The Absolutely True Story of a Part-Time Laundry Lady*

Well friends, I'm doing something shameless. My sister Cyndie, who is mercifully blogging again after an almost unbearable hiatus, mentioned that she was thinking of doing a version of One Direction's "The Story of My Life" based on common Mommy dilemmas like endless laundry and dishes in the sink. So...

I fixated.

And then I totally copied her idea.

Hers is way more funny, I can tell you, and you can read it here. I promise you will love it. And, if you can forgive me for capitalizing on someone else's genius idea, you can read mine below. 

Laundry is, after all, the very real, very true, very endless, story of this girl's life.

The Story of My Life

Sitting in these hampers, the clothes have been piling up for days.

They're nearly over-flowing, which means that it must be Monday.

I'm sick of doing laundry, so tired that I feel it in my bones.

"She did her best to keep up;" these words will be written on my stone.

So I'll be washing for hours.

All these clothes that smell like something sour.

Laundry soap, and Downy, dryer sheets,

Until it's all complete.

The story of my life,

I wash 6 loads

I dry them all,

and then I fold and fold.

It's lau-au-aundry day.

The story of my life,

all I can think:

"can't dry those shirts,

or they'll totally shrink."

The story of my life.

Sitting in these hampers, are stinky clothes that I have to touch.

Don't leave your socks balled-up please, I swear that it's not asking much.

If change were in your pockets, you know that I would steal it from you;

But sadly all that's in there are Barbie shoes, and sand, and lint, and goo.

So I'll be washing for hours.

All those clothes that smell like something sour.

Laundry soap, and Downy, then repeat,

Until it's all complete.

The story of my life,

I wash 6 loads

I dry them all,

and then I fold and fold.

It's lau-au-aundry day.

The story of my life,

I'm almost done,

but wait, your pants have rocks--

they weigh a ton.

The story of my life.

And then the clothes will sit for days 'til you put them away;

Make sure I get the baskets back by next Monday.

The story of my life,

I wash 6 loads

I dry them all,

and then I fold and fold.

It's lau-au-aundry day.

The story of my life,

and don't you dare

fill your hamper

with your clean underwear

The story of my life.

The story of my li-i-i-i-ife

The story of my li-i-i-i-ife

The story of my life.

*Points and props to whoever can tell me where I totally ripped-off this title.
 And no, Laura, you don't get to guess; I already know you know it. ;)

Spencerings

Well, since he turned one not very long ago, Spence has really taken off. Quite literally, in fact. Now that he is walking, he is all over the place even more than he was before, (which I didn't think was humanly possible), and I can scarcely take my eye off of him without him falling off of something, or bumping into something, or eating something he isn't supposed to be eating. ("Choking habits," as Vanna calls them.)

Here are just a few glimpses of what he's into (and I mean into) these days.

#1: Bunk bed stairs

#2: Dishwashers

#3: Family bike rides

#4: Kitchen islands

#5: Helping with laundry

#6: The occasional toy

#7: Daddy!

#8: Swimming

#9: Grandpa Dennis' walker

Note the blur; he was going way too fast to get a good shot

Ah, yes, I'm certainly learning what it is to have a little boy. It's the funnest and most exhausting thing a mom could ever love.

Lucky Number 7

Birthday season at our house extends from the end of March to mid-June, with Julia's, Spencer's, my, and Savanna's birthdays all falling within a time span of just a little over a month. (We also celebrate our wedding anniversary and Mother's Day within a couple days of Savanna's birthday, just because we like to keep things interesting. Or because our lives revolve around our children. Take your pick.) 

That being said, I just realized that it is the last day of May and I have yet to post anything about Julia's or my birthday, though both were incredibly fun in their own right. But since it's May, and the actual month of Vanna's birthday, I'll go ahead and do her first. Then I'll do the others. Then I'll squeeze in that Hawaii trip of mine from two years ago because I know that you haven't given up hope and that you still can't wait to hear all about it.

