(I hate myself a little right now.)

Remember how I had the honor/privilege/awesome opportunity to be in my cousin Katie’s wedding in Chicago this summer? It was such a wonderful event, and it’s featured on Style Me Pretty today! Be sure to pop on over and check it out! (I’m the Matron of Honor and on the far left…the one who looks like she just had a baby.) Isn’t Katie stunning??

photo by Elizabeth Greve Photography

Hooray for marriage!

PS-Did you catch my article about flying to the wedding with three kids…solo? If not, head over to The Momtourage to read about my proposal for Mommy Merit Badges!

I’m evidently more predictable than I thought I was. That said, the only official (as official as our unofficial game gets, anyways) winner was…

1.) I expected this to throw people off, as I’m such a book addict. I myself am surprised that I haven’t devoured the series. Why haven’t I? I don’t like reading a series until they’re all published. There’s nothing worse for me than a cliffhanger that drags out for years, and nothing more satisfying that finishing an amazing book and being able to shift straight from the cliffhanger to the next installment. Now that they’re all published, I just haven’t gotten around to it yet. But I’m really looking forward to the read.

2.) I did row crew! Quite badly, at Berry College my sophomore year. It was a ton of fun and I’m glad for the experience. I have photographic evidence of this, but only a hard copy snapshot, and I couldn’t upload it this morning. My scanner now joins the ranks of the electronic devices that are smarter than me.

3.) Who is Gilbert Blythe???? Maybe it’s my red hair, but I I always thought that deep down, I was Anne Shirley of Anne of Green Gables, and I was smitten from the time he first tugged on her pigtails. Ah, puppy love.

Thanks to all for playing, and congratulations, Mel! You have my permission to abuse your bragging rights. I especially encourage the use of the word “Booya!”

Happy weekend, readers!

• I have read all of the Harry Potter books. 1.5 times.
• I rowed crew in college.
• My first literary crush was Gilbert Blythe.

The Husband and I will be renovating a house early next year, and I’m sure you’ll be hearing all about the projects and DIY disasters accomplishments. I lurve stuff like that. Almost as much as I love books. Or Mumford and Sons. Or Chris Thile. Almost.

It’s a smaller and older home, so naturally it has itsybitsy closets. I have a grand plan for how to create a larger master closet, for the small sacrifice of some square footage in The Boy’s room. And before you think I’m going Carrie Bradshaw on you, let me clarify that “larger” will barely qualify as a respectable shoebox.

In a burst of impressive manly inspiration, The Husband declared his intention to tackle Project Closet himself. He referenced a carpentry book and used fancy words like “Stud Finder” and “Bracing” that made me think that he may actually be capable of pulling this off. (Not that I ever doubted you, babe. Really.) I get excited when I think we can do something DIY, because DIY is fun to me, and even though it rarely works out this way, what I hear is “Cheaper.” (Before you think, “‘Cheaper? That sounds really responsible. It’s like I don’t even know you, Colleen!” just chiiiill.)

When I save money on something like a pimped-out closet, I should think:

Wahooo! I can put that extra cash in my 401k!

But what I really think is:

Wahooo! Show Momma the POTTERY BARN!

At least I’m honest.

After last night’s conversation about my our new closet, The Husband texted me this morning and said:

“If I’m going to be doing projects like this, I think I need a truck.”

To which I replied:

“I think you’re right.”

That response? Proves I’m the world’s coolest wife.

To recap: I’m getting a new closet and possibly a Pottery Barn out of this deal. But I agreed, no questions asked, that he could get a truck. Which means that he owes me. Score! Wait…I mean…we aren’t keeping score. *cough*

Also: I know some of you are thinking, hey, Writer Math aside, a new truck would blow any budget, but watch this: He’s gonna sell his current Toyota Avalon and buy a used truck. Don’t ask me year, make or model. That’s not my department. So the truck will essentially be free.

Which may mean we also need to show Momma the Ann Taylor catalogue.

Win!

PS-Interested in hearing about some of my summer shenanigans? Check out this post on The Momtourage about my cousin Katie’s bachelorette party in Chicago!

If you have a son.

And you decide to let him wear an older sibling’s T-shirt to bed.

And this T-shirt is long enough to cover his chunky little heiney.

And you put it on before you diaper said heiney.

Don’t forget that his hidden heiney is, in fact, still bare, and that your floor has zero protection from his, ahem, emissions.

Remember to revisit the situation BEFORE he has a sippy cup of milk.

