Yogi Bear (and for the record, he lives in Jellystone - Ya'll need to study up on your 'toons).

However, if you could have been a fly on the wall (or, more accurately, a mosquito on my leg), you would have overheard some Great Mommy Moments. Here are just a few…

 

(As Miss Priss leaned over a stone wall) "Get off that wall! If you were to fall over it, you'd go rolling down the hill, through the sticks and the grass and the rocks and the trees…and then through more sticks and grass and rocks and trees, and you won't stop until you get somewhere down there in those trees and you'll probably get eaten by a bear."

 

(As Miss Priss attempted to bring her "bear" – a teddy bear head attached to a blanket – to breakfast with her) "I think we need to leave bear here. If you get some of your breakfast on her, then she'll smell like food and a bear will want to eat her. And I don't think you want bear eaten by a bear!"

 

(As Miss Priss ran a little too far ahead on an empty path) "Stop! Wait up for me! You need to stay by me, Sweetie. You know, you're about the size of a bear appetizer. You'd be like one of those 100 Calorie Snack Packs to a bear!"

 

(As Miss Priss lagged a little too far behind on a busy path) "You'd better keep up with us! Otherwise some nice Canadians will think you're lost and take you home with them. And nobody wants to see you wind up a Canadian!"

 

(As Miss Priss sat in the backseat eating a snack) "Don't you DARE wipe your Cheeto-Hand on your dress!!!!" (And for the record, Mini Bag of Cheetos + 2 ½ year old x a long windy road = a new shade of orange on the car seat)

 

But the #1 quote comes courtesy of Dear Old Dad, who thought he'd help Miss Priss understand just how big the Yosemite Waterfall actually is. "Is it bigger than Mommy?" "Yes!" "Is it bigger than Daddy?" "Yeeees!" "Is it bigger than your poop?" "It's bigger than my POOP!!!" Which was what we got to hear for two whole days, every time she saw the waterfall, very conveniently located right above our hotel.

 

Yes, we had a wonderful family trip. It was great! How great was it, you wonder?

It was greater than my POOP!!!!