This is an actual conversation that took place Friday afternoon.
Mr Clairol hears his phone ringing, stops working and picks it up.
Irate Wife: You totally cut a slice of bread!
Mr. Clairol: Uh...
Irate Wife: I asked you if you wanted toast this morning! I asked! Why didn't you tell me you wanted a fucking slice of toast?!?!?
Mr. Clairol: I'm sorry, honey. I didn't realize you were saving the bread. Should I buy a loaf on my way home?
Irate Wife: I am not hoarding bread like some insane person! You can have a stupid slice of toast! Just tell me and I will slice the fucking bread!
Mr. Clairol: I didn't know I wanted it until you were gone! Why can't I slice the bread?
Irate Wife: You cut it crooked! There is a big ass slant now! I had to cut three half-slices to get it even!!!!
Mr. Clairol: I've got to go. We can talk about this more when I get home.*click*
Yeah, I know you're thinking I'm probably PMSing or chemically imbalanced or certifiably insane. And I should be seeking help. Beyond a shot of Absolute.
Here's the thing. It's not just the little things. It's a collection of the little things that cause a huge avalanche of frustration. It's all those times I asked him to be careful slicing the bread, so that it doesn't get jammed in the toaster and catch fire, again. It's the ten loaves worth of half slices and trimmings that I have to feed to the birds, because the kids want toast, not bread and butter and the half slices with thin edges get burned. It's all the times I get yelled at for accidentally having the emergency brake on while I drive and you tell me I'm undoing all your hard work and wasting money, then not seeing that, to me, your random, careless bread hacking feels the same, exact way.
It's marriage, at it's most aggravating. The beauty is in this. I wouldn't trade it for a million dollars and Johnny Depp. And I know you wouldn't trade it for ten million dollars and Jessica Simpson. I thank God for that. Right after I chuck a half a loaf of bread at your head.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Friday, August 29, 2008
You Might Be A Stay At Home Mom Saturday
If the sight of a full laundry hamper (minutes after what you thought was the last load is folded and put away) makes you weep more than The Notebook, you might be a stay-at-home mom.
Got Wine?
Okay, get your toast in order. The winner of the wine, flutes and charms is...
Random Integer Generator
Here are your random numbers:3
Timestamp: 2008-08-29 02:13:01 UTC
HAHAHAHA! It's Noble Pig! That cracks me up. 'Cause she's all about wine and probably has a million and three wineglasses and....whooo. I'm the only one laughing. Hell, I guess that means I need a drink.
Okay, Noble Pig...send me your address and I'll get this in the mail. Congratulations!
Random Integer Generator
Here are your random numbers:3
Timestamp: 2008-08-29 02:13:01 UTC
HAHAHAHA! It's Noble Pig! That cracks me up. 'Cause she's all about wine and probably has a million and three wineglasses and....whooo. I'm the only one laughing. Hell, I guess that means I need a drink.
Okay, Noble Pig...send me your address and I'll get this in the mail. Congratulations!
Thursday, August 28, 2008
I'd Kill Him, But Then The Whole Labor And Birth Thing Would Have Been For Nothing
Hey! Go here and leave a comment. You could win some wine glasses and wine to put in them!
My son. Oh, my son.
I'm sure Drama Queen and Missy Hoohaw gave me as much trouble as you. I just don't remember it. I don't remember much of anything anymore. I'm sure if we survive your second (and third) year, I'll look back and laugh. Or cry...it's a fine line most days.
We need to get a few things straight. Pay attention. This is important.
Point One: Remember when I told you that I would be teaching your children to wipe their poopy butts on your car upholstery? That was not an invitation for a demonstration of your skill in that area. And FYI, I'd recommend buying a car with a leather interior. Because Gramma is gonna be schooling your little ones.
Point Two: Four AM is not, in fact, actually morning. I know. It's like false advertising. But I am not getting up with you then. I am not giving you juice and I am not making you breakfast. I will change your diaper. I will put you back to bed. You can scream all you want, I'm not letting Daddy come get you either. I'm really mean that way. But only until 6.
Point Three: Yogurt, applesauce, cheese, bread and peanut butter are delicious. I get it. But there are other really yummy things out there. And I swear that meat will not kill you. Neither will green vegetables. If you throw them at your oldest sister, she might. You've been warned.
