Report cards came in the mail this week and all the big kids did really well.  I wanted to get them a little treat, so I stopped by the Dairy Queen (the one that is next door to the Curves–that’s just wrong) to pick up an ice cream cake for dessert Monday night.  I was looking in the freezer at the selection when one of the ladies working there brought this one out:

Pretty little flowers, the mark of a good decorator. Or so I thought.

Figuring she had just finished decorating it and might still have the icing out, I took it to the counter and asked if I could get “Congratulations” written on the top.  The kid helping me shrugged and said, “Sure.  Green OK?”  Then he was gone a reaaaally long time.  When he came back, I got this:

Dude, the greens don't even match.

I may be wrong, but I’m thinking the original decorator had nothing to do with this.  She would have at least used the same icing, or added a flower, or something.  And doesn’t that look like the writing of a teen-aged boy?

There had been no green sprinkles on the cake before.  Upon closer inspection, The Queen (who was our dinner guest that night) pointed out that he had had to “erase” what he originally put on there, so the sprinkles helped to cover up the smeared green icing.  So, this was the one that made him say, “Oh, yeah, that’s muuuuch better!”??

My only regret is that this wasn’t a much more tragic cake.  I love the Cake Wrecks site and would be so excited to have something to submit.  Maybe next time.

I was at the library recently and was walking in from the parking lot to the library.  A part of the sidewalk in front of the library was being repaired and this sign was displayed:

Sign in front of the library.

Did I mention that this was at the library.  It was.  At the library, that is.  Just in case you were wondering.  Apparently, this painter was so sure of his/her spelling, he/she felt no need to double-check in the reference section.  Or even ask a passer-by.  So, you know, be careful, OK?  Exercise a little cuation.

I just spent a wonderful weekend at our church’s Ladies’ Retreat.  It’s so nice to go spend a couple of days with women who love to laugh while they love the Lord.  Luckily, these women know me well enough to know that, even when I’m on my best behavior, I will probably say something totally inappropriate for a church setting.  And they just roll with it and love me anyway.

We go to the same retreat center every year (Greenwood Hills) up near Gettysburg, PA.  During the fall, it’s especially pretty.  I was lucky to get to ride and room with my friend, Connie.  She is one of those people with whom I never experience awkward pauses in conversation.  We talked the whole weekend and still I had to text her within an hour of arriving home to share another juicy tidbit.

Our speaker for the weekend was Stephanie, the wife of our Youth Pastor (who is called something snazzy like “Escalate Pastor”, but I can never remember the difference between that, the “Enticement Pastor” and the “Exciting Pastor.”  Actually, I don’t think any of those are actual titles.  I need to pay better attention in church.)  Like her husband, Stephanie is especially gifted at entertaining a crowd while teaching and making a point.  She makes you want to listen to a sermon.  And that’s saying something for my easily distracted self.

Every year, Saturday afternoon is designated as “free time,”  when the attendees can shop, sleep, walk, play, etc.  A few of us decided to hang out in front of the fireplace and play games and talk.  The game?  Bible Baseball.  Uh-oh.  I mean, I can totally rock the I Love The 80’s game we played Friday night.  Dexy’s Midnight Runners!  The A Team!  Larry Bird!  Leg Warmers!  Rubik’s Cube!  See?  But I should probably be a little ashamed that Bible knowledge does not come as easily.  Turns out?  A really fun game!  And my partner, Doreen, and I won!  I credit our win to the facts that one, Doreen is a Bible super-scholar, and two, I’ve memorized most of the songs from the VeggieTales movies.  (“I am King Darius!  I had a dream!”)

Saturday night we had more Stephanie-flavored fun and then sat around the fireplace making s’mores.  I forgot to mention that food is a very important part of this weekend.  Everyone brings their favorite snack food and leaves it in the dining room and we all share the booty.  I commented one night that I had Cheetos, Oreos, and funny ladies; add in margaritas and you’ve got a perfect evening.

