I’ve uploaded another vlog–Video Blog–on things that make me feel old. YeeHaw!
And yes, I just LOVE the thumbnail photo. NOT!!!!
I’ve uploaded another vlog–Video Blog–on things that make me feel old. YeeHaw!
And yes, I just LOVE the thumbnail photo. NOT!!!!
By some miracle, my kids have managed to make it to the ripe old ages of ten and twelve without me being subjected to a sleepover.
Last night that streak ended…and so did my sanity.
For the last three years, my kids have “organized” sleepovers that have always managed to fall-through. Usually in the form that my child and the other children made all of these plans, but forgot one crucial component: forgot to ask their parents! Sometimes I was asked and the other mother wasn’t and sometimes it was the other way around. So, last week when I was asked if two Hooligans from a few blocks away could come stay the night the first night of Christmas break, I said, “Sure.” Never in my wildest dreams thinking it would happen.
Oh, I was wrong. IT happened.
Now, before I give you all the dirty details, I will openly admit that I know that overall this was VERY MILD compared to what some people endure, but for me and my first experience, I was ready to pull out my hair–not not just the grey ones.
Here’s a rundown of events:
5 pm–Hooligans arrive. I start making pizza.
5:20–Hooligan #1 poops something the size of a baby in our toilet. This hooligan will forevermore be referred to as Pooper.
5:25–Eddie informs me that Pooper is ticked because Henry and Hooligan 2 commented on the size of Pooper’s deposit. Pooper threatened to go home. (Sounds bad, but I would have been fine with that.) I talked to the boys about remembering we’ve all been constipated before. It’ll be OK, let it go. (Clearly this kid let one go.)
5:30–kids leave-relief floods me…
5:37–kids return with a TV… they take it upstairs to Eddie’s room…
5:45–pizza cut and served
5:50–kids take their pizza and several cans of pop upstairs. My jaw drops and steam starts spiraling out of my ears. My kids KNOW better than to take food upstairs. We eat at the table only. Taking a deep breath, I mentally dislodge the stick from my backside. This isn’t the end of the world. Besides, it might be better they eat upstairs where I don’t have to hear them belching and smacking their food. It’ll be OK. This just gives me the perfect excuse to make Eddie clean his room top to bottom tomorrow.
7–kids come ask if they can use the big TV in the living room. I surrender the remote and go make myself useful in the kitchen, then decide to go to my room.
8–they start rummaging through all of the DVDs in the closet with such great noise I’m sure our closet neighbor heard…and they aren’t that close. I peek my head out to see how bed the mess is and there is a trail of DVDs from the hall closet, across the living room, to the other hall, up the stairs and to Henry’s room. I swung open the door and declared, the DVD-brick road needs to be cleaned up NOW.
8-1:10–kids are up and down, up and down, up and down the stairs. They have decided to watch their DVDs upstairs but keep coming downstairs for more cans of pop… I can’t say for sure, but I think they each had on average five cans. Note to self: you didn’t hide them well enough, Rose!
1:10–I have had enough and I hear someone rooting around in the pantry. I get out of bed and put a stop to it. “But Mom, Pooper’s STARVING,” says Eddie. Gritting my teeth, I tell them, “I’ll make a big breakfast in the morning. It’s after 1 am. It’s time to be sleeping. No more food and no more pop. Go to bed.” I followed them upstairs and told all four of them it was time for bed. Do you think they went to bed? NO!!! They giggled, stomped, talked loud, thundered up and down the stairs until 4 am. At which point I went in there and about lost it. They’d all written all over each others faces with colored Shapries. I was horrified to find that Henry had a strong similarity to Satan. Telling them all in as calm of a voice as possible that it was time for them to GET SOME SLEEP then I went back to bed as if that was actually going to happen.
