March comes in like a mother fucker.....

Kate and Kristin were here visiting this weekend. I think it feels good to see people from my real life; especially when they bring me linguica, chourico, and temperos Portugueses. Brett is ambivalent and equates it to having someone visit you in prison; you're sort of embarrassed by where you are, and seeing someone from the "outside" just makes you miss home even more. We've been away for 6 weeks now. If you had asked me, I would've said that things were going well, and that I wasn't really homesick. All it took was one look at my sister to convince me otherwise. I was crying before she got in the door to deliver my Hannaford brand chicken nuggets (no pepper).

We brought them over to meet the folks at Wildflower Farm. BRETT AND I TOOK A NAP!!!We made dinner at the house, cracked a few wine coolers (which Kristin was surprised were still being made), and just visited. It was a great afternoon, with only Kristin getting soaked by the poo juice when she held a post-episode, pre-diaper change Ben. Later, they took Will back to the hotel with them for swimming, ice cream, and a sleepover.

I was excited to start the next day. We were up in the air about what to do, so while they made their way back here, Brett and I researched some activities.

While throwing around ideas, my hormone-imbalanced alter ego decided to picked a fight over quite literally nothing. Remember, Liz = lack of restraint. It sort of snowballed into one of those arguments that becomes ugly REAL FAST since neither participant is willing to back down. "If I'm so awful, why not divorce me", "I can't do anything right", tears, mere moments away from household furnishings becoming airborne. Then, like a tornado, it's over and you can't remember how it all started.

Kate and Kristin got here with Will just as my post-crying nose was returning to a normal size and acceptable shade of red for someone who doesn't have a severe drinking problem. We all decided on the Crayola Factory.

Ironically enough, the first week we were in PA, I inadvertently washed a green crayon left in Will's pocket. Now, you might ask, "Why was there a crayon in his pocket?". I just ask, "How can we prevent this from happening again so that we don't lose another full load of darks and have to spend more money we don't have on clothes you brats are going to outgrow in 6 months or wear the green swirly ones and look like goddamn hobos?". Well, Brett and I decided that since laundry is 65% my department that I would try to check all pockets before starting the wash. You're reading my blog. I think I've made it crystal clear that it's been quite necessary to wash every pair of pants, shirt, towel, blanket, sheet, and stuffed animal, we own this past week. I can only check so many pockets. Perhaps making sure your fancy flip QWERTY cell phone isn't in your pocket falls on the shoulders of the guy who does 35%? He didn't think so.

Brett rebounded from the telephone tragedy rather quickly, and I was undeterred; it was going to be a great day! We set out for Easton, PA with high spirits. After all, our route would be taking us by one of the few Dunkin' Donuts in the area. I love plotting the course. I am the navigator; Brett the driver. I am usually spot on. But, about 25 minutes into the journey on some lovely (euphemism for depressed and rundown) country roads, even I was ready to admit defeat. The trip there took about 15-20 minutes longer than our revised trip home. Strike three for Liz.

Normally, the prevailing rule is three strikes and you are out. My life, though, is more like kickball or some other retarded game where they make you keep going, no matter how many times you try and fail.

The Crayola Factory was great, and we even discovered this gem that we'll need to return to.
We took a break halfway through to have some nutritious McDonald's, since the boys were feeling better and all, and to say goodbye to Kate and Kristin. Not two minutes after I had picked up the remains of our lunch, Will requested more fries. Um, you mean the 2 large fries that were basically untouched throughout lunch and are now sitting in the trash at the most ghetto McDonald's I've ever been at? The look on Brett's face says it all, as this picture was taken immediately after this misstep.

One small fry later (don't forget that reference to money we don't have, now) and we were back in wax heaven.

We finished up at the museum, took the much quicker ride home, and got ready for BLT's for dinner, thanks to the leftover bacon from Kate and Kristin. Guess who burnt the bacon?


And, lastly, while I am eternally grateful that nobody in my house has puked in the pas 35 hours, we are still dealing with diapers that look like this:

If you think this was too graphic, be glad it's not scratch and sniff.