And then he threw up all over the couch.

I wasn’t just making it up either. We were making her a Pandora playlist. She wanted to thumbs up Children of Bodom and Amon Amarth.

When I told Gabe this story he said that those bands weren’t grindcore, maybe death core or black metal, but not grindcore.

At this point in the story I need to back up a few weeks. Gabe and I were having an argument about which one of us was more metal.

In our defense we had just been to three wine tastings, so it wasn’t like we just talk about this all of the time. Well, okay, maybe we do, but in this particular case we had been in Napa all day drinking wine.

We called the children and had a family vote. The vote was ‘Who in this family is the most metal?”

Gabe voted for Gabe.

Ian voted for Ian.

I voted for myself.

Claudia voted for Ian, Claudia and Daddy.

This vote would make Gabe and Ian tied for the most metal and me and the girl who has both Barbies and Polly Pockets on her Christmas list tied for least metal.

I skipped my Sophomore homecoming dance to go to a Sepultura show. I sang on an Iced Earth album. I’ve been to Morbid Angel’s house. I grew up in Tampa! How could I possibly be the least metal person in any family?

But as I found myself reading the wiki for grindcore I kind of wanted to cry because a truly metal person wouldn’t need to google a wiki (which would be a fantastic name for a disco band) to distinguish between grindcore and deathcore. Would they?

And there is nothing metal about crying.

Hi, my name is Sarah and I photoshop stains out of pictures of my carpet. I never thought this is how I would spend my time as an adult.

Good Job Proofreaderson

Maybe some day these will be a collectors item. I sure hope so. I have 250 of them.

*sigh*

***

Ian threw up in my bed last night.

Thrice.

Eventually we were on our last set of clean sheets (I won’t even go into what happened in his bed) and he and I came out to the living room and slept on the floor.

I gave up got creative and gave him a bowl to throw up in when it became evident that he wasn’t ever going to make it to the bathroom in time.

To make a long and messy story short, I got about three nonconsecutive hours of sleep last night and odds are pretty good that this whole house smells like puke.

Here comes the strange part. It makes me a little bit nostalgic. Ian had reflux when he was a baby. I forgot that for eight months is was standard procedure to wash my sheets every single day because there was a 99.9% chance that he would ralph in my bed.

As I was throwing a load of soiled bedding into my washing machine in a sleep deprived haze I think I actually smiled.

Last night sucked but it was way easier than having infant twins. Sorry Nora. You will never hear me saying that I want to revisit that time in my life. Having a baby with colic and another baby with reflux was maddening, yet somehow we lived through it and now we have these amazing little people that only vomit when they are sick and only scream all night if I really piss them off. Plus, even though it was a huge pain in the ass, twin babies are very cute and at some point (I don’t remember exactly when it was, but I assure you it was after six weeks and before one year) they were even kind of fun, and at some much later point they started sleeping through the night.

So yeah, being puked on sucks but he also still cuddles up with me when he doesn’t feel well and that won’t last forever either and so for now I am willing to take the trade-off.

Listen here, Hanna because I have a couple of things I would like to say to you.

1) I didn’t leave sunny Florida and learn how to drive in snow to live through hurricanes. I live HOURS from the beach. Hurricanes are unacceptable.

2) Enough with the power flashing on and off. I am sick to death with starting all of my posts over and over. This is also very pesky when it comes to all of the e-mails I have to send for my preschool job (why did I agree to be on the board again?). I have enough stress today without having to reboot my computer and reset every clock in the house once an hour.

3) My satellite is out.

This is where I really take offense. Do you know that the UCF v USF game is on at 7:00? Do you know I told all of my USF and UCF friends in the area to come over and watch my college get pummeled by Gabe’s college tonight? This will be a very boring football game if there are six of us gathered around my monitor watching the live scoreboard on CBS Sportsline for three hours.

So listen up Hanna (If that is even your real name. What kind of storm spells Hannah without the “h” on the end anyway?) cut it out, hurry up and blow by.