Point Four: I admire your savvy. You nailed G-ma. The day you said, Dran-ma! and ran to her, she became yours. Heart and soul. However, calling for her only works at her house. She can't save you here, especially from a bath. And I am immune to the, "pwease, mama." After your sisters, my heart is volcanic obsidian. But I'll negotiate. If you quit smearing food in your hair, we'll quit giving you a bath every night.
Okay, I'm done for today. We'll talk again soon, I'm sure. Your creative mischief is a constant wonder to me and you're damn lucky you've got such a great smile. The cute is about the only thing saving your poopy tush these days.
My son. Oh, my son.
I'm sure Drama Queen and Missy Hoohaw gave me as much trouble as you. I just don't remember it. I don't remember much of anything anymore. I'm sure if we survive your second (and third) year, I'll look back and laugh. Or cry...it's a fine line most days.
We need to get a few things straight. Pay attention. This is important.
Point One: Remember when I told you that I would be teaching your children to wipe their poopy butts on your car upholstery? That was not an invitation for a demonstration of your skill in that area. And FYI, I'd recommend buying a car with a leather interior. Because Gramma is gonna be schooling your little ones.
Point Two: Four AM is not, in fact, actually morning. I know. It's like false advertising. But I am not getting up with you then. I am not giving you juice and I am not making you breakfast. I will change your diaper. I will put you back to bed. You can scream all you want, I'm not letting Daddy come get you either. I'm really mean that way. But only until 6.
Point Three: Yogurt, applesauce, cheese, bread and peanut butter are delicious. I get it. But there are other really yummy things out there. And I swear that meat will not kill you. Neither will green vegetables. If you throw them at your oldest sister, she might. You've been warned.
Point Four: I admire your savvy. You nailed G-ma. The day you said, Dran-ma! and ran to her, she became yours. Heart and soul. However, calling for her only works at her house. She can't save you here, especially from a bath. And I am immune to the, "pwease, mama." After your sisters, my heart is volcanic obsidian. But I'll negotiate. If you quit smearing food in your hair, we'll quit giving you a bath every night.
Okay, I'm done for today. We'll talk again soon, I'm sure. Your creative mischief is a constant wonder to me and you're damn lucky you've got such a great smile. The cute is about the only thing saving your poopy tush these days.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Get Her Autograph Now
Drama Queen is embarking on a television news career.
Last year, DQ expressed an interest in her school's morning news program. It's an elective class, open only to eighth graders and to get in, seventh graders must submit an application, interview and audition. The program is produced and performed by students and run during first period. She fiddle-farted around and didn't get an application in, and so resigned herself to a Technology elective. Not terrible, but I think she was wistful about the whole thing.
Fast forward several months. Her Tech teacher is the advisor for the news show and asked the class if someone would like to shoot an announcement. DQ was chosen and after the segment was wrapped, the teacher asked DQ why she wasn't taking the news class. He commented that she was a natural and if she wanted to transfer, he'd sign off on it.
She was elated. The praise had her giddy and flushed with triumph. But she was unsure about changing her schedule. She liked her tech class, she had a project partner and didn't want to leave them in the lurch, she was excited about the cumulative project, etc., etc. We finally got down to the meat of it. The class was exclusively popular kids. She didn't really know anyone in the class and it was pretty scary to go in to that environment.
We talked. I cajoled. I advised. I even got a little nasty when she started in on the whole, "my tech partner is one of my best friends, " jazz. She barely knew her partner when they were assigned to each other and if the girl was really a friend, she'd never want DQ to pass on a great opportunity just for her, I said. I even played dirty and pointed out that if she really wanted to go to a theater arts school, she was going to have to have these things in her academic profile. No, I'm not proud of myself.
Last night, she was still undecided, leaning heavily towards staying in Tech. I sat her down, calmly explained why I felt this was a great opportunity and then told her it was absolutely her decision. I wouldn't ask about it or bring it up again until she was ready. I promised to withhold advice until it was asked for (on this topic, anyway). I wouldn't even say, "I told you so, " when she wished she had switched her schedule. I would be proud of her either way. It was agony, folks.
This is where parenting gets hard for me. I look at this situation and see every opportunity I passed on, afraid of rejection and failure. I remember every time I opted not to leave my comfort zone and feel the regret all over again. I want so much more for her in this time of her life. But it is her choice, her life, her school year. My role is advisory now, enforcing only when grades and behavior are questionable. Even that role is shrinking, since she is maturing into a paragon of teen virtue.
