Forgive me, I don’t have any pictures on my camera from last night’s Halloween party because we forgot to take the camera. But do not fear, I’m having another go at it tonight and will be sure to make Jason snap lots of photos. Besides, I only had five minutes to throw my makeup on and it looked pretty sloppy. One thing about Kat’s makeup, it’s never sloppy. I looked a little more like Kat in Drag than anything.

But the party!! Oh, the party was a smashing success. Seriously, it went off almost without a hitch (we were a little late getting the food out, but there was so much other stuff that it didn’t matter. Besides, the fire alarm only got pulled once).

And let me tell you, from now on, I will rent a Bounce Slide for every single ward function we have, sacrament included (if the Bishop will let me), because the four and under crowd played on that thing for hours. My two youngest were so exhausted that they fell into bed without a peep and didn’t move a muscle until morning.

And the spook ally’s! The youth had spook ally’s all over the church, and after we’d carnivaled in the gym for a good hour + , eaten and announced the costume contest results, we dismissed all the kids to the spook ally’s. It was so good my six year old was actually in tears.

And what do you think I did last night after finally collapsing in bed? I laid awake for an hour ruminating about the ward Christmas party. (It’s going to be a dinner theater production and I’m going to arrange babysitting for the little kids and a movie for the slightly older little kids, and we’re going to have…)

Some people might call this behavior excessive or just plain crazy, but in our church we prefer the word magnify. Like magnifiscent. Which is what the Christmas party will be. I think He deserves it.

I got a new calling two months ago. Let me tell you, if I could apply for any calling in the Church, this would be it. In fact, I doubt my bishop has ever seen anyone so excited at the prospect of serving. I am the new ward Activities Chairperson! This is perfect because I LOVE TO PLAN PARTIES. As long as they’re not at my house, and I don’t have to scrub toilets ahead of time, I’m all over the event planning business.

So we’re having a spooktacular ward Halloween carnival bash on Friday at the church, complete with a bounce castle and slide, games, face paint, photo booth, food, and four different Spook alleys. We’ve even got human Whack a Mole (in this case, Smash a Pumpkin).

But I’ve been so busy working out the kinks that I haven’t given much thought to what I’m going to wear (this is shocking, since my outfit is usually paramount in my mind). But yesterday I was at Walmart stocking up on candy when I saw it: the perfect black wig.

And so, with no further adeau, I am please to announce that I am going to be none other than the one, the only, Tattoo Queen of the Universe, Kat Von D.

Okay, so even with the best push up bra on the planet, my boobs have never looked even remotely like that, and let’s face it, the only way anyone can wear a white swimsuit is with some serious editing. (I’m convinced she doesn’t actually look like this in unairbrushed life, but I think this is a really cool picture.)

Now all I have to do is pencil in a few fake tattoo dots and some eyebrows (mine are transparent), strap myself into a girdle and some tight pants, throw on those $2 tattoo arms from Walmart, and I’m a very cheap, watered down version of Kat Von D.

And the best part? Jason has agreed to be her Motley Crew boyfriend, Nikki Sixx.

I wonder how long the Bishopric will keep me around…

Vacations are not healthy. You get this nice, relaxing dose of life without responsibility, then you’re slammed back into reality, high heels first.

It hasn’t been the best week. I seem to have lost my sense of humor for motherhood, and my patience tank (which was already running low) was lost in baggage claim.

So today we went to Ikea. I love Ikea. Why? Because not only is stuff cheap, but they have a delightful fee-free daycare for the toilet trained toddler in your life. In my mind, this trip was going to be a breeze. How hard can one kid at Ikea be?

Unfortunately, I forgot one little Sweedish detail: the kids have to remove their shoes. That’s right, they wanted Rex to take off his sneakers. Let me tell you, the first thing out of that boy’s mouth every morning is, “where are my clothes and shoes? I need my shoes!”

Trying to get him to part with his tennies was like asking one of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles to give up his shell. He freaked out, and the only option I had was to keep him with me.

Five minutes into our field trip June was screaming (which she’d been doing since 6 am), and Rex was having fits because he couldn’t play in the play center, and all I wanted to do was look at shelving. That’s all. Nothing more. Shelving.

