Irony, thy name is motherhood. All morning, I've been mediating disputes, halting sibling assaults and quelling the inevitable bickering that comes from having more than one child. Finally, I've laid down the law. They are confined to their rooms, forced to play by themselves. And now, what they want more than anything, is to play with each other! There is wailing and stretching of arms over the baby gates that keep them bedroom-bound. All Missy wants is to "play with her sweet little brother." The same one that was hiding her baby dolls and hollering at her. And he wants "sisser." The one that pushed him away and wouldn't let him sit by her on the couch.
Pardon me while I self-medicate with chocolate chip cookie dough.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Monday, July 13, 2009
"Introducing The Hardest Working Band In The World...."
My parents have introduced me to a lot of wonderful things: Lyle Lovett, wine, sushi and carnitas, Lake Payette and Trivial Pursuit. That is the job of a parent, to expand the horizons of their children. But last night, the tables were turned and I was able to introduce them to a movie they had never seen.
The Commitments.
I had forgotten how good it is. An Irish soul band? Classic. Great music, good story, very funny and poignant without being saccharine. I fell in love again and took my parents and husband along for the ride. Raven, this movie MUST be a part of Sprog's education, if he hasn't already seen it.
Is there something that you introduced to your parents, siblings or spouse? Tell me about it.
The Commitments.
I had forgotten how good it is. An Irish soul band? Classic. Great music, good story, very funny and poignant without being saccharine. I fell in love again and took my parents and husband along for the ride. Raven, this movie MUST be a part of Sprog's education, if he hasn't already seen it.
Is there something that you introduced to your parents, siblings or spouse? Tell me about it.
Random Bits of Hilarity
I am sitting here, debating the meaning of shmegma with Ramona and Kathy. My life has gone from the glamor of butt-wiping to almost surreal ridiculousness. And I'm getting paid for it. Lucky, lucky girl, is I.
Did I mention that this started because the word in question is the root of Ramona's nickname for her friend Don? I don't even want to know what she calls me behind my back.
Did I mention that this started because the word in question is the root of Ramona's nickname for her friend Don? I don't even want to know what she calls me behind my back.
Thursday, July 09, 2009
Adventures in Poverty
I try to be very careful with our money. I have to, because there isn't a lot of it around right now. But every now and then, I drop the ball.
This morning, I got in the car to drive Drama Queen to summer school and low and behold, my poor little Hotyssey was on E. My main concern was time, since we were running late, but I got her to school and pulled into the gas station just as the little light came on. Whew!
Or not.
The tank rejected my card! ARGH! This station has tricky pumps and I sort of shrugged it off. Got us across the street, but AMPM said, "Nu-uh, honey, no money, no gas," which if that's the case why does Ramen, the staple of poverty, make you fart? Sorry, still having those middle school moments. So I was all, "WHAAAA? I know we're not rolling Trump-style, but I should have at least enough to buy a tank of gas!" We took a trip across the street, my children wailing that they were starving to death and me ignoring them while I pulled into the ATM parking lot. It confirmed what the gas pumps had told me, which convinces me that the machines have entered into a huge conspiracy to take over the world.
Yes, I did, in fact, watch Eagle Eye last night. Why do you ask?
We managed to get home, the gas icon glowering at me like some evil portent of doom. Those poor little babies got fed their breakfast, watched some PBS and bickered like little hamsters while I scrambled around ad got us ready for story time at the library. I emptied my change jar into a ziploc, hoping I had enough gas to get me to the library and then to the grocery store, where I could magically transform these shiny bits of metal into actual paper money! Whoo! Even better, this grocery store had a gas station attached!
You may pause here and ask why I did not simply use change to buy the gas. I have no good answer for that, aside from the fact that I am stupid.
We had a lovely time at the library and park, but the kids were less than happy when Mommy announced it was time to leave. I bundled the flailing little wrecks of humanity into the car (thank-you God for car seats and five point harness restraints!) and took off. Released them again, this time only loosely contained by a shopping cart, and entered the store, only to find their coin sorter was out of commission. *insert panicked whimpering here*
Did I have enough gas to get to the next grocery store? As it turns out, yes I did. Did they have an operational coin machine? No, they didn't. The panicked whimpering was now a constant mental scream of "ohhellnoIcannotrunoutofgaswithtwotiredandhungrychildreninmycarandnolorazapaninmypurse."
Red is screaming because we're leaving the store without buying anything and Missy is whining that she is SO THIRSTY her throat feels like the sandbox. Mommy is trying very hard not to cry.
(Let me ask you something here: are mine the only children that develop severe hunger whenever anyone stops and enters any sort of store where food might be purchased, including, but not limited to: grocery stores, gas stations and fast food restaurants? I swear I feed them at home, but if you drove anywhere with us, you would be hard-pressed to believe me.)
God hears the plea of a desperate woman. There was another grocery store across the street, with an operational coin machine AND a gas station. The magic of the coin machine hypnotized the rug rats into forgetting they were very angry with me and VOILA! a paper receipt that promised I will not in fact be broken down on the side of the road appeared. I cashed it out, got my gas and went upon my merry way.
OH! And a plastic bin of cut up watermelon magically appeared to ease my children's agony! Okay, not really. I had packed it as a snack and, in my fuel anxiety, forgotten about it, but really, the miracle of watermelon make a much better ending to the story, don't you think?
This morning, I got in the car to drive Drama Queen to summer school and low and behold, my poor little Hotyssey was on E. My main concern was time, since we were running late, but I got her to school and pulled into the gas station just as the little light came on. Whew!
Or not.
The tank rejected my card! ARGH! This station has tricky pumps and I sort of shrugged it off. Got us across the street, but AMPM said, "Nu-uh, honey, no money, no gas," which if that's the case why does Ramen, the staple of poverty, make you fart? Sorry, still having those middle school moments. So I was all, "WHAAAA? I know we're not rolling Trump-style, but I should have at least enough to buy a tank of gas!" We took a trip across the street, my children wailing that they were starving to death and me ignoring them while I pulled into the ATM parking lot. It confirmed what the gas pumps had told me, which convinces me that the machines have entered into a huge conspiracy to take over the world.
Yes, I did, in fact, watch Eagle Eye last night. Why do you ask?
We managed to get home, the gas icon glowering at me like some evil portent of doom. Those poor little babies got fed their breakfast, watched some PBS and bickered like little hamsters while I scrambled around ad got us ready for story time at the library. I emptied my change jar into a ziploc, hoping I had enough gas to get me to the library and then to the grocery store, where I could magically transform these shiny bits of metal into actual paper money! Whoo! Even better, this grocery store had a gas station attached!
You may pause here and ask why I did not simply use change to buy the gas. I have no good answer for that, aside from the fact that I am stupid.
We had a lovely time at the library and park, but the kids were less than happy when Mommy announced it was time to leave. I bundled the flailing little wrecks of humanity into the car (thank-you God for car seats and five point harness restraints!) and took off. Released them again, this time only loosely contained by a shopping cart, and entered the store, only to find their coin sorter was out of commission. *insert panicked whimpering here*
Did I have enough gas to get to the next grocery store? As it turns out, yes I did. Did they have an operational coin machine? No, they didn't. The panicked whimpering was now a constant mental scream of "ohhellnoIcannotrunoutofgaswithtwotiredandhungrychildreninmycarandnolorazapaninmypurse."
Red is screaming because we're leaving the store without buying anything and Missy is whining that she is SO THIRSTY her throat feels like the sandbox. Mommy is trying very hard not to cry.
(Let me ask you something here: are mine the only children that develop severe hunger whenever anyone stops and enters any sort of store where food might be purchased, including, but not limited to: grocery stores, gas stations and fast food restaurants? I swear I feed them at home, but if you drove anywhere with us, you would be hard-pressed to believe me.)
God hears the plea of a desperate woman. There was another grocery store across the street, with an operational coin machine AND a gas station. The magic of the coin machine hypnotized the rug rats into forgetting they were very angry with me and VOILA! a paper receipt that promised I will not in fact be broken down on the side of the road appeared. I cashed it out, got my gas and went upon my merry way.
OH! And a plastic bin of cut up watermelon magically appeared to ease my children's agony! Okay, not really. I had packed it as a snack and, in my fuel anxiety, forgotten about it, but really, the miracle of watermelon make a much better ending to the story, don't you think?
Tuesday, July 07, 2009
5 Simple Pleasures
We've been moving towards a simpler life for some time now. The beauty of it has been a new appreciation for things that are inexpensive or free. I find myself marveling at things that are familiar, yet so still lovely. Things like:
1. Warm toast with butter and apricot jam.
2. Diving into cold water on a hot day.
3. My husband's arms around me.
4. The laughter of my children.
5. A good book.
What are your top five simple pleasures?
1. Warm toast with butter and apricot jam.
2. Diving into cold water on a hot day.
3. My husband's arms around me.
4. The laughter of my children.
5. A good book.
What are your top five simple pleasures?
Monday, July 06, 2009
Hosed
Ahhhhh, Starbucks. I love your coffee, but if you insist on treating me like a moron, I'm going to have to go over to Peets.
For the record, I don't consider coming to you establishment and dropping $2 on a cold drink a "thank-you." Especially after I've already done that once today. The pretty yellow receipt that is supposed to lure me back? Not working. It feels a bit like the schoolyard bully taking my lunch money for protection.
Which makes me wonder, are you adding something to my drink that I don't know about? Something that might make me think it's a good idea to give you another $2 for a drink that costs you approximately $.20 to make? Something like stupid pills?
So bite me, Starbucks. I'm smarter than you gave me credit for. And I've figured out how to make a damn good iced coffee at home.
For the record, I don't consider coming to you establishment and dropping $2 on a cold drink a "thank-you." Especially after I've already done that once today. The pretty yellow receipt that is supposed to lure me back? Not working. It feels a bit like the schoolyard bully taking my lunch money for protection.
Which makes me wonder, are you adding something to my drink that I don't know about? Something that might make me think it's a good idea to give you another $2 for a drink that costs you approximately $.20 to make? Something like stupid pills?
So bite me, Starbucks. I'm smarter than you gave me credit for. And I've figured out how to make a damn good iced coffee at home.
Friday, July 03, 2009
Intervention Needed
Things I should be doing:
1. taking a shower.
2. brushing my teeth.
3. cleaning my house.
4. buying groceries.
5. playing with my kids.
6. folding laundry.
7. exercising.
8. plucking my eyebrows.
9. making cherry pie filling.
10. making the beds.
What I am doing: Wasting time surfing the net and writing an extraneous and boring blog post. What the hell is wrong with me?
1. taking a shower.
2. brushing my teeth.
3. cleaning my house.
4. buying groceries.
5. playing with my kids.
6. folding laundry.
7. exercising.
8. plucking my eyebrows.
9. making cherry pie filling.
10. making the beds.
What I am doing: Wasting time surfing the net and writing an extraneous and boring blog post. What the hell is wrong with me?
He's Just Not That Into You
Warning: If you loved this movie, don't read this post. If you object to strong language, don't read this post. If you belong to the Scarlett Johanssen fan club, don't read this post. I'm pissed and it shows.
I don't know why I wanted to watch this movie. Maybe because I really like Ginnifer Goodwin. Maybe because I like the title message. I have no idea. But I threw away too many minutes of my life watching this ridiculous commentary on relationships and now I want my time back. It would have been better spent playing Farm Town or Farkle.
Seems to me that the premise of this movie is as follows: women want men so badly, they manufacture relationships and lie to themselves about male behavior, just so their fragile little minds can exist in this world without spontaneously combusting. Ugh. Leaving aside the fact that all of the woman and gay men are skinny and gorgeous (except, of course, the "real person" commentaries that divide the scenes.), the characters are completely cringe-worthy.
You know I was tossing off obscenities every single time the slutty Scarlett Johanssen character came on. Yes the guy was a prick, a nasty little herpes prick with an extra large side of genital cheese, but I was floored when she just went after him, deliberately trying to seduce him. Women do that? Of course they do. If anyone should know that, I should. HELLO??? But yuck. Not to mention leading on a separate schmuck. I was wanting to sit on that bitch and leave a greasy spot on the pavement.
Just a side note: I've never understood when a wronged wife blames the other woman. Your husband is the one who made the vows. She owes you nothing. That being said, women who pursue married men? Skanks.
Let's talk about the wife. Yes, I spent the whole movie relating to her so painfully, it felt as if I were reliving the very lowest parts of my first marriage all over again. Believing the lies, knowing them for what they are, but waiting for proof. He wants to leave her, but he doesn't have the balls to initiate it. Grow a pair, fucktard. Don't confess to infidelity and hope she'll end the marriage. The fact that finding the cigarettes pushed her over the edge? I totally get that. If my ex had been a better man, I might have been able to forgive a single affair. I really liked the resolution there, her note on the carton of cigarettes. I looked at Mr. Clairol and promised him, "You know that giant mirror she broke? I would have broken it over your head."
His reply? "I know."
The "married-except-for-the-technicality" couple cracked me up. He spends seven years not marrying her, and then, as he is moving back in, he proposes? WTF? I thought the entire point of this movie was that this does NOT happen. He won! I wanted her to say, "No. I agree with you. I don't believe in marriage either." Too cutsie-wootsie, all perfect and movie-ish. Note to filmmakers: I am female, not terminally stupid.
Liked the whole Drew bit, but there wasn't enough of that. And her rant about getting rejected by seven different technologies? Genius. She felt real. Of all the women, she was the only character who felt a little bit real. Why did she have to wind up with the Ho-bag's reject boy? Yes, it was a cute little tie-up for the loose threads, but she deserved better.
Now, on to my main complaint: pathetic girl catches the eye of Mr. Cassanova and he tries to help her by shredding her illusions. After misinterpreting his interest in her, she goes on to another guy and then the playboy falls in love with her. Again, wasn't the point of the book and movie supposed to be that this doesn't happen? Justin Long is skeevy. I don't like him. And I really didn't like the character. I've met these guys in real life. They aren't helpful, they are jerks. Yes, the truth hurts, but you know what? So does my foot in your nutsac. Don't talk to me like I'm an idiot, even if I'm acting like one, you greasy little luv-ah man.
I didn't like this movie. It pissed me off. That's what I get for watching a chick-flick. Next time, I'm sticking to the action film. Preferably one with a bare-ass Hugh Jackman.
I don't know why I wanted to watch this movie. Maybe because I really like Ginnifer Goodwin. Maybe because I like the title message. I have no idea. But I threw away too many minutes of my life watching this ridiculous commentary on relationships and now I want my time back. It would have been better spent playing Farm Town or Farkle.
Seems to me that the premise of this movie is as follows: women want men so badly, they manufacture relationships and lie to themselves about male behavior, just so their fragile little minds can exist in this world without spontaneously combusting. Ugh. Leaving aside the fact that all of the woman and gay men are skinny and gorgeous (except, of course, the "real person" commentaries that divide the scenes.), the characters are completely cringe-worthy.
You know I was tossing off obscenities every single time the slutty Scarlett Johanssen character came on. Yes the guy was a prick, a nasty little herpes prick with an extra large side of genital cheese, but I was floored when she just went after him, deliberately trying to seduce him. Women do that? Of course they do. If anyone should know that, I should. HELLO??? But yuck. Not to mention leading on a separate schmuck. I was wanting to sit on that bitch and leave a greasy spot on the pavement.
Just a side note: I've never understood when a wronged wife blames the other woman. Your husband is the one who made the vows. She owes you nothing. That being said, women who pursue married men? Skanks.
Let's talk about the wife. Yes, I spent the whole movie relating to her so painfully, it felt as if I were reliving the very lowest parts of my first marriage all over again. Believing the lies, knowing them for what they are, but waiting for proof. He wants to leave her, but he doesn't have the balls to initiate it. Grow a pair, fucktard. Don't confess to infidelity and hope she'll end the marriage. The fact that finding the cigarettes pushed her over the edge? I totally get that. If my ex had been a better man, I might have been able to forgive a single affair. I really liked the resolution there, her note on the carton of cigarettes. I looked at Mr. Clairol and promised him, "You know that giant mirror she broke? I would have broken it over your head."
His reply? "I know."
The "married-except-for-the-technicality" couple cracked me up. He spends seven years not marrying her, and then, as he is moving back in, he proposes? WTF? I thought the entire point of this movie was that this does NOT happen. He won! I wanted her to say, "No. I agree with you. I don't believe in marriage either." Too cutsie-wootsie, all perfect and movie-ish. Note to filmmakers: I am female, not terminally stupid.
Liked the whole Drew bit, but there wasn't enough of that. And her rant about getting rejected by seven different technologies? Genius. She felt real. Of all the women, she was the only character who felt a little bit real. Why did she have to wind up with the Ho-bag's reject boy? Yes, it was a cute little tie-up for the loose threads, but she deserved better.
Now, on to my main complaint: pathetic girl catches the eye of Mr. Cassanova and he tries to help her by shredding her illusions. After misinterpreting his interest in her, she goes on to another guy and then the playboy falls in love with her. Again, wasn't the point of the book and movie supposed to be that this doesn't happen? Justin Long is skeevy. I don't like him. And I really didn't like the character. I've met these guys in real life. They aren't helpful, they are jerks. Yes, the truth hurts, but you know what? So does my foot in your nutsac. Don't talk to me like I'm an idiot, even if I'm acting like one, you greasy little luv-ah man.
I didn't like this movie. It pissed me off. That's what I get for watching a chick-flick. Next time, I'm sticking to the action film. Preferably one with a bare-ass Hugh Jackman.
Fireworks, Beer and Lou
July 4th approaches. I love the 4th. I like firing up the grill, hanging in the pool and watching massive firework displays. I like red, white and blue, stars and stripes, ice cream and beer. What's not to love?
Here's something I didn't know: Lou Gherig bid goodbye to baseball on July 4th, 1939. So it's another reason to love this day and remember the man most people associate with ALS. To honor my dad. To fight. Because I won't want to commemorate the day he leaves us. I think I'll choose to remember him most on the 4th, a day that means a call to arms for those of us in the ALS community.
Have a wonderful 4th, everyone!
Here's something I didn't know: Lou Gherig bid goodbye to baseball on July 4th, 1939. So it's another reason to love this day and remember the man most people associate with ALS. To honor my dad. To fight. Because I won't want to commemorate the day he leaves us. I think I'll choose to remember him most on the 4th, a day that means a call to arms for those of us in the ALS community.
Have a wonderful 4th, everyone!
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
Oh, Canada
Happy Canada Day, eh! What a great country. They've given us John Candy, Michael J Fox, Colleen Dewhurst and Alanis Morrissette.
Also Dave Coulier, but we won't hold that against them, will we?
I'll be eating some Canadian bacon, drinking a Moulson and listening to some Anne Murray today. Not really. I might eat some actual bacon and pretend it's Canadian, maybe even moose bacon or some such thing, because honestly, I think cured moose is a lot more Canadian-seeming than round ham, but what do I know?
Come to think of it, I don't really like Moulson beer either, so I think I'll have a Pyramid Apricot Ale in a Moulson glass. And, um, I don't have any Anne Murray. God, I'm a sucky Canadian.
WAIT! I'm not Canadian. Damn. There goes the day. Happy Wednesday, everyone.
Also Dave Coulier, but we won't hold that against them, will we?
I'll be eating some Canadian bacon, drinking a Moulson and listening to some Anne Murray today. Not really. I might eat some actual bacon and pretend it's Canadian, maybe even moose bacon or some such thing, because honestly, I think cured moose is a lot more Canadian-seeming than round ham, but what do I know?
Come to think of it, I don't really like Moulson beer either, so I think I'll have a Pyramid Apricot Ale in a Moulson glass. And, um, I don't have any Anne Murray. God, I'm a sucky Canadian.
WAIT! I'm not Canadian. Damn. There goes the day. Happy Wednesday, everyone.
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