I haven't stopped blogging. I will have plenty to talk about as long as I have kids living in the house I think, but I have more or less switched forums. Skirt Magazine has let me be a "skirtsetter" on its website, and I have been posting my latest stories about my nutty family on there. You can check them out at www.skirt.com/stephpaigek

There's a strong possibility something is clinically wrong with me, but I have to fess up-I like doing yard work. Stop rolling your eyes, Brent. I like trimming the trees (except when I get stuck in them. It's funny for everyone except the lady 15 feet off the ground with her butt wedged between the branches while her boys are on the ground asking if it's time to call for help yet.) I like using the hedge trimmers to sculpt the shrubs. I even like mowing. I'm not allowed to do it for reasons that Brent will be glad to share with you if you just ask him, but I enjoy it. Weed eating on the other hand, is a horse of a different color.
 I don't know what the weed eater's problem is, but it hates me. It's as though it sees me coming and makes up its mind to torment me from the get go. Today for instance, it was hidden in a corner of the shed where I couldn't find it at first and then had to detangle it from some life jackets just to get it out. I know it did that on purpose. I did a thorough poop scooping in advance today because last time, I trusted my kid to scoop it before I weed whacked, and it did not end well. We'll just leave it at that. I think I heard that dumb weed whacker laughing at me that day.
Since it didn't get the pleasure of witnessing a dog poop event today, the evil thing made sure the cord came unplugged with every step I took. I yelled at it, "the hedge trimmers never give me any trouble. What's your problem?" That just seemed to tick it off more. As soon as I finished my tirade and plugged it back in, a chunk of cement flew out and nearly took off a toe. (I don't normally weed eat in flip flops, but I got careless) The madder I got, the more stunts it pulled to make matters worse. I swear the trim line wrapped itself around a weed and pulled out about 3 feet of green string, entangling the spool and making an impossible mess. All I could think was, ahhh! The more string it wastes this way, the sooner I have to refill it! I am about to be banned from refilling the string because it brings out the absolute worst in me. I NEVER manage to get it wound on the spool without drama. Marriage troubling drama. It's possible that I have thrown the weed eater in a fit of rage after trying unsuccessfully to get the string in it, and that could be why it hates me now.
 I finally got the job done today, but I am petitioning Congress to pass a law that would make weed eaters come with a label that clearly indicates "If you were born without a Y chromosome, you are not equipped to handle this machinery. Step away immediately!" I'll stick to climbing trees and embarrassing myself in front of the neighborhood instead.

Single Parent Road Trips

A few weeks ago I had the joy of driving my three kids across the state while my husband and the father of these monkeys was on a mission trip in Honduras. I thought going to visit relatives would be a great way to help the time pass in his absence and perhaps prolong their lives until his return. After all, if everyone is buckled into their appropriate seats, they can't very well harm each other, and with the distraction of other people playing with them and loving on them, I will feel less ready to choke them. Theoretically.
Experience has proven that our trip would include many potty stops, even some in the grass along the side of the highway, and plenty of whiney "are we there yets" and "he's kicking my seat!" I even figured we would get stuck behind at least one car on a 2 lane road that insists on driving 10 miles under the speed limit. These are just normal parts of the King family car trip. I even emailed my sister-in-law to tell her to add an additional hour to our expected arrival time for potty stops and vomit incidents. (one of the kids gets car sick. Thankfully Dramamine saved us that little gift this time) She suggested I just force all of them to take care of their peeing and puking before we leave home in order to get to her house on time. We tried our best.
Here is a short list of some of the things I had not banked on:
*The 3 year old back seat driver. Each time the GPS told me to turn, a little voice would nag, "Mom, she said 'turn left.' You better turn left! Was that left?" He was helpful.
*A dead bee in the car. At one stop, the oldest kid was fascinated by this bee, and he wanted to keep it, much to the chagrin of his dramatic little sister. She was completely freaked out that he kept the bee in a cup in the back seat, and she kept screaming, "He's trying to kill me with that bee!!!!!" I almost drove off the side of the road when her screams startled me. Fortunately, we got the dead bee passed to the front seat, tossed out the window, and no one was killed by it. Bullet dodged.
*the unprecedented amount of roadkill, especially deer. It's a good thing we left on time and took the motion sick meds because if we'd pushed our destination further into the evening, we would have been playing dodge the hoofed beasts. After the 763rd time someone from the back called out, "I'm bored, are we ever gonna get to Aunt Debra's house," I suggested that the kids play a little game, similar to license plate Bingo, but geared for the younger kids' participation as well. I call it "identify that dead animal." I kid you not, I had JUST seen an entire herd of deer lined out on the shoulder from what I can only assume was a party on the pavement gone terrible wrong the night before. I began to wonder if the same vehicle (maybe a Hummer specially outfitted to withstand smacking a deer at 65 mph) was playing chicken with all these animals. Yet, the very instant I convinced three little heads to watch for roadkill out their windows and yell out what they see, there was nothing. Not even an armadillo, and everyone knows armadillos are practically suicidal! So what did my precious babies do? They whined more. "You lied to us. There's nothing to look at out here. You said you saw dead deer, but there aren't any." If I had seen a live deer at that moment, I might have whacked it just to shut the kids up.
Another event I should have but couldn't possibly have foreseen was the youngest child's reaction to his sister looking for deer out HIS window. He screamed at her, "stop looking out my window! It's MY window!" This tirade has also carried over into every outing we take in the car. I'm about to black the window out with shoe polish so no one can look out it at all!
Eventually we arrived safely, but the very next day I got a speeding ticket. Ever gotten a speeding ticket with your children in the back seat? I urge you to try it. No, I urge you to let your spouse be the one to do it!
After we got back home, I had to get my court papers notarized to send to the nice county that issued me the ticket, and when we were going to the notary's office, I had to explain where we were going. The youngest was astonished, "you got a speeding ticket?! You SPEED?" He was shaming me with his tone. I said, "Well yeah, the one time I did." The oldest, whose fatherly look scolded me in the rear view mirror, wasn't buying it. He tilted his head just the same way his parents do when we don't quite believe what he's telling us, and he said, "really? Just the one time?" Yes! That's my story, and I'm sticking to it. Happy car tripping!