We all departed on Sunday, some of us more rested, some of us less rested because we stayed up too late laughing and playing the 80’s game.  But we all left with mental food to chew on and renewed fellowship.  (And maybe a few more Oreos padding our middles.)  I’m already looking forward to next year’s retreat.  Thanks ladies!

SPRING BREAK, PART 3

(c) Niagara Fallsview Casino Resort

Sugar Daddy and I decided to check out the Fallsview Casino . . .and Retirement Village, apparently; I can’t believe how many oxygen tanks were being dragged around the place.  When we first walked in, I heard a woman introducing two men:  “Bert, this is Jim.  He isn’t part of our group because he’s only 68.”  To Jim: “Our tour is for 70 and over.”

I have never seen so many slot machines in one place.  I really wanted to take a few pictures, but I think they frown on that.  Didn’t want the Canadian mafia kicking my butt out into the freezing mist.  They don’t even do coins anymore, which I find disappointing.  You load money onto a card and then insert that into the machine to play.  I was really looking forward to all the little clink noises when I won a bunch.

Seriously, there were slot machines for every kind of player–not just different denominations, but different themes.  Egypt, fruit, race cars, witchcraft, sexy women . . .you get the picture.  It was just fun wandering around and seeing the different machines and the different people playing them.

I played until I was up won about $30.  We had each put in $10, plus another $10 in drinks, I figure I broke even for the night.  Wandering the halls afterward, I saw a rack of these brochures.  They explained how to play each game so that newbies like me could understand what was going on.

Let us teach you how to give us all your money . . .

The best brochure, however, was right next to the instructional ones.

. . .but make sure you can pay your hotel bill before you leave town.

It’s like putting the “Just Say No” signs next to the crystal meth stand.  Like this one sane voice in the sea of gambling craziness will make someone stop and say, “Wait a minute.  I’ve gambled away my kid’s college fund and had to mortgage the house.  Maybe I should think about this a little.”  What do I know?  Maybe it does.

So ends our fun Spring Break trip to Niagara Falls.  We learned several things: Canadians are really friendly, even if they have kept the best side of the Falls to themselves; you can convince a three year old that a bathtub is a pool; don’t eat anything from the hotel minibar unless you take out a personal loan; and, if you don’t know how to play baccarat, there are helpful pamphlets.  If only they had pamphlets with instructions for raising teenagers.

So, maybe I shouldn’t blog when I’m into a bottle of Pinot Grigio.  But what the hell.  What’s the worst that could happen?  (Other than bad grammar and punctuation, which would embarrass me more than buzzy ramblings.)  I’ve been battling the twin demons of depression and anxiety, and really haven’t had writing at the top of my list. Thanks to those oft-maligned pharmaceutical companies, I am now able to function in my usual snarky manner.

If you’re keeping score (which would be that one guy wearing a cat on his head who REALLY NEEDS TO PUT HIS PANTS BACK ON! DUDE!), I still have one more installment about our Spring Break trip to Niagara Falls.  (I know, it’s summer and I still haven’t finished spring break blogging.  Day late and a dollar short–story of my life.)  I’m almost done with that.  Meanwhile, we’re getting ready for our family summer trip.  So, lots going on and I’m sure you will graciously forgive me if the posts this summer are few and far between.

As a parting (party-ing?) shot, I will post this picture.  I am convinced that these people are my parents in disguise.

OK, y’all:  Good Travels!

Since I mentioned the big kids’ birthday, I just had to throw up a little blurb about BabyGirl turning three today. I keep telling her that I’m gonna start putting bourbon and coffee in her sippy cup to stunt her growth. She’s not allowed to get big, I tell you! I need my baby to stay a baby.

She was a rather large newborn.

She says these are her "fingernails."

Well, the day has come.  I turn 40 today.  Many women have a lot of baggage connected with this birthday, and I have several steamer trunks’ full.

• My life is already half over.
• Yeah, I know 40 is the new 30; tell that to the skin on my neck.
• I’m no longer considered a “young mom.”
• Hot flashes are on their way.
• I’m older and wiser, but would give that back if only my butt wasn’t saggy.