When I finally found what I was looking for and stopped the cart, Rex started yanking on my coattails. Seriously, he was pulling me as hard as he could by the back of the shirt, trying to get me moving toward the play area. I tried to gently dissuade him from pushing the volcanic eruption button, but he wouldn’t give it up.

So I snapped.

It was like all my pent up frustration with my whiney babies and my very sore foot (and no, I don’t want to talk about the foot) seemed to gel at just the wrong moment. Before I had time to censor myself, I reached back and whacked him.

And two old ladies saw me.

To make it worse, he started to cry and told me I hurt his feelings.

In that moment of behavioral clarity, I felt like a fool. The fog cleared and things were suddenly obvious: here I am, a grown adult with my own agenda, dragging to very grumpy children around by their shirt collars to goodness knows where while I try to run errands that they despise, and I get mad at them for not puppeting along behind me like shiny, happy people.

I appologized to Rex, and once again reviewed my goals for the day: Do not spank or yell.

That is the toughest list I’ve ever had.

I hate flu season. I especially hate it when I’ve put off vaccinations only to find out that we missed the first batch and have to wait until Thanksgiving for the second round.

But my main reason for hating flu season? I can’t take the June Bug to nursery on Sunday if her nose has even the teensiest drip.

This is a good rule, I totally support this rule, but I could curse her dratted drippy nose right about now. See, I get a break from the other two with school and preschool, but nursery on Sunday is the only time during the week where I get to shove her off on some other unsuspecting adult without feeling guilty. That equals two restful hours where I don’t have to constantly pay attention to her.

Like right now. She’s supposed to be in bed, napping. But I can hear her, about five feet behind me, being unsuccessfully sneaky and totally naughty. Maybe if I don’t turn around, I won’t have to deal with her. Maybe if I close my eyes and try really hard to ignore her, she’ll decide she really is sleepy after all, sneak back to her bed, and GO TO SLEEP.

I love her, but I really hate flu season.

Let’s face it, I can make excuses about how the kids need to eat early for the next 18 years, but if I don’t buckle down and bite the broccoli here soon, they’ll be grown and gone and will think China is just a country in Asia. It’s time for dinner.

Check out this week’s column for my take on family dining.

Wow I’m needy.

Seriously, this is day five. That’s right, I’m looking at over 120 hours of childless reckless abandon. It’s been good for my soul, to be sure, but right now, the only thing my soul needs are a few peanut butter sandwiches and some snotty nose kisses.

I talked to Grandma today and found it very refreshing. She’s currently watching June and Rex while I’m gone. I was thrilled to hear that my 22 month old hasn’t changed a bit. She’s still up at six yelling, “Gramma, where are you?” followed by 14 fun filled hours where she doesn’t let the adults in her life get one single thing done (except making dinner, which my MIL managed to throw together during June’s all too brief afternoon nap). The rest of her week has been spent talking to, reading to, staring at, holding, and playing with my totally demanding little pistol.

This afternoon the June Bug finally lost it. She woke up from her nap demanding the whereabouts of her mother. They called us, and Grandma put a sobbing June on the phone. I quickly explained that I’ll be home tomorrow, flying on the airplane, so sorry, blah blah blah. She was silent during the Big Excuse (never felt so guilty in my life), and when I was finished, all my baby said in her downright bossy little voice was, “I want Daddy!” I passed the phone off and he gave her a similarly guilt-ridden speech. Once we were done talking to her, she was done talking to us, and we were promptly dismissed.

I must say, I can’t wait to get home, and at the same time, I’m kind of terrified of the little tyrant that awaits. Do you realize that the rest of my month will be spent guiltily slaving away to her every whim, trying to make up for my delinquent mommy behavior?

I’m so excited to get back I feel positively shakey.

It’s a funny thing about girlfriends and vacations. For some reason, no matter how much I love my man, I love my girlfriend time almost as much.

I’m in Washington DC for a few days with my hubby, visiting my dear friends from days gone by in good old Waldorf. While I don’t miss the traffic, weather, folliage, minority status, or lines at grocery store, I sure miss the girls. Talk about salt of the Earth, what is it about women in the mission field that so totally rocks?

Maybe I’m partial to Out of Zion territory because I was raised that way, but I can tell you one thing for certain, these girls have each other’s backs. Don’t get me wrong, we’re all flawed, but I made friends in Waldorf that I’ll selfishly keep for life. And we’re not just talking about casual friends, these girls get right down to business when it comes to being friends.