Things I Don't Understand

1. clothes for dogs
2. why kids hate naps
3. the Direct TV commercial with the miniature giraffe on a treadmill
4. Why people eat Twinkies...and what possessed someone to deep fry one!
5. how 3 kids can ransack a room faster than I can boil a pot of spaghetti on the stove, but then when I make them clean it up, no one is responsible. They don't know HOW the mess got there.
6. the humor of 7 year old boys
7. the humor of 38 year boys
8. why I'm the only person in the house capable of finding matching shoes, glasses, backpacks, blankies, etc. And I REALLY don't understand how when I tell someone exactly where to look for said item, they can still miss it, claim it's not there, and then I find it in that exact location
9. why passing gas is so dang hilarious to all boys
10. why our dog will target me when she has separation anxiety. Why does she pull MY unmentionables out of my drawer and chew the heels of MY dress shoes even though my shoes are always put away neatly, and she could easily chew her way through SEVERAL pairs of everyone else's before she even gets to the closet where mine are?!
11. How the house can be completely calm, but the instant I put a phone up to my ear, all you-know-what breaks loose
12. what I want to be when I grow up
13. why sales people at high end retailers are so snooty. Don't they work on commission? Show me some Pretty Woman love, or it's big mistake for you!
14. How the almighty God loves me even though I am a mess. I mean, I love my kids, but they're cute and funny and sweet. GOD has SO many cuter, sweeter, funnier people to choose from, and He still chooses me.
15. Why there's no water-proof smart phone. Not so smart after all
16. people who don't hold the door for the mom pushing a stroller. Some people will just let it shut right in front of her or stand behind her and wait for her to struggle to open it and hold it for them!
17. Why my house is still a mess at the end of every day even when I spend the majority of each day cleaning said house.
18. iced coffee
feel free to add to the list. There's plenty more that I don't understand, but you know, this is a start

Extreme Couponing

My husband and I are currently watching Extreme Couponing because he is hogging the remote. I know better than to watch this, but he wants me to learn some tips. He's impressed by how much money these women save, and he is making me nervous! He's even fascinated by how they stockpile things in every nook and cranny of their homes. He said, "we have the space for that!" in a way that makes me want to move to a 1 bedroom apartment just to keep him from brainstorming ways to stash $20,000 worth of groceries and only spend $20. If I spent all my time clipping coupons, planning my shopping trips, and stowing immense amounts of groceries, I would have to use the savings from couponing to pay a maid and nanny, and then it would all even out. You know, except for the fact that I would be completely out of my mind! I can't even think like a couponer. Given the fact that I habitually forget my $2 off coupon for pull-ups that will probably expire before I remember to whip it out at checkout and that I can't even remember my reusable shopping bags (that I keep IN the car just so I will always have them on hand), I would have to say our grocery bill will never be $120 for a month. Sorry, Babe. I think this will also be the last time I watch this show because I'm getting sweaty hands just thinking about the lengths required to be an extreme couponer.
There's a reason this show is immediately followed by Hoarders! 