And while you are at it stop flooding the road between my house and the beer store.

You’ll never guess in a bazillion years. Well, maybe in a bazillion, but I doubt if you would guess any time soon so I will just tell you.

I was standing in front of my closet perplexed. I went shopping on Sunday and I could have sworn I bought a red shirt at Ann Taylor. (Don’t get me started, Ann Taylor pisses me off but I like their clothes. I wish I didn’t. I hate stores that have petite sections and not tall sections. I think it is heightist.) I looked through my closet five times before I realized that I didn’t remember putting it away.

I knew what I had done. Son of a bitch. I threw it away with the bag. Today is trash day.

At 7:40 this morning I was out at the end of my driveway retrieving a $40 shirt with tags still on it out of my garbage can.*

I wonder what my neighbors will have to say about this one?

* No, I didn’t wear it.

I just realized that the Final Four is in Atlanta.

Here is my concern. If Georgetown wins, there is a good chance that Ian, Claudia, me and 15,000 crazed Hoyas will be driving from D.C. to Atlanta. There will be traffic and State Troopers every 10 miles trying to cash in on the speeders.

So, you can see my interest in Ohio State winning the game. I mean – a big part of my plan to get through a road trip like this with two year old twins was driving really, really fast. How am I going to do that with all of those other people in my way?

Help me out here. Please, root against Georgetown.

GO BUCKEYES!

(Don’t be jerks. I said please.)

A PSA from SATGS: Don’t leave your children unattended with crayons.

You may already have known this. I should have known this. That will teach me to try to do dishes.

When I asked Ian why he colored on my wall (and the hardwood floor and his play kitchen) he very casually said:

“Don’t worry about it.”

First the cat threw up on my shoe.

I was just trying to leave playgroup. It was at someone’s house where you take your shoes off right when you walk in the door. I am in an area that is between the front door and the porch door. It is probably 3′ x 5′. I am in there with two kids and two cats. As I am trying to get Claudia’s shoes, Ian’s cowboy boots and my shoes on Ian opens the door and one of their cats runs outside.These are inside cats.

I run out into the rain in my socks and retrieve this cat out of the bushes. I don’t think he was that pleased that I was picking him up, but I did manage to get him back inside. Then my socks were soaking wet.

I am back in the 3′ X 5′ area again, but this time everything seemed to have multiplied. There were three cats and three children and me.

I got on one of Ian’s cowboy boots and a different cat threw up on my shoe.

Gross, but whatever. Now I have three moms (two of whom are extremely pregnant), five kids and three cats all trying to get out the door, and I am just trying to take my wet socks off and get The Squad’s shoes on, then the same cat barfs on my socks.

Son of a…

I go out in the rain, the cold rain in my bare feet and get both kids all strapped into the car. Claudia is yelling about being hungry. I try to give her a handful of goldfish, but she wants the whole bag.

I only have one bag of goldfish.

As any parent of two children knows, you can’t just give one two year old a huge bag of goldfish and expect them to share with their sibling. I figure maybe she will fall asleep on the ride and we can avoid a huge confrontation.

Click, click, click, click.

The car won’t start.

Now both kids are screaming. Claudia still wants goldfish and Ian is yelling about having poop on his shoe.

After a brief investigation, it turns out that the poop on the shoe thing is true.

Gross. I wipe it off with a bank envelope that I have in the car.

I call Gabe and he says that it sounds like my battery is dead. Fortunately, I have jumper cables and the person who was hosting the playgroup is still home and can pull her car right up to the front of my van.

Unfortunately, neither of us know how to jump start a car.

It all turned out okay, I called Gabe again and he told me what to do and I didn’t blow any of us up, and the car started.

And I only touched the things together and made sparks fly everywhere once.

We made it home fine. It turns out I do need a new battery. The car won’t start again. Just take my advice and don’t go to playgroup hoping that you will come home with something to write about. It might not be something cute.

So, how was your morning?