If you DON’T heed my superply sage advice, keep the paper towels on hand. Approximately half a roll, in case you were wondering. It was a big sippy cup.

You can thank me later.

I actually had a purchase arrive from Totsy today. (A fabulous cowl neck sweater in “Oatmeal,” thankyouverymuch. You’ll be seeing it before the week’s up.) I’ve never paid too much attention to Totsy’s packaging insert before, but today I was bored and scanned the back of it. (I was folding laundry. Don’t judge me.)

On the back of it was the following: “We plant one tree in honor of your child when you make your 1st purchase!”

Nice! This made me feel all warm and fuzzy. There’s a tree! In honor of my child! But wait, which child? Do I have to choose? They don’t say they can share. But maybe they can timeshare this tree. Not that I even know where it is.

Bizarre neurotic processing aside, I was feeling good about myself, knowing that my shopping is actually good for the environment, which cancels out what it does to my husband’s blood pressure. (Booya, babe!) (And by that I meanIloveyouthanksforthecowlneck.)

Then I read in smaller text:
“And, every time you shop with us — we’ll keep it watered for you!”

Errr…is it just me, or did they just threaten to let the tree they planted in honor of MY CHILD die of thirst unless I shop with them regularly? Now I’m picturing my tree, withering and choking, with Totsy’s heavies pacing in front of it, taunting it with a garden hose. “You want a drink? I bet you do. Maybe your Mom should make a purchase, then. Unless she just doesn’t LOVE you.” (What? You were totally picturing that too…right?)

It kind of worked, though, because I felt all guilty and actually went to their website just because I had Totsy on the brain.

Then I realized that they probably weren’t threatening my tree, and maybe they water them whenever anyone shops, which is way more likely than the water torture scenario.

I wonder if they’re hiring someone to write their copy. Cause I could totally do passive aggressive threats in writing. Not that I do that.

But I could.

In other news, I’m considering planting a tree for new subscribers. I’ll even water it each time you visit. But given my track record with houseplants…probably not so much.

Among them?

• Shower. (I’m fancy like that.)
• Cook dinner.
• Blog.

NONE OF THIS HAPPENED.

Except for this blog that I may potentially possibly be able to post before midnight.

Because a tree or three fell down in my ‘hood on power lines, and after I ran with three children from The Walmart (Don’t you judge me, Earl) to the van in a torrential downpour last night and made it home through three major intersections WITHOUT STOPLIGHTS…

(PSA, idiot drivers: When a stoplight’s out?? TREAT IT LIKE A FOUR WAY STOP, not like you’re in a presidential effing motorcade. YOU ARE NOT INVINCIBLE AND NEITHER AM I!)

…I didn’t have power. Again.

So I gave all three kids a bath. In the dark.

Again.

And idiot customer service boy man boy said power would be restored around 10:30.

Again.

It wasn’t.

The Husband and I sat around chatting by candlelight, which is not nearly as romantic as it’s made out to be. And I fell asleep way earlier because my Circadian rhythms were confused.

And I woke up this morning around 6:00am and we still didn’t have power, which, not to state the obvious, MEANT I DIDN’T GET ANY FUCKING COFFEE.

Until The Husband drove to McDonald’s and got some.

So I didn’t have Internet. I have zero idea what’s going on in my Google Reader and I’m FREAKING OUT, dude. I’m freaking out.

We had zero hot water so I smell bad. Our fridge was out for 16 hours so my milk smells bad.

Today was a bad day.

And Georgia Power? There’s nothing I can do to make you feel my pain. But with two exceptionally inconvenient power outages in as many days, I feel very justified in calling you an asshole. And telling you to suck it.

I’ll ask forgiveness tomorrow. You know, once I’ve been able to wash clothes and take a shower and therefore feel more human.

Note: I know that some poor power line man probably worked all night trying to fix the stupid power mess. I’m not calling HIM an asshole. And I do, on some level of me that’s mature, realized that the power company *probably* did the best they could given a rough situation. I’m just in a really bad mood since the power outage screwed my already screwy schedule. And I have to call somebody an asshole. So today it’s Georgia Power, The Man.

Assssss.hole.

And ladies and gentleman, there goes my attempt to stop cussing this week.

Cheers!

I Tweet. I post Facebook statuses faster than Fox posts headlines. (Watch it.) I just haven’t ever started a Facebook page for the blog until today, and I tell you, dear reader, that stops now. Having a Facebook page for your blog is fairly elementary, and I just never got around to it. Mainly this was because I really just like writing posts for the fun of it, so I can write in a lighthearted tone not suitable for publication elsewhere.