The Coolest Bed Ever

My baby is turning 3 this weekend, and to celebrate, we let the oldest child dismantle the crib, and we ordered a new big kid bed.
I was thinking practically and had planned to get him a plain, wooden twin bed. A good bed that would last him until college...or at least until he and his brother have a jumping contest that results in irreparable damage to the frame, which could really happen at any time. The daddy, however, picked out and ordered a Lightning McQueen race car bed that will surely be the envy of every boy who has a bed that his MOM picked out.
This same daddy was conveniently in Chicago (a 5 hour plane ride away) when the bed arrived and was ready to be picked up and assembled.
My smallest friend and I rode to the store to get it and exchanged worried smiles when the guys rolled out a 8 foot box that almost outweighed her. It took some serious finagling to get it in the car, and by that I mean we had to wedge it to where we could strap down the hatch of the SUV and drive without the box flying out the back end. To accomplish this, we had to move our seats all the way forward, and I drove us home by steering with my belly while the two guys who helped load it stared in silence. I'm sure they had plenty to say about us after we left though.
My mother graciously came by to help me haul the giant pieces up the stairs and assemble the thing, which really wasn't too difficult until we got to the end when there was nothing left but the 700 pages of giant decals. Then my mother suddenly vanished.

Here's the thing about decals: it is a completely misleading term. I think of "decals" as removable. Not so much. These had super strength adhesive that could be used to attach a trailer to a truck in the event the hitch breaks. Thankfully the kids were in bed and were spared any unnecessary exposure to mumbled expletives when the decals would wrinkle or misalign, or the worst-curl up on themselves, sticky side to sticky side. There's also a learning curve to the placement process, and I would have faired better had I started on the side of the bed that's against the wall, but instead, my mistakes are in full view of all who enter the room. The bright blues walls surrounding the giant red race car though are enough of a distraction to keep visitors from looking too closely at my handiwork.
I was quite proud of the finished product, and since the kid was already fast asleep in his brother's room, I was tempted to sleep in the car bed myself, but I was afraid I would exceed the weight limit. Sure enough, the next day, I laid down to read a book to the kids on the bed, and a slat under the mattress popped out. The baby cried, "Mommy! You broke my new bed!" After I scooped up the remains of my ego, I fixed the bed, and now I guess I'll leave the cool race car bed to the little guy. I hope he at least appreciates that I still have adhesive on my fingers from putting it together...and now an E key stuck on the tip of my ring finger. But the bed is cool.

Why I Need to be in Recovery

I have a disorder. It's called Jimmy Choo Infatuation, and there's no cure!!! I should get help, but I kind of like being sick. Jimmy Choo makes the most exquisite shoes I've ever seen. Well, Some of the most exquisite I've ever seen. In Neiman Marcus in San Francisco, I saw some unbelievably amazing blue strappy pumps with glitter on the soles. They were so far out of my price range that I didn't even pick them up for fear I'd have to sell a kid or a kidney to pay for any damages. But the Choos are right up there with the prettiest of the pretty shoes. 
The problem is that they aren't in my budget at all, and I can't justify paying that much for shoes (and what I mean by that is my husband wouldn't let me justify spending that on shoes). The man of the house doesn't get the whole shoe thing, but as my sweet 20 something friend and I have tried to tell him, shoes can make you feel sexy even when your skinny jeans have betrayed you. Shoes will also never make you wear a shirt to the pool like the little two-piece swim suit that looks so cute on the rack will. Shoes love you all the time, and they make you look taller and thinner. Who wouldn't love them?! And come on, if you can find the perfect pair of tan strappy sandals that make you look taller and thinner, feel sexier, and keep that smile on your face all summer long, aren't they worth the triple digit price tag? After all, they're still cheaper than surgery, Botox, or a new wardrobe. Besides, Honey, if a man is looking at my feet, he's not going to be checking out any other part of me, so it's really an investment, an insurance policy! Can I help it that the "insurance" is as much as our car insurance? Alright, fine. I can't justify it either, but looking at them makes me smile. I bet wearing them would make me seem like a brand new wife-younger, thinner, taller, happier. And think of all the time and money THAT would save you!!!