4:30–I hear what can only be the front door. I bolt out of bed and swing my door open in time to realize Pooper has decided he’s had enough of me being bossy–he’s going home. Oh and Hooligan 2 is going with him and since he brought his TV, Playstation, and enough clothes to stay for a week my kids are going to help him carry his crap home. I said no. It’s dark out there. Nobody leaves until the sun is up. Fortunately they didn’t argue. But decided they wanted to go jump on the trampoline…with flashlights. I quickly found a movie for them to watch on Netflix, parked them on the sofa with popcorn and told them not to get their butts up until the sun was up.
5:55-ish, Eddie comes to knock on my door. Pooper called his mom and said he had her permission to walk home.
6:15–I walk out to find my boys and the one remaining Hooligan are passed out on the sofa.
9–kids wake up, Hooligan doesn’t like the cereal I have and decides to go home.
Sleepover OVER. And looking around at what could only be described as tornadic activity that has swept through my kitchen, dining room and living room there will NEVER be another sleepover again. My kids, however, don’t realize this because they’re already trying to plan another and I hate to say it, but that won’t be happening!
As I said, I know others have had it worse, so here’s my QUESTION: Please, oh, please, tell us all about your sleepover from hell. I really want to hear someone else’s experience. Misery loves company, you know.
One of my all-time favorite movies is The Sandlot. One of the best lines: “You’re killing me, Smalls”! I often find myself saying that to one of my boys. Last night, I said it to each of them.
Last night was their Christmas program (yes, they go to a public school and yes, the school called it that). We live about a mile from the school and along the way is a Dollar General, the only place within about 10 miles to buy food.
So, with those details in mind, here’s the story that transpired within less than the two minutes it takes to get from our house to the school.
As soon as we got in the car a funny smell wafted to my nose. *sniff, sniff* “What is that?”
“What’s what?” Henry, my youngest, asked.
“That smell?” I take another sniff and wrinkle my nose. Something does NOT smell right. “It smells weird, but I can’t place it.”
“Oh, it’s me,” cackled my twelve-year-old. “I put a dab of your pain relief cream on my hands.”
“Because I think it smells good,” he said.
“Seriously? Are you trying to tell me you want some cologne for Christmas?”
“No. I don’t want the girls all over me. I just like the way this smells.”
It smells like Menthol. That is NOT a good smell. Resisting the urge to bang my head against the steering wheel, I muttered, “You’re killing me, Smalls.”
About this time, my youngest goes, “Mom, I need to bring food for the party tomorrow.”
Now I want to bang my head against the steering wheel for a different reason. I didn’t bring any money. Why? Honestly, it was simply because it was so warm out that I forgot my coat at home that had my cash and debit card. Spotting, the Dollar General up ahead, I reached one hand into the cup holder and pulled out my spare change, shook my head and said, “You’re killing me, too, Smalls.”
The lady in Dollar General giggled right along with me when I apologized to her for buying not just one, but two bags of cheese popcorn with an array of quarters, dimes, nickels and pennies. Seriously, I love my kids–as is obvious by my humiliation of buying snacks with sticky change–but sometimes I swear they’re killing me! 😀 😀
QUESTION: What have YOU done for someone you love that you never imagined you’d do?
This past July I went on a small vacation to Branson, Missouri to see a handful of live shows and most importantly walk through the craft malls because I, Rose Gordon, am a Craft Mall Junkie. So much so, I actually have to set myself on a timer when I go in one so I make sure to keep walking. Even if I leave without buying anything, I am the sort who has to look at every single booth and think to myself, “Would I use/decorate/love/hate that?”
Branson has four, maybe five of these malls–all so large you could seriously spend half the day in each. I did not. I was a good girl. I kept moving to “beat the clock” and I even did one better by bringing along cash, knowing that when my cash was gone, I was done. (Yes, I went so far as to leave my debit card securely locked away at a different location so I wouldn’t be tempted.)
Final hour in Branson, I had done sooooo good. I hadn’t lingered too long in any single store and I still had money! I was on a roll!
Then, I saw it…
In every store I’d gone in–even ones that weren’t craft malls–I kept seeing these plastic square tubes full of colored dice. The first time or two I didn’t really pay much attention, but after seeing it for about the 10th time, I thought “Wow, these people sure do like their dice. Maybe this is like Vegas for the family oriented people.”