This is a time when logic and emotions just can’t seem to agree on anything.  Logically, I know that I have lots of wonderful, fun times ahead.  Emotionally, I think my life will never be as magical as now.  Logically, I know that I can still do anything I want with my life.  Emotionally, I feel like my identity is wrapped up in being a mom and that’s going to be over way too soon.  Logically, I know I’ll never be dancing with Riverdance.  Emotionally . . . OK, so the pain in my knees breaks through any emotions here.

Two things to be thankful for:  I’m not becoming forgetful and, hey, I’m not becoming forgetful, right?  If you need me, I’ll be spending the day eating nothing but butter cream frosting.  A friend told me that if you ignore the spoon and eat with your fingers, there are no calories.

I'm so happy because the backs of my arms don't jiggle when I wave. Give it 35 years, baby.

I’m gonna try to get through this without crying, but no guarantees.  Please indulge me a little sappy sentimentality.

Today, my big kids turn 13.  THIRTEEN!  Where has the time gone?  I know, it’s so cliche to say that, but it’s a cliche that is true.  Thirteen years ago, our quadruplets were born–almost three months early.  The biggest (DS1) was two and a half pounds, the smallest (DD4) was exactly two pounds.  They sounded like little mewing kittens when they first made their appearance.

We went through a lot of medical crises with them in those first months.  They all came home on monitors so that we could sleep at night knowing an alarm would wake us if one of them “forgot” to breathe.  They were tiny, precious, fragile, and they pooped a lot.

At three months old and all home together for the first time. (Side note: I'm so low-tech, I don't have a scanner. Had to take a picture of this picture to put it up. Laugh if you must.)

Their first few years were so busy and they were so cute and wonderful.  I always tell people that the Lord figured if He was going to give me the gift of four kids at once, he’d make sure they were good kids so I didn’t wind up in the nuthouse.  They are all so sweet (well, maybe not with their siblings, but with everyone else) and sensitive and helpful and responsible.  I may not have always been the mom that they deserved, but they have always been so much more than I ever deserved!

With our commander-in-chief. He didn't say much. (We were able to get close because security was so lax at Madame Tussauds.)

Happy birthday, Dolan babies!  I love you and am so proud of you!

Wait.  You need to read this first:

READ ME FIRST!

OK, now you are properly prepared for my second installment of how BabyGirl is gunning for me.  I’ve suspected for a while that the relative quiet on the stairs was just a period of planning.  Today was the big offensive.

First, there was the seemingly innocent Japanese dinner party.  Shoes left at the door and the royal table and chairs.

This tableau was only left on the bottom two stairs. Not deadly enough.

Shortly after that, every plastic food in the Fisher Price arsenal was added.  A few steps higher to increase chance of death from a fall.

The Nintendo SP's on the lower step were an afterthought, but found to be effective and used again.

A few minutes later, with the addition of a headband, DVD box, and the formerly favored cones, the lower obstacle was complete.

Note how there seem to be empty spots to place your feet, but they are on opposing sides, thus throwing subject off-balance. Clever.

BabyGirl then turned her attention to the upper tactical area.  Yes!  A Lincoln Log castle would be the crowning touch!  Those suckers HURT when you step on them, resulting in a stumble into the already-prepared lower threat.

"Let's see . . .castle here, teepee over here, canoe dead center. Perfect!"

Maybe, in the interest of my own safety, I need to get one of those chairs that will ride me up the stairs.  Bet she’d learn the electrical skills needed to kill me that way, too.  Can you call me in the morning to make sure I’m OK?

UPDATE:  Seriously, y’all, I can’t make this stuff up.  Within minutes of publishing this post, I walked past the stairs to see this:

Danger! Detour through the dining room! (Maybe she's going soft--the pile of unmatched socks might be to cushion my fall.)

