Paranormal Activity

I am still home and have nothing exciting to talk about, except to recall some more of Bryan's ponderings (I love my husband--he totally cracks me up).

Bryan's best friend is Brian from work (I call them "Bryan-with-a-Y" and "Brian-with-an-I"). Anytime they get together at our house in the evening, it spells nothing but trouble.

Example: I had a huge business meeting with my vice president one day--requiring me to be at work extra early. This meant Bryan had to take the kids into daycare, since they didn't open early enough in the morning. I got up that morning, noticed he wan't in bed (not unusual for him to fall asleep on the couch watching TV all night), and got myself ready for my big day at work. As I turn to leave the bathroom, Bryan comes bumbling in reeking of alcohol. He had just come inside to pee after staying up all night drinking in the driveway with Brian. So he obviously couldn't drive the kids to daycare--I had to call our friend in the next neighborhood over to come help out. Complicating matters was that our driveway was lined all the way around with empty beer bottles--lined...all...the...way...around. I don't have a picture because I was raging mad AND I didn't realize they were even there until I backed out of the driveway and ran over a bunch of them. You can't imagine the outrage after that... Those guys are lucky they are so darn cute. Or I would have KILLED THEM.

Now I realize I've written all about one shining example of Bryan-Brian mischief, and nothing about what I set about to actually write. Stay tuned for a later post about Bryan-Brian and paranormal activity.

OCD much?

Anyone who has spent any time around my husband with our kids knows that he is crazy about having their hair perfect. Perfect to the point that I am not allowed to comb their hair at all because I'm not good enough. Perfect to the point that he friggin' combs their hair before they go to bed at night! Psycho...

Since I am an evil wife, I have been plotting against this OCD behavior for almost a year. I stocked up on colored hair spray last Halloween and hid them. I bought clippers and stashed them away. I waited until the perfect moment to spring my plan into action--wacky hair day at daycare. Bryan had already left for work, so he had no idea what craziness awaited him when he picked up the kids from daycare...and I lived to tell about it.

Yep--those mohawks are real. I cleaned up the evidence so that Bryan would never suspect a thing when he got home from work. When I dropped the kids off at daycare, all the ladies gasped--they know first-hand how nutty Bryan is with hair, and they vowed to work late just to see his reaction.

Unfortunately, I didn't get to see it myself. He was still hyperventilating when he got home from picking them up. He had to prop himself on a chair just to look me in the eye. He didn't say a word for over 5 minutes (that's a long time!) And then he gave me a shock of a lifetime--he said Nick looked particularly cute and they could keep their mohawks for the rest of the week! (Who are you and what did you do with my husband???)

The O'Doyles Family Vacation

We are currently on a family vacation in Colorado. Here is a summary of what happened on the way over here--I'm sure we'll have more stories of the trip itself and the voyage back home.

• Bryan & I bought corn nuts and beef jerky to eat on the plane. Little did we know they would stink up the plane to high hell.
• Part way through the long leg of the flight, Bryan decided to unbutton his shirt all the way down because he felt "fat & sweaty." Those of you who have never seen this man--think of a big linebacker with a belly. Yes, it was appetizing for the first-class passengers (we were seated in the first row immediately behind the first class section.)
• Nick puked as we landed and the entire drive from Denver to Estes Park--from eating too many Skittles on the plane.
• Brandon puked in the middle of the wedding we were attending in Estes Park.
• As we rushed Nick off the plane due to puking, we ran over an old lady and Bryan yelled "O'Doyle Rules!"
  
  

Camping Ain't What It Used To Be

Sooooo, it was a nice evening last Friday which meant only 1 thing--we'd be outside drinking and letting the kids run amuk with smores and sparklers.

Sooooo, after drinking for a few hours we realized it was getting late and the kids were up 2 hours past their bedtime. This is when Bryan got the bright idea of camping in the backyard.

I grew up camping in my backyard and was immediately onboard for this little "adventure". What we failed to realize in our drunken stupor is:

1. It was 10:30 at night, and therefore DARK outside.


2. Our tent is a complicated 2-room family tent.


3. The aforementioned complicated tent was brand new--never been out of the box. Translate: we had never set it up before.


4. We had been drinking more than we thought.

After wrestling with it for 2 hours, we finally finished and got the kids corralled into their "room".

The two older boys were great--they zonked right out. For the 3-year-old, it was party time. After he finally settled down, we realized our portion of the tent was over very lumpy ground--this is when I started to realize I'm not as young as I thought. Bryan & I tossed for the remainder of the night on our hard beds--I ended up with a big bruise on my child-rearing hips.