The other bug-a-boo is the tendency to lie to herself. Her father does this all the time. He can always manufacture a reason for the most shameful behavior. And he is able to convince himself that these excuses are truth, even the most outrageous fictions. It was the largest contributing factor to the death of our marriage. Well, that and the dozen women he slept with in six years of marriage. I insist that she be honest with herself about her motives. You can imagine how fun those fights are.
She bounced into the car today, giggling and gleeful. I thought it had something to do with the tall, good-looking boy that was hanging around her, making her laugh. Not her boyfriend, I might add. No, she was waving a green paper, which proved to be a request for a schedule change. Apparently, she had stopped by the teacher's room and he told her she had better be there to ask for a schedule change into the news class. She said yes, and he walked her to the office to get the form.
Move over, Katie Couric. The next generation is at the gate.
Last year, DQ expressed an interest in her school's morning news program. It's an elective class, open only to eighth graders and to get in, seventh graders must submit an application, interview and audition. The program is produced and performed by students and run during first period. She fiddle-farted around and didn't get an application in, and so resigned herself to a Technology elective. Not terrible, but I think she was wistful about the whole thing.
Fast forward several months. Her Tech teacher is the advisor for the news show and asked the class if someone would like to shoot an announcement. DQ was chosen and after the segment was wrapped, the teacher asked DQ why she wasn't taking the news class. He commented that she was a natural and if she wanted to transfer, he'd sign off on it.
She was elated. The praise had her giddy and flushed with triumph. But she was unsure about changing her schedule. She liked her tech class, she had a project partner and didn't want to leave them in the lurch, she was excited about the cumulative project, etc., etc. We finally got down to the meat of it. The class was exclusively popular kids. She didn't really know anyone in the class and it was pretty scary to go in to that environment.
We talked. I cajoled. I advised. I even got a little nasty when she started in on the whole, "my tech partner is one of my best friends, " jazz. She barely knew her partner when they were assigned to each other and if the girl was really a friend, she'd never want DQ to pass on a great opportunity just for her, I said. I even played dirty and pointed out that if she really wanted to go to a theater arts school, she was going to have to have these things in her academic profile. No, I'm not proud of myself.
Last night, she was still undecided, leaning heavily towards staying in Tech. I sat her down, calmly explained why I felt this was a great opportunity and then told her it was absolutely her decision. I wouldn't ask about it or bring it up again until she was ready. I promised to withhold advice until it was asked for (on this topic, anyway). I wouldn't even say, "I told you so, " when she wished she had switched her schedule. I would be proud of her either way. It was agony, folks.
This is where parenting gets hard for me. I look at this situation and see every opportunity I passed on, afraid of rejection and failure. I remember every time I opted not to leave my comfort zone and feel the regret all over again. I want so much more for her in this time of her life. But it is her choice, her life, her school year. My role is advisory now, enforcing only when grades and behavior are questionable. Even that role is shrinking, since she is maturing into a paragon of teen virtue.
The other bug-a-boo is the tendency to lie to herself. Her father does this all the time. He can always manufacture a reason for the most shameful behavior. And he is able to convince himself that these excuses are truth, even the most outrageous fictions. It was the largest contributing factor to the death of our marriage. Well, that and the dozen women he slept with in six years of marriage. I insist that she be honest with herself about her motives. You can imagine how fun those fights are.
She bounced into the car today, giggling and gleeful. I thought it had something to do with the tall, good-looking boy that was hanging around her, making her laugh. Not her boyfriend, I might add. No, she was waving a green paper, which proved to be a request for a schedule change. Apparently, she had stopped by the teacher's room and he told her she had better be there to ask for a schedule change into the news class. She said yes, and he walked her to the office to get the form.
Move over, Katie Couric. The next generation is at the gate.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
I Need Many More Hours (Or A Clone)
I want to watch TV. I really do. I want to be in on Lost and Mad Men and Ugly Betty and all of these other fun, fabulous shows that the cool kids are watching.
But I can't. Because seriously, I have no more time. At all.
It's been approximately 2 weeks since I actually watched a television show of my choosing. I have DVR, so it's not a total tragedy, but two episodes of Project Runway and ten episdoes of Days Or Our Lives eat up a lot of space, not to mention the handful of Little Einsteins that save my sanity on a regular basis.
I'm behind on my blog reading. When I do get to read a post, I have to jump up before I finish, so commenting is out of the question. My email is clogged and I can't seem to get it whittled down, since most of it requires a reply. Argh!