I ain’t gonna lie, though. It makes me happy when you read my Word Martinis. And even happier when you say nice things about them. So to help make sure you don’t miss them, I finally started a Facebook page for the blog. Please go “Like” it if you want  to stay abreast of Martini happenings.

If you didn’t chuckle a little when I said “abreast,” though, this may not work. Just saying.

When The Husband came home from work today:

Me: BawwwwlHICCUPbawwwwl(sniffle)HICCUP(sniffle)

The Husband: ???

Me: The-and-and-the-BAWWWWL!

The Husband: Please stop watching WWII movies.

Me: I caaaaan’t!

The Husband: Why not?

Me: Because all those kids are MY KIDS!!!

The Husband: Babe. We can’t adopt them all.

Me: We can try.

The Husband: (Sigh.) Honey. You’re going to have to at least narrow down the countries. But…you do realize that we’re too late to stop the Holocaust.

Me: BAWWWWWWL!

So basically, I totally want to adopt. Every bad thing that happens to any child anywhere hurts my heart like it happened to one of my own. That quote, that (roughly) to have a child is to have your heart walking around [all vulnerable] outside your body? So true. Except it turns out that your heart can attach to children that didn’t even come from you, so your love and peace and hope can all belong to little bodies at the mercy of the universe. Shudder.

We’re on the first steps on this journey. Like the, “Hey, maybe we should pray about this,” not even the “Hey, we’ve been praying and now we’re researching…” stage. But there are so many babies. And I have so much love.

Limited patience.

But lots of love.

(Shut it. And stop laughing. I DO SO HAVE LOTS OF LOVE!)

One of my favorite blogs that touches on adoption (plus, the author’s cute and hilarious and she has an aversion to minivans…check out a post I wrote for Your Tango on my reluctance to drive one here) is Rage Against the Minivan. If you have any interest in creating a family through adoption, please visit her blog, and be sure to watch the video where they share their adoption story. Funny, heartwarming, and heartbreaking. I want to be her friend.

Another blog I love by a mom who’s in the waiting stages of the adoption journey is the amazing, inspiring because He told me to. Dianna is beautiful and a total inspiration to me. She was generous enough to participate in this Mother’s Day photo essay by Capture Photography. I had hoped to participate to share by personal experience with the child we lost, but wasn’t able to make it during the times Jessica had allotted. Maybe I’ll share on here one day, in an introspective “whiskey happy hour” toned kind of post. Not that I’m threatening you or anything.

[Side plug for Capture Photography that I have in no way been compensated for: Jessica is total amazeballs, and the second I get a decent night's sleep and have the energy to get all fancy and brush my hair AND put on makeup in the same day, I want her to do some fun family shots of us. Especially if they include retro nerd glasses because these are my favoriteportraitsofalltime. Except for these that she did with vintage books. Loooove.]

I’m also working on a post to share more of the blogs I love, but it’s still very much in draft form. Like, barely coherent. But it’s coming, so be excited. And I promise I won’t say “Holocaust” in it once.

For the record, I have a general life policy against watching television while the sun’s up. But today I was really, really tired, and somehow sitting on the couch, folding laundry, and watching Charlotte Gray seemed like a good idea. But. THEY DIDN’T TELL US WHAT HAPPENED TO THE BOYS!!!!!!!

But now that The Baby has arrived and The Husband and I have moved from Man-on-Man to Zone Defense in our parenting (please appreciate that sports reference, since it’s the only time it will probably ever happen), I’ve begun to lump our children together and give the lump a nickname.

For example.

If I want The Husband to take the older two children with him as he’s going to run an errand, I’ll say, “Hey! Will you take The Biggers with you?”

The Boy, representing the cream in this Oreo, is the Middler. He’s also my swing hitter. (I’m not sure that makes sense. Which is usually what happens when I try to make a sports reference. I’m going to leave it, however, just so you’ll further appreciate the Man/Zone Defense comment even more.)

For example.

Babe? It’s terrifyingly quiet. I have The Baby…where’s the Middler???

And of course, the Middler can also lump with The Baby, at which point they collectively become The Littlers.

You want another example? No problem.

ZOMGican’twaitforthelittlerstogotobed.

(That’s really happened.)

And yeah, I know The Littles and The Bigs would have worked. I’ve used those a few times, too. Something about throwing those “-ers” in there’s just fun.

Gotta run. Because the whole ZOMGican’twaitforthelittlerstogotobed thing? I meant that it really happened like five minutes ago. So I’m gonna go make that whole bedtime thing happen.