]]> http://dolanblog.wordpress.com/2009/05/18/even-more-proof-that-the-baby-is-trying-to-kill-me/feed/ 2 dolanmama 100_0048 100_0049 100_0050 100_0051 100_0053 http://dolanblog.wordpress.com/2009/05/16/does-size-matter-i-thought-it-would-be-bigger/ http://dolanblog.wordpress.com/2009/05/16/does-size-matter-i-thought-it-would-be-bigger/#comments Sat, 16 May 2009 16:50:32 +0000 dolanmama http://dolanblog.wordpress.com/?p=606 ]]>

SPRING BREAK, PART 2   (Finally, right?)

We arrived at the Canadian border in late afternoon.  I had sort of expected the usual border experience.  In all of my travels, the customs attitude was pretty much the same: bored irritation.  We pulled up for our turn at the window and the border agent took our passports.  A couple of seconds passed and he suddenly exclaimed, “Four quads and a fifth?!”  When he started asking the expected questions about where we were going, we got so much more than we had bargained for.  He wanted to tell us which roads to take to get to the Falls (“so you get to drive along the river and see all the big ‘hoses’”–that’s “houses” with a Canadian accent), what to see while we were there (“you should tour the tunnels behind the falls”), and where to shop for souvenirs (“the Dollarama will have the same stuff for half the price.”)  We really appreciated having the inside information, but I’m not sure the drivers behind us in line (you know, the ones honking impatiently?) cared if we got the Grand Welcoming or not.

We had seen snow flurries the whole drive to Canada, but as we crossed the border, the flurries got thicker.  The river we drove along had baby icebergs floating all over it–something we had never seen! We spent some time debating which river that was.  Turns out: Niagara River.  Who knew?  Glad that wasn’t our Final Jeopardy question answer.

We drove into Niagara Falls just as it was starting to get dark.  Our reservation was at the Embassy Suites  and when we got to our room, this was our view:

Glad I stopped to buy that coat.

It was a gorgeous view, but you can see that the snow was not making it easy to see or get around.  We ordered pizza and decided to stay in.  So, I stood looking at Niagara Falls.  Hunh.  It’s pretty and all.  But it’s really not that big.  It was like my match.com date shows up and is really hot, but six inches shorter than he claims in his profile.  I was picturing the Angel Falls in South America, or Tugela Falls in South Africa.  (Google ‘em, I already have enough pictures in this post.)  But I guess you can’t really compare height to width.  It’s the motion of the ocean, right?  After that, I had to suck up to the Falls the rest of the trip so it wouldn’t think my interest was waning.

We decided to make the most of our night in and sent the big kids swimming.  BabyGirl wanted to swim, too, so Sugar Daddy arranged a compromise:

Filling up the private pool in our room.

Our pool is better because it has bubbles.

Our pool is better because Daddy gets to drink wine.

The next morning, we had freezing mist.  Freezing mist.  On Spring Break.  (I hear all of you Northerners laughing.  You can stop mocking now, Connie.)  But we braved the weather to go see the main attraction.  As with the dinosaurs in Pittsburgh, we had really talked up Niagara to BabyGirl.  For weeks we had been telling her she’d get to see a BIG waterfall!  As we stood there watching the millions of gallons of water rushing past us, other people passed us taking pictures, checking out the view, etc.  BabyGirl would look pointedly at each person near us and adamantly declare, “MY WATERFALL!”

We took the border agent’s advice and toured the tunnels behind the falls and the kids did an IMAX-y type thing called The Fury with video, fog, and water.  IMAX tends to make me nauseous, so BabyGirl and I wandered and found a candy store and we were both happy.

Even with the cloudy, freezing-mist-y weather, we were able to see most of the big sites there.  This is a picture of the American side of Niagara.  Why do we get the sucky falls?

See that platform to the left? The Canadians have rudely put the big falls where they can't be seen from the US side. So in the US, you have to go out on the viewing platform to see anything. Those Canadians are all kinds of trouble.

Aaaaand, the reason we came:

Can you believe this was the view from our hotel room?!

Luckily, the rain mist frozen crap falling from the sky disappeared our second day there.  We were able to do some other stuff around the town.  Next up, Sugar Daddy and I get our gambling on.