Needless to say, we got no sleep. When the sun came up at 5:30, our youngest woke the whole neighborhood up with "It's morning tiiiiiiime!! Wake up!!!" Ugh...

A few other things I didn't mention before--here is a picture of the tent.

Notice the orange extension cord? There is actually a special port in the tent for cords to run through. We had a fan, music, and laptop in that tent. My how times have changed...

The Three-Fingered Mommy

This is how my day started. I woke up at 5 AM and couldn't go back to sleep. And that really pissed me off since I hardly ever get to sleep in anymore. Because I had to go to work this morning anyway, I went ahead and took a shower and got around while I waited for Bryan to get home from his night shift. And I waited. And waited. And started wondering if I was going to make it to work on time for the morning meeting--which is the only reason I had to go to work today at all. Then I remembered that I haven't complained about my job in a while and decided to start a blog post about that...then he got home. So that blog entry will have to wait. But why so late? The not-so-unusual reason...his relief didn't get to work on time. But that's not really what this is about.

I rushed out the door, feeling very guilty that he had to deal with the kids this morning on zero sleep--but there was nothing I could do other than rush to get to work, so I could rush to get home for him. In my mad rush to work, a few things went right. I managed NOT to get a speeding ticket (knock on wood). And I managed to get a ride from a friendly shipyard worker to the ship from the parking lot (saving me a few minutes of bicycling in the freezing cold). He got me to my office trailer just in time for that important morning meeting. And that is where it happened. I slammed my finger in this guy's truck door.

Oh but I wish that's where it ended. He didn't see me. And started driving away.

At first I thought it was just my glove. Nope--as I pulled and twisted I immediately realized it wasn't just my glove. And it wasn't coming loose. Ohmygodthedriverdoesn'tknow!!!! I was turned backwards--couldn't reach the door handle with my other hand. As the truck started forward and started dragging me with it, I got ready to leap into the truck bed--THANK GOD he glanced back just in time before he really hit the accelerator! I may have lost more than a finger--might have been my whole arm!

This poor guy was beside himself. I was shaking and in shock, and he was trying to get my glove off for me. Somehow I still had my Starbucks coffee clutched in my other hand, and he saved it as I fell back into the passenger's seat. (Yes, much like a man who will protect his beer in any situation--I prioritized my coffee over having my hand ripped off.) My finger was still on my hand, and it didn't appear to be broken. It was immediately bleeding and black and some skin is torn off where I twisted and pulled to frantically get free of the door. He gently dabbed all the blood off with a tissue and put a band-aid on it--all the while I was putting every ounce of energy and concentration into not crying. I am a woman in a male-dominated blue-collar environment. I have to act somewhat tough or these guys will eat me alive on the ship's deckplates.

The surprising thing is the pain! I feel like a whiny little girl, but my entire hand hurts all the way up past my elbow! I slammed my thumb in my Mom's Suburban when I was little, but I don't remember it feeling anything like this. And I think about my kids--I have always been very careful not to catch my kids' fingers in any doors. I can't imagine how I'd freak out if it happened now, knowing what this feels like. I showed them my finger when I got home today just so they'd see how bad it was. (ok, and to get some sympathy from my little monkeys...) Hopefully it scared them enough that they will be more careful, too.

And, no--I haven't taken a picture of it. It's gross. And I'm too big of a baby to unbandage it right now.

What is With That #@%& Alarm?!

I was awakened by a strange sound a few nights ago that made me get up to investigate. Bryan has been working the evening shift, and has a habit of coming home just to fall asleep on the couch watching TV. Did I mention that he's deaf, so he turns it up so loud that the neighbors can hear? Anyhow, I assumed the strange noise was coming from a TV show, but the minute I poked my head out of the room the sound was gone. So I went and got comfortable in bed.

Just as I drifted off, the sound started again. A beeping sound, like a travel alarm clock. What the ...? I sighed, rolled my eyes and started out of bed again. Then it stopped. Grrr...

I started thinking through my mind where the heck a travel alarm clock would be in our room. Did my little nephew hide one in our room a few weeks ago while he was visiting? Maybe his mom (my sister) put him up to it? It went off again, coming from the direction of our couch under the front window. I jumped up and started digging through the piles of blankets and pillows junked all over the couch. It stopped. Ok, WTF?