“Want to play?”
I nearly jumped out of my skin. “Play what?”
“Tenzi,” said the lady standing behind the counter. She pushed ten red dice at me. “Pick ’em up and roll ’em.”
Obediently, I complied.
“Get your sixes,” she said.
So I did.
“I want to play,” said this teenage girl.
The lady pushed her a set of ten dice and the girl took off rolling and separating them.
“What now?” I asked hesitantly. There’s nothing worse than be the person who doesn’t know what’s going on while everyone else does.
“Keep rolling,” the older lady said, rolling her color and moving her sixes aside.
“I just keep rolling and pulling out the sixes?” I asked, totally confused.
“Yes,” the older lady said at the same time as the little teeny-bopper shouts “TENZI!!!” right in my ear.
I looked over at her dice and all ten showed the number six. Her face showed a smug expression.
“Sorry,” her mom said, poking her head around the side of her. “My kids played all night last night.”
I nodded slowly.
“It’s not really fair that I beat two old ladies,” the girl said.
Her offhanded response struck a nerve. I’m not old! I might be 31, but I’m not old! “All right, girl,” I said in a voice I barely recognized as my own. “Game on.” I pushed my hair behind my ear then grabbed my dice.
The girl started giggling and it sounded like she said something akin to “Yeah right.” She picked up her dice. “Shall I go easy on you and start back at sixes?” Her mocking tone stoked my competitive fire, but let me know that I didn’t fully understand the rules!
I looked at the older woman who’d first trapped me into playing this. “How do we play?”
“First round, everyone starts out looking for sixes. The first person to get all of their dice to read six, they say, ‘Tenzi’ and the round is over. The next round whoever had their sixes starts working on their fives and everyone else continues to roll of sixes. There is only one winner per round…”
“I think I have it.” I nodded to the girl who was staring at me like I was a moron. “GO!” I tossed down my dice and started frantically looking for sixes. I scooped up the remaining numbers and rolled again, and again, and again, each time moving aside my sixes. “Tenzi!” I hollered, trying not to laugh at the shocked look on the girl’s face. She’d had nine fives and was trying to roll her tenth.
She grabbed her dice. “GO!”
The next six minutes were the most satisfying six minutes of my entire trip as I trounced a sixteen year old girl in a game that solely consists of rolling dice. I know, I know, it was immature of me to challenge someone to a game. But let me tell you, there is an inexplicable euphoric feeling at whooping the butt of a cocky teenager–even if it is just in rolling dice. (Even her mom seemed to be reveling in the moment!)
I am so immature in fact that I whistled all the way to the checkout with a my very own package of multicolored dice.
Here’s what it looks like:
I’ve been told you can find it in certain toy stores or I found it on Amazon. It’s super easy to play and my kids LOVE it. (In fact, they beg to play it.) You can play it at the table, on the floor, coffee table, etc. Anywhere with a flat surface. I mentioned the easiest way to play. But someone has written a book with 77 Ways to Play.
I spent a good part of Monday afternoon reading through the 123 (no exaggeration!) blog posts I’ve drafted but haven’t published. Some turned out to be great stories that I’ll publish with a word of warning that the content came from the draft file. Then there were several wonderful titles that got me super excited to read what in the world I’d blogged about, only to open the post and see nothing, or just a few words or sentences. So, because misery loves company, I’m going to share some of these titles with you all so you can all be like me and wonder “where was that going?!”.
There were many other fully written blog posts that might require a little polishing and posting. Turns out I blogged more than I originally thought I had. 😀
For those of you who don’t know (or remember me :-p ) my name is Rose Gordon and once upon a time I wrote historical romance–mostly Regency-era.
Here’s a few visuals…
And when I wasn’t slaving away to write about unsuspecting fellows and their over-scandalous counterparts, I was on here blogging about nonsense like…
(The time I fell through the attic on Thanksgiving.)