They’re the kind of women that don’t hesitate to call you in the middle of the night because they know you’re up watching reruns of Say Yes to the Dress and stewing about life in general. They’re the friends that you can forget to call back for thirteen months, but when you finally dial that number, they don’t need caller ID to tell them who’s on the other end, and they don’t need a psychic to tell them why you’re calling.

This trip is exactly what I need. A few days away from the mountains do wonders for a girl’s perspective. Besides, my kids were so excited to go on “Buh-cation” to their grandma and grandpa’s house, they won’t even know I’m gone.

Funny, but I’m already missing those cute little buggers.

(Notice I did not call them parasites? It took some serious effort to hold back on that one.)

So the other day we were moving furniture and Harrison found a book we’ve been missing for about two years. Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good,Very Bad Day.

I was so excited, I love that book! I immediately sat down with my first grader and started to read.

Then I remembered how it got lost. Very conveniently lost.

Have you ever read that book out loud to a  little kid? By the time we got to the dentist, I was sweating bullets and Harrison was one big scowl. I could see him identifying with Alexander, mulling, stewing, thinking about his own terrible, horrible life, and how very much they had in common.

And so, like a good mother, I casually misplaced that book behind the couch. I love it, but I’m not sure it has a place in our reading agenda right now. I think we’ll stick with shiny, happy books for the next year or two, just to be on the safe side.

Alexander can quietly stew behind the couch, it probably couldn’t make things worse for him.

Wow. Wow wow wow. Talk about the never ending story.

Okay, here’s the scoop. When I got back from meeting with my son’s teacher the other day, I was really shaken up. It’s never easy for a journalist to hear that something meant for a general audience was taken so, so personally. And that’s what happened. I wrote a piece about an issue facing mothers and schools, naming no teachers, schools, or districts, and very very sadly, my own school took it as a personal attack.

It wasn’t a private issue, it was a public issue so I wrote about it on a public forum. Why? Because I’d like to see the policy change, and I’m in a position to say something.

Very regretably, people took offense. I’m very gifted in this department, I can offend just about anyone without even knowing it. Trust me, it’s a talent I’ve been accidentally cultivating for years.

On top of my ability to offend, I have a problem with honesty. I’m kind of really honest, especially on my blog.

When I spoke with Harry’s teacher, I was shocked. I didn’t know what was going on at the school, finding out that so many people were angry at me took me completely off guard. I felt terrible.

I came home and wrote about it, because that’s what I do. In looking back, I probably should have kept the bit about teachers not wanting anything to do with me to myself, but that was really upsetting. And dare I say, I’ve been trying hard not to take offense that so many people took offense when none was intended.

I’m just a mom who loves her boy and wants him to get the best childhood I can offer. Finding out that maybe people don’t like us because I stood up and said something about an issue was really tough, and not for me, for him. No one wants to think their kid is going to be targeted because they tried to do the right thing.

So yes. Hearing that we’re not very welcome at his school right now kind of horrified me, and I said it out loud. I’m so sorry, Mrs. B, I should never have said it to anyone. But it shocked and it hurt and I felt just a little bit powerless and yes, a little bit victimized.

This was never about me. Tonight when I put my babies to bed, I couldn’t help thinking about how crappy my day was, but how worthy they are of an advocate. That’s me, their advocate. Frankly, all I care about is that the school I have to send my kids to (because yes, I DO live in the district) will love them and look out for them. My kids are beautiful and smart and I want them to have the best and most balanced life I can give them right now. If that means an extra hour to run around outside, I’m willing to ask for it.

If you need an apology from me, I’m more than anxious to give it. I’m young, I’m learning, and this has been an extremely difficult week for me.

Lastly, I’d like to thank the three friends who read my blog (but hardly know me) from Far West who made the thirty minute drive to my house tonight to hold my hand and bring me chocolates. One is a Relief Society president who canceled all her meetings to come, another is a PTA president who came to beg us to move to her district, and the third is my darling friend who has probably had an even tougher week than me, but still came to lend a shoulder and a little friendly lip balm.

To everyone else, especially my son’s wonderful teacher, I’m so, so sorry. The end.