I just wanna get some friggin' sleep!! I stood in front of that couch waiting for it to go off again, and just when I was about to give up--it started again. As I honed in on the source, I swore I heard it...outside?! I peeked through the blinds and sure enough, it was Bryan's car. What?! His car alarm is going off! I started yelling for him, yelled over the balcony, and ran downstairs (because he wasn't budging from the sleeping position). As he came to and realized what I was yelling about, he went outside to investigate. (The alarm was not on at this point).

Nothing. No break-in, no open doors. Bryan thought I was crazy. "If you missed me, just say so" as if the only reason I ran downstairs screaming at him to wake up is because I just needed some lovin'. Just then, the alarm started again. Coincidentally, so did his phone. Because his phone syncs with his car, I thought maybe his ringing phone was causing the horn to honk. As that great idea rolled off my tongue, Bryan looked at me as if I was a total idiot. Come on!--it's past 1 AM! I thought it was a darn good explanation for random horn honking... Well, he pulled the car into the garage and left it unlocked. The alarm never went off again (thank God, or I would have torn the battery out with my bare hands) and we never figured out what happened.

Evil Boy Genious

You know all that ranting I did yesterday about how the teacher is crazy for putting a first grade boy in detention for playing "guns"??? Lo and behold, the little f##ker fessed up and confessed everything in detail to his father this morning, after I had already left for work. Daddy then called the teacher to confirm these details, since he is obviously a master-manipulator. Yes, he was warned several times to stop shooting his friends with his hands. So the little sh!t took a piece of paper and drew a gun on it. Got caught with that and was explicitly warned about the rules again. THEN the little genious took a bunch of Legos and built his masterpiece, and proudly displayed it on his desk--the mother of all guns. That's it--detention. The school rules say suspension, but the teacher actually had mercy on this devious little first-grader. She and Bryan had a detailed conversaion about how great Brandon is at manipulating people--so we're all onto him now. The evil genious will have to find a different way to take over the universe. And he will be in detention this week, and we will be speaking with his teacher on a daily basis to see how he's really been behaving at school...

And you know what? Today he brought home a smiley face--meaning he was a perfect little boy for his teacher today. Ugh.

Pee All Over the House

I thought that when we banished our dogs to the backyard that we'd be done cleaning up these sorts accidents around the house, with exception of sick kids. Ooooh noooo. And it wasn't the 2.5-year old little monster that caused this one. Nope, it was the 4-year old who knows better. He may as well have whipped it out and ran all over the house, peeing down the hall and up the stairs, when this was all over with.

The older boys have had a belt fetish lately (not across their rears, though we've contemplated that a few times). It all began when I started buying jeans that were slightly too big, so they'd grow into them and thus wear them a little longer. And belts became standard issue to keep them from falling down. So, in usual fashion, our little Tyler waited until the last possible second to dash into the bathroom to go pee. In his zeal, he couldn't get his belt undone fast enough and ended up letting loose all over himself in the bathroom. No big deal--it happens. However, when he yelled for Mommy & Daddy to come rescue him, Mommy & Daddy didn't hear him. Why, you ask? Because Rock God Bryan had a 1-man concert raging in his man-cave, and it was so friggin' loud that the Russian cosmonauts could hear him. I was doing woman-work upstairs (laundry--Bryan is forbidden from touching it--another story), so next thing I know a sopping wet little Tyler is sulking at the top of the stairs. Fully clothed and sopping, soaking wet with pee. Socks and all. The magnitude of what this meant didn't sink in until after I had cleaned him up and started my way back downstairs. Squish--I stepped on a wet spot on our carpeted stairs. Next step, same thing. A little trail of wet steps on my new carpet all the way to the downstairs bathroom. I started screeching several choice words, none that the kids should have heard, and finally the Rock God emerged from his noisy cocoon to see what the commotion was. Needless to say, I was so beside myself with rage at this point that I was speaking in tongues, leaving Bryan in charge of cleanup. He pulled out our trusty mega-carpet-scrubber-vacuum-cleaner thing (which has saved our carpet from doggie accidents on several occasions), and proceeded to scrub and clean the carpet. The story does not quite end here--after deciding to go ahead and clean all the high-traffic areas while he's at it (and thus avoid his anger-crazed wife), Bryan realizes the suction is not working on our whamidyne machine, and we are left with soaking wet carpets everywhere. But I guess that's better than pee-soaked carpet, so I'm not complaining. And I have calmed down a bit...until next time.