Our dogs speak what?

While encouraging my girls to clean their room (with a timer and a garbage bag) I heard the dogs going crazy barking in the living room.

This is the conversation that followed:

Me: "Oh, my. What are they barking at?!"

Jorja: "Don't ask me, I don't speak dog Spanish."

Jonah: "Dog Spanish?"

Jorja: "Or dog English...or whatever. I don't know what they are saying."

I had no idea our dogs were bilingual.

Please do not be alarmed...

Our scene opens at the World of Coca-Cola in Atlanta, Georgia. Imagine happy little families strolling through the displays. They are enjoying their Saturday, milling around, discussing the inner workings of a bottling plant, laughing, trying out the interactive displays. All is serene and perfect.


Then enters my family. Mom and her girls - all four in matching outfits, all with smiles, and all with devilish little plans for destruction. The baby, Jamison, not yet able to physically act on her scheme. Jonah, old enough to know the horrific consequences of misbehaving in this setting. Josie, still strapped into the stroller, waiting for her chance. And then there is Jorja.

Oh, Jorja. Impeccably dressed, smile that can melt a heart, and a mind that could burn down a country.

Now imagine one distracted mommy, checking on the baby, talking to friends, making sure her oldest was close by.

And then the deafening noise. Decibels that could cause bleeding ears.

Everywhere.

No escape.

Why? Is the building on fire? Is this World War III?

No, no one is running, trying to save the lives of their children. No one screaming "women and children first!"

Only looks. Looks in my direction. Looks at the wall behind me. The wall where there was once an in-tact fire alarm cover. Where there is now a fire alarm lever, pulled by one Jorja Carrie.

The scene now changes. The once happy families are glaring at mom, covering their ears and walking calmly, angrily toward the doors. The perfect, happy Saturday afternoon is now fodder for stories of the cute girl who pulled the alarm and the mother who stood red-faced apologizing to everyone who walked out of the exhibit. The mom who thinks her kid is awesome for giving her something to blog about.

Paint

Since it's been a while since I took the time to write out one of our adventures here (and there has been no shortage) I thought I would rest my aching muscles for a minute and start one.

Today I decided that I would check off one of the many painting projects we have going around the house. Painting the table and chairs from the playroom. We've had this furniture since Jonah was 1, and it originally only came with one table and two chairs. Obviously, 3 girls do not fit at that table amicably anymore. So my dad made two more chairs. Let me tell you, he made the new ones look exactly like the original two. He's pretty awesome at woodworking. You can't tell the new from the old except that the old ones are colored all over, and well, painted.

Which brings me to today. I have had paint for some time, but we've always been too busy to actually do it. For the time being, they will just be white. That's easy to do, and if I decide later down the road to decorate, I can do so then. The plan was to get everything set up, unleash the kids on the back yard, and paint until lunch. I figured I should at least get everything base coated (two coats), and if I need another coat, I can do that during nap time and this evening, when everything would be dry I can assemble.

I had everything ready, and even had an awesome little 3 year old helper who was really good at taking the screws out of the chairs so we could paint them piece by piece. Of course, being 3, Jorja soon lost interest in taking the screws out and began jamming everything she could find into the screw holes and hopefully not completely stripping out all the threads. So she got the boot.

After I finished that, got everything laid out and started spraying primer, they flocked like flies. I had to keep yelling to them to get behind me and not in front of the spray, but they migrated downwind again and again. They were like little huffers. Standing there inhaling and commenting on the smell and how they were getting painted. After some more threatening, yelling, and waving them away, they went back to the swingset and embarked on some dangerous behavior that only went uncorrected becuase they were leaving me alone. I did have to yell a few "be careful's" and "don't wash your sister's hair with dirt" type comments just for appearances. Then there were a million "don't touches" especially to Josie who somehow discovered that dirt and boogers create such a strong substance they could be used to erect a pyramid. We don't need any of that wiped on the pretty white table and chairs.

So everything was primed and ready for the top coat of satin that I found in the garage and decided to use. But one look at the kids and the clock told me I better hold off and do bath and lunch first. They were a mess. I think dirtier than I've ever seen them. Mud, boogers, bug guts, oak tags...oh, and poop on the little one. I couldn't tell if they were three little girls or if someone had delivered children raised by wolves to my home.

I ushered them all into my bathroom for immediate cleansing. Jorja brought me bubble bath and I thought "what the heck". What the heck was right. I should have known it was going to get bad when Jorja held up a handful of bubbles and in her sweetest voice asked "bubble fight, mommy?" I told her no, we had to get some lunch, and then the antics began. Josie stood up with her bum covered in bubbles and Jonah laughed "Josie is wearing bubble panties!" So they all took turns mooning me and showing me their bubble undies over and over. It was one antic after another until Jorja got bubbles in her face and with body fully covered in bubbles, stared waving her arms around screaming. Bubbles were flying everywhere and each time her arms went down, they reloaded and a fresh batch of bubbles was launched. I finally had to jerk her out of the tub, wrap a towel around her and plop her butt on the floor. The others were given the same treatment just for being in the vicinity.

I made and cleaned up lunch, put the little one's in bed and have managed to get one side of all the pieces finished off with the satin top coat. For now, I've lost all will to paint. Hopefully it won't rain because I'm taking a nap and maybe Jason can finish the other side when he gets home from fishing.

GUM!

Ask my kids how often they get gum. They will tell you not very often...and this is an example of why they don't:



Now, I know you are asking yourself...how did the gum get on the back of her head like that? Please, isn't it obvious? It's not...yeah, I have no idea either.

Time out failure...and some of my artwork

Jorja is quite a kid. It's really hard to find a place in the house that she cannot entertain herself. She was told to stand against the wall for getting out of bed, and decided she could do without the paint color. So she removed it.


While sitting there trying to decide whether or not to shake her, I relaxed with an art project...and this little guy was born:


I guess it's time to repaint.

Since getting Guitar Hero, we have a different sort of family time. The kind the Partridge Family had, only with less raw talent. The girls love it, and we have to play “Livin’ on a prayer” every time.

DRUMROLL PLEASE!!!

Our Chicken Mummy is wrapped.

Apparently, we had an extra-juicy chicken. (Tyson, eat your heart out!) But it was finally dry enough to wrap, so today was the day. The smell was very faint compared to those first few weeks. Although, Jonah did say "this smells like a dog", and Jorja responded with "no, it smells like poop!" I think it smelled of rotten cloves.

The girls lost interest in wrapping toward the end, so they watched cartoons while I prettied it up.

Enjoy the slide show:

How much do you love your mummy?

My girls are pretty darn proud of theirs! Their chicken mummy, that is!!

First, we all put on rubber gloves to keep germs off our hands...no one wants salmonella!!

Then, we mixed up our salt mixture - salt, baking soda, baking powder and ground cloves to kill the inevitable smell.


Then we washed and dried the chicken before putting it in the bag of salt




And here is our famous soon-to-be mummy chicken. Looks fantastic doesn't it? What? You can't tell that's a chicken in there? Hmm. Too bad for you, because it smells much better than it looks!


The good news is that Jorja only ripped off her gloves, touched the chicken and "tasted" it once. There has been no #3 or puking, so I think we got lucky. Let's face it, if someone was going to have gastrointestinal issues, it would be Jorja.