We may have figured out the perfect formula for birthdays around here: take the kids out to eat with two or three close friends. Dinner. Presents. Dessert. The end. No party planning or outrageous shopping lists or messes at home. I really think we're on to something, people. 

Van picked Chuck E. Cheese, replete with inflatable guitars, microphones, and birthday hats. And tokens. Oh, the tokens. (Only those weren't inflatable. But they were magical.) Another secret: If you are going to do a Chuck E. Cheese party, do it on a Wednesday afternoon. At 5:00. Almost nobody is there, and chances are, yours will be the only party that day. Did I already use the word magical?

We all had a blast, Savanna felt like the most loved and important child in the world, and we got to eat a decent amount of sub-par pizza to boot. I mean, what could be better?

they say it's her birthday...

Party on, Savanna

Three words come to mind when I see this picture: "Heh, heh, heh..."

Oh yes, he was the cutest boy in the room

Delicious rainbow birthday cupcakes, anyone? Anyone?

 I will gladly pay you Tuesday for a birthday cupcake today...

I bet she wished for world peace. Her birthday list, after all, 

included "clothes, fruit, nail polish, love, and respect."

Bet you're dying to know what my secret to Chuck E. was.

But that's between the mouse and me. My lips are sealed.

Bomp bomp. Chick. Chicka chicka. Oh, yeah.

Holy Fur Real pet on a skateboard, Batman!

(Spencer is terrified to death of this toy.)

Easiest girl to please you'll ever meet.

Happy birthday, our sweet, loving, most excellent 7-year-old!

Selfies by Lex

Okay, so I hate the word "selfie." In my brain, it resides somewhere in the realm of "nummers," "boo boo," and "totes adorbs." But alas, I don't really know another word for the images that I found of Lexa when I last uploaded the pics from the camera, so selfies I'll call them.

Here are just a few, in all of their unassuming, hilarious, non-self-conscious glory.

I can't pick a favorite, but pictures two and five are real contenders.

Lex, you and your future boyfriends can just go ahead and thank me later.

(P.S. In a recent unrelated conversation, Lex referenced her "nose holes." I asked if she remembered what those were called, and she stared at me blankly. I gave her a prompt: "Nos..." and she jumps in with "Nospitals? That rhymes with hospitals!")

Greek to Me

Miss Julia did a unit on Greek culture in her third grade class this year, and one of her assignments was to make a Greek meal for her family. I inserted the idea for gyros and baklava into her brain while she was asleep (Inception, anyone?) because I was pretty sure those were the only two remotely "ethnic" foods that anyone in our family (okay, the children) would actually eat. Turns out I was right. Except that they didn't really eat the dinner besides the bread part of the gyros. But they sure loved that dessert.

I was so proud of the way that Julia worked on this assignment, gathering all of the ingredients and working her little heart out on the meal part like a Greek sous chef, and then typing away for literally hours to finish everything that she wanted to put on her project board. A sampling:

"For dinner I had gyros. Gyros are kind of like flat bread with toppings on it such as meat, tomatoes, feta cheese, onions, and a yogurt sauce. The yogurt sauce has 4 ingredients: plain yogurt, cucumbers, dill, and salt. It took us a long time to make it. We chopped meat and I stirred the yogurt and measured all the ingredients. It took me and my mom 1 hour to make dinner at least!

For my dessert I picked baklava. Baklava is really good, it has one ingredient that is healthy for you and that ingredient is water. I know it sounds weird and gross to you but that is part of Greek culture."

It was nice to have so much help in the kitchen, I'll tell you that. But I didn't have the heart to let her in on the secret that most times dinners take at least an hour to make, barring oven pizza and cereal nights, anyway. She'll have to learn that one when she's a little older, I suppose.

And what's a Greek end-of-unit celebration without a third grade toga party, I ask you? Nothing but grape juice and cucumbers, that's what.