(Crazy stuff I’ve found–and maybe bought…–at the fair or craft mall.)
I also shared on here about my failed attempts at crafts:
Held crazy votes:
Or shared stories about my kids:
(100 “signed by author” stickers, plus autograph for 100th day of school; and my kids fighting over a stuffed enema…)
So many of you supported me when I raised $10,000 for MS and looked like an idiot while doing it!
Let me share some seriously scandalous “swag” I’ve picked up at different conventions:
I had so much fun writing over 600 blog posts whether they were stories about the craziness in which I live, a man’s POV of my books, hosting contests and so much more. I have missed out on so much by not posting very consistently for the past three years. A fact I wish I could change–but some things aren’t things you post. Or at least not things *I* could ever post.
Many don’t know that about 3.5 years ago my world tilted on its axis when the happily-ever-after I believed I was living fell apart. I have gone through fire after fire since and in my own opinion, I think I’ve emerged a much different, and perhaps stronger person.
Am I ready to write romance novels again? No. Maybe one day, but not today.
Am I ready to start blogging about the craziness that I now face with boys who are 10 and 12 and have entered into their first year in public school? Oh, absolutely. (Funny sidetrack: on Halloween my kids left for the school bus 10 minutes earlier than they needed to. Why? Because they could and I was in the shower and couldn’t tell them, “Oh, hell no.” When I got out of the shower, I noticed I had received about 5 texts from my kids. “Mom, we’ve been down here for 5 minutes and haven’t seen a single bus. I don’t think they’re having school today. You know, Halloween is a holiday.” Oh, my poor kids who’ve always been in a church school or heaven help me homeschooled for an overwhelming year. I wrote back: “Wait for the bus. You left 10 minutes early. The bus doesn’t even get there until 7:40 and you usually leave at 7:30. Writing me at 7:25 to tell me you haven’t seen the bus and you think there’s no school in observance of Halloween will be posted to Facebook if you two argue when you get home tonight. 😀 Love ya!”)
So, if you’re up to following my blog to follow more about me and my shenanigans, my crazy parenting, unusual finds, ridiculous signs, craft fails, wild tales and other craziness where truth is stranger than fiction, than please stay tuned and subscribed. (After all, it IS called Rose Unscripted.)
If you followed my blog as a means to keep up with my writing progress and being informed of new books only, I will by no means be disappointed if you’d like to unsubscribe.
Again, I want to thank you all. Whether you’ve been a follower since I started blogging in Feb. 2011 or have subscribed recently, it doesn’t matter, I just appreciate that you’ve enjoyed my work enough to sign up!
I can’t take credit for the following photo. It came across my newsfeed on Facebook and I about died laughing.
Of those 60 friends I have at least one friend who sells each of the following:
WHAT😱😱😱 the Bonuses💰💚💰💚💰 are Back‼️ I’m sharing this with You now!!
I have been given the opportunity to *Start over* and build up another set of leaders. So that means I have to help you🙋🏻grab these bonuses😱. You will be personally enrolled and Mentored by me!!!💞
I’m ready to help you‼️ All you need to do is to message me and we will start today😍
📲 text OR private massage me 💞
What makes me teeter-totter between laughing, gritting my teeth or just plain rolling my eyes is when I get tagged in these posts. Last I checked I didn’t go exercise this morning at 5:30 am and if someone thinks I did, or worse that I will, I have news for you! And for as much as $23,000 is an appealing amount for a bonus, I have some serious reservations as to the details here.
It’s sad that 10% of my friends are there to sell me something. I must be a real bore. 😂
Feel free to grab the picture and share it if you need to deliver a subtle message to that one (or six) friend.
(By the way, if any of you sell any of this, I’m not talking about any of you! I have one person on my Rose Gordon Facebook friend list who sells plexus and she goes about it appropriately. Yes, 1/650+ vs 6/60… That’s my lot in life. Now if I could get the other 400+ authors to stop trying to sell me their books! 😝)