What's going on that eats all of my time? Oh, just this little thing called life. I decided a while ago, that if I wanted to be treated as someone who worked and have my contribution recognized for what it truly was, I better get my ass off the couch and stop ignoring the laundry. School is starting up for the little ones and now my Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays will be consumed with preschool activities. In addition to the cooking, housework and child-wrangling that currently make up my fabulous, jet-setting existence. This is why, when I read about Angelina Jolie stating that she and Brad are parents like the rest of us, I laugh myself silly. I just cannot picture her tearing her hair out because she just did laundry and there are no matched socks for Zahara. But maybe she does. Maybe there are days when her gorgeous hair is up in a ponytail, and she is wearing sweat pants. Perhaps there is even a small stain on the right leg.
I''m holding on to that mental image. It makes me feel better.
But I can't. Because seriously, I have no more time. At all.
It's been approximately 2 weeks since I actually watched a television show of my choosing. I have DVR, so it's not a total tragedy, but two episodes of Project Runway and ten episdoes of Days Or Our Lives eat up a lot of space, not to mention the handful of Little Einsteins that save my sanity on a regular basis.
I'm behind on my blog reading. When I do get to read a post, I have to jump up before I finish, so commenting is out of the question. My email is clogged and I can't seem to get it whittled down, since most of it requires a reply. Argh!
What's going on that eats all of my time? Oh, just this little thing called life. I decided a while ago, that if I wanted to be treated as someone who worked and have my contribution recognized for what it truly was, I better get my ass off the couch and stop ignoring the laundry. School is starting up for the little ones and now my Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays will be consumed with preschool activities. In addition to the cooking, housework and child-wrangling that currently make up my fabulous, jet-setting existence. This is why, when I read about Angelina Jolie stating that she and Brad are parents like the rest of us, I laugh myself silly. I just cannot picture her tearing her hair out because she just did laundry and there are no matched socks for Zahara. But maybe she does. Maybe there are days when her gorgeous hair is up in a ponytail, and she is wearing sweat pants. Perhaps there is even a small stain on the right leg.
I''m holding on to that mental image. It makes me feel better.
Honeymoon's Over
Enter the latest giveaway here. Need incentive? It involves alcohol.
Lest you think I have the ideal marriage and Mr. Clairol and I breathe pink puffy hearts all over each other, day in and day out, I offer you this charming vignette from our marriage:
A tired looking couple rests on a sofa, watching The Daily Show
Him: Is Jon Stewart hot?
Her: Unbelievably.
Him: If he came to the door right now and asked you to run away with him, would you?
Her: That's such a girl question. The Vespa is definitely compromising your testosterone.
Him: Would you?
Her: (long pause) Let's put it this way. If Jessica Simpson came to the door in a bikini and heels, asking you to accompany her to Germany and do nothing but drink beer while look at old Volkswagens, would you go?
Him: 'nuff said. (pause) Wait, Jon Stewart is that hot?
Lest you think I have the ideal marriage and Mr. Clairol and I breathe pink puffy hearts all over each other, day in and day out, I offer you this charming vignette from our marriage:
A tired looking couple rests on a sofa, watching The Daily Show
Him: Is Jon Stewart hot?
Her: Unbelievably.
Him: If he came to the door right now and asked you to run away with him, would you?
Her: That's such a girl question. The Vespa is definitely compromising your testosterone.
Him: Would you?
Her: (long pause) Let's put it this way. If Jessica Simpson came to the door in a bikini and heels, asking you to accompany her to Germany and do nothing but drink beer while look at old Volkswagens, would you go?
Him: 'nuff said. (pause) Wait, Jon Stewart is that hot?
Monday, August 25, 2008
Your First Toast Must Be To Me
Oh Lordy, I love giving stuff away! In honor of my 500th post, 8 posts ago, I am giving away a bunch of swag I collected at BlogHer 08. Like last week's giveaway, won by the lovely and sweet Mah-mee, this giveaway features swag from TNT with a Closer theme. The swag featured are two sets of wineglass charms with red beads and sayings like, "I Confess" and "Be Daring." I've added a lovely pair of handpainted flutes and a bottle of Chandon sparkling wine. You have my permission to scrap the charms and just drink the wine. If you drink it straight from the bottle, you must send me a picture of said swigging, which I will post here. And then Noble Pig will hunt you down and kill you for disrespecting wine. 
To win, you must be at least 21 years of age. Enter by leaving me a comment with your favorite toast by Thursday August 28th, 6pm PST. Foul language is encouraged, but not necessary. I'll select a random winner from the comments on Friday morning and announce the results in my Friday morning blog post.
I'll start it off with my favorite toast, which I've only ever used with whiskey, because I'm Irish and we're a lushy lot.
My friends are the best friends
Loyal, willing and able.
Now let’s get to drinking!
All glasses off the table!
Sláinte!
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Homegrown Tomatoes
This is one third what we picked today. Missy and Red have eaten the rest of the haul (Mostly the yellow pear and romalitas). I've got a loaf of bread cooling on the counter, a handful of basil from the garden and these beauties. Can you say tomato sandwich? Yummmm.It's been a perfect Sunday. A fun, silly wrap-up of the Old Testament series we've been doing at church. A relaxing afternoon in the garden and then my sparkling pool which is exactly the right temperature. Did I mention Mr. Clairol fixed my fancy float with the armrests and cup holder? A glass of iced tea and a trashy novel...aaaah! Now we're watching a family movie and munching some popcorn. A light dinner, saving room for homemade peach cobbler and ice cream, then back to church for some fellowship and praise.
God has a way of reading my heart, knowing when I'm close to going under and then saving me. Sometimes it's the call from an old friend. Sometimes it's a blessing from my family. This time, it was a perfect, stress-free day, where everything just fell into place. Thank you Lord, for hearing Your child's cry. You remain my perfect father.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
You Might Be A Stay At Home Mom Saturday
If the island on Lost starts to look like a fun vacation, you might be a stay-at-home-mom.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Winner, Winner, Chicken Dinner!
And the winner, as selected by Random.Org is...
Here are your random numbers:5
Timestamp: 2008-08-22 22:44:33 UTC
Number 5! Congratulations Mah-mee! Email me you info, so I can get this in the mail.
Stay tuned, because Monday brings another swag-tastic giveaway!
Here are your random numbers:5
Timestamp: 2008-08-22 22:44:33 UTC
Number 5! Congratulations Mah-mee! Email me you info, so I can get this in the mail.
Stay tuned, because Monday brings another swag-tastic giveaway!
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Love is ?
GAH! Thanks you all for you lovely, lovely comments and reminding me that my local drama may suck like a hoover, but it is not all of my life. The self-pity portion of my day is done and I'm on to remembering I serve a great and mighty God that can see me through my trouble.
Big Red's clavicle is fine and Schmaiser didn't even charge me for the visit. Surprising? Keep in mind that Red was having a colossal temper tantrum and the receptionist may have decided that $10 could buy me a much needed drink. I've never seen him get quite that twisted and as embarrassed as I was, part of me was a little proud of his mighty temper. Sick, eh?
I'll confess this situation with The Worm and his wife still has me troubled. I've sent off my apology, but it's obvious that is simply not going to be enough. This makes me sad, because Mr. Clairol is caught in the middle of his wife and the man who is, for all intents and purposes, his brother. It is a shitty place to be and I put him there. I hate it when I fuck things up in such an extraordinary fashion. Unfortunately, I'm pretty good at it. I'm praying, trying to find my responsibility in this and the most Godly path. Ironic, since the actions that got me here were decidedly un-Godly. That's why I'm human and He's God, I guess.
And in support of my mom, she didn't cut me off or anything like that. You know when you call someone and you can hear how frazzled they are? Yeah, she was about 6 degrees left of that, so I didn't even go there. She's my favorite venting partner, because she almost always takes my side and has a crazy talent for spinning things so that I am perfect, right and all that is lovely. I can't tell you how awesome that is. But the lady has a lot on her plate these days and I am loathe to put my own shit on her, just so I can feel better.
Thank you again, for your love and support. I am continually in awe of the healing capacity of friendship. It is truly one of God's greatest gifts to us. Love is the internet!
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
You Like Me! You Really Like Me!
Okay, so I'm not clutching the award, sobbing at a podium. I'm still flattered to my tippy-toes. It's not every day I get an honor like this. Thank you, Mah-meeee, for passing an award onto me.
There are rules with this award. Here's what I have to do:
1. The winner can put the logo on his/her blog. Check
2. Link the person you received your award from. Check
3. Nominate at least 7 other blogs. Um, okay. I can't hog it to myself?
4. Put links of those blogs on yours.
5. Leave a message on the blogs of the people you've nominated.
Well, if I have to share...
1. Candi at Bittersweet
2. Jenny at Jenny On The Spot
3. Lisa at Blozulfog
4. Jenni at One Thing
5. Kristen at We Are That Family
6. Beth at Blind As A Bat
7. David at David Dust
This was hard, because there are a lot of blogs I adore. I have about 20 that are favorites. And I think David might be snarky about this, because he is a big snarky-pants. But it's okay. Snark away, Dust Daddy. I love you anyway. You can be like Sean Penn and ignore it if you want.
I'm going to go to the after party now...consists of scraping old peanut butter off my dining room chairs and sucking down some sweet tea. Aaaahhh, the glamour.
Random Shout-Outs and Linky Love
Want a free manicure kit? Go here and leave a comment before 6 pm PST tomorrow.
This is why Andrea is my friend. Because she is very pretty, extremely smart and leaves comments like this:
But, Damn it, preschool is fun! Yep Damn it from a 2 yo mouth is funny the first time too. Hugs, and seriously, duct taping diapers is not a crime.OR find some zippered light sleepers, cut the feet out so he's cool and put it on backwards so he can't get at the zipper. Your sanity is worth it!
She is brilliant!
And David is probably the only person who could make me laugh on a day like yesterday. He makes me wish we were closer, geographically speaking. I have a feeling my life would be a hell of a lot more fun with him in it.
Yesterday, I got over to Just Expressive and Raven had some excellent ranting going on. Can I just tell you how much I love that she calls her son "sprog?" Such an excellent nickname.
Jenny has a Butt series going on (Sorry, David, no Papis. I know. Ewwww, girl butts!) and it is cracking me up. (Get it, cracking??? Ahahahaha)
Last night, I was watching The Secret Life Of The American Teen with Drama Queen (the sacrifices I make for my child) and I was reminded of that scene in Breakfast Club, when Bender (Judd Nelson) tells Claire (Molly Ringwald) that she's "going to squeeze out a few puppies..." and then gestures that she'll blimp out. You know the one? Sure you do. Molly plays the mom of the main character on this show and she's not as sylph-like as she once was. Who amongst us is, really? Not me, for a damn fact. But it gave me a tiny measure of comfort that the divine Miss Ringwald has aged. I'm a petty, petty bee-ahtch.
Okay, that's all...Laundry is calling to me. The sweet siren song of Bounce and Gain. Mmmmmm.
This is why Andrea is my friend. Because she is very pretty, extremely smart and leaves comments like this:
But, Damn it, preschool is fun! Yep Damn it from a 2 yo mouth is funny the first time too. Hugs, and seriously, duct taping diapers is not a crime.OR find some zippered light sleepers, cut the feet out so he's cool and put it on backwards so he can't get at the zipper. Your sanity is worth it!
She is brilliant!
And David is probably the only person who could make me laugh on a day like yesterday. He makes me wish we were closer, geographically speaking. I have a feeling my life would be a hell of a lot more fun with him in it.
Yesterday, I got over to Just Expressive and Raven had some excellent ranting going on. Can I just tell you how much I love that she calls her son "sprog?" Such an excellent nickname.
Jenny has a Butt series going on (Sorry, David, no Papis. I know. Ewwww, girl butts!) and it is cracking me up. (Get it, cracking??? Ahahahaha)
Last night, I was watching The Secret Life Of The American Teen with Drama Queen (the sacrifices I make for my child) and I was reminded of that scene in Breakfast Club, when Bender (Judd Nelson) tells Claire (Molly Ringwald) that she's "going to squeeze out a few puppies..." and then gestures that she'll blimp out. You know the one? Sure you do. Molly plays the mom of the main character on this show and she's not as sylph-like as she once was. Who amongst us is, really? Not me, for a damn fact. But it gave me a tiny measure of comfort that the divine Miss Ringwald has aged. I'm a petty, petty bee-ahtch.
Okay, that's all...Laundry is calling to me. The sweet siren song of Bounce and Gain. Mmmmmm.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Highlights of The Morning
So far, my morning has consisted of the following fun events:
*Drama Queen bursting into tears when I tried to fix the safety pins at her shoulders. She had tried to secure the (slightly off the shoulder) shirt to her camisole. I moved the pins under, so they weren't obvious. This was upsetting for some reason.
*Putting out a small fire in the microwave. Drama Queen tried to heat water in a metal coffee cup. Boy, that gifted program is really paying off. Now if I could just get the melted plastic fumes to dissipate.
*Listening to my newly minted four-year-old tell me, "I want to go to preschool, damn it!" No I didn't laugh...out loud.
*Dear Big Red,
If you ever take off you diaper and rub your poopy butt on the couch again, hand to God, I will teach all off your children to do the same thing, but in your car. I mean it.
Love,
Mommy
Aaaaand, the grand finale: my oven is on strike. It will stay on for five minutes, then shut off and alert me to the fact by beeping loudly and insistently. Gonna be a fucking beautiful day in the neighborhood.
Hey! Don't let my negativity make you forget to comment here to win some free crap! And no, it's not literal crap. Just stuff. Though I may be giving away a red headed two year old soon. Complete with literal crap. Whoooo!
*Drama Queen bursting into tears when I tried to fix the safety pins at her shoulders. She had tried to secure the (slightly off the shoulder) shirt to her camisole. I moved the pins under, so they weren't obvious. This was upsetting for some reason.
*Putting out a small fire in the microwave. Drama Queen tried to heat water in a metal coffee cup. Boy, that gifted program is really paying off. Now if I could just get the melted plastic fumes to dissipate.
*Listening to my newly minted four-year-old tell me, "I want to go to preschool, damn it!" No I didn't laugh...out loud.
*Dear Big Red,
If you ever take off you diaper and rub your poopy butt on the couch again, hand to God, I will teach all off your children to do the same thing, but in your car. I mean it.
Love,
Mommy
Aaaaand, the grand finale: my oven is on strike. It will stay on for five minutes, then shut off and alert me to the fact by beeping loudly and insistently. Gonna be a fucking beautiful day in the neighborhood.
Hey! Don't let my negativity make you forget to comment here to win some free crap! And no, it's not literal crap. Just stuff. Though I may be giving away a red headed two year old soon. Complete with literal crap. Whoooo!
Monday, August 18, 2008
497 Down, 3 To Go
First off, let me explain the playcare concept from Saturday's post. There is an upscale grocery chain here in Northern Cal that has a small daycare facility in the store. You drop off your kids, they color, play and watch videos, supervised by a store employee, while you grocery shop in peace. They do not do diapers nor do they take you child to the bathroom, so you absolutely must be on the premises. They page you, you race to the playcare and take care of, um, business. This idea is genius. Genius! I do not shop at these stores, because amenities like free playcare mean more expensive groceries, but I have, on occasion, checked one or more of my children in and enjoyed a cup of coffee in the store's in house cafe while reading a trashy novel or a People magazine. I'm only human and as we have already established, shame is not a concept I am familiar with.
So for those of you saying, "Playcare? What's that?" there is your explanation. We decadent and brilliant Northern Californians know how to live. Though I will be honest and say I believe that Jenny has mentioned markets in the Seattle area that have similar features. Jenny? Care to weigh in? Now, onto the giveaway.
Among the many delights of BlogHer '08 was the unbelievable amount of swag to be had. You can see my total haul below.
That is a lot of free crap, children. So, in honor of my upcoming 500th post, I'm giving some of it away. To you!
That is a lot of free crap, children. So, in honor of my upcoming 500th post, I'm giving some of it away. To you! I struggled with how to do this. All in one fell swoop? That was tempting, just for the drama of it. But as I looked at my booty (the stuff, not my ass, though that too is prodigious in it's size) I noticed the possibility of thematic packages. I love me some thematic packages. (Why do I envision dressing Mr. Clairol's business up with a pirate hat and eye patch? Because I am a sick little pervert.)
So for the next several weeks, I'll be having swag-tastic giveaways. Yay! I love giving you people stuff. It gives me a warm glow in my heart. And reduces the clutter in my home. First up is a nail care extravaganza.
See? Isn't it pretty? In the spirit of full disclosure, I need to tell you that only the polish, button and manicure kit were swag. In order to flesh this package out, I had to purchase some Viagra a few things. The bag, file and cuticle cream are my additions. I love the bag, because I am a sucker for polka dots. They're so damn cheerful! And the Burt's Bees cuticle cream is wonderful. I love you all so much, I even bought the large tin. You're welcome.
The nail polish is a custom Essie shade that TNT had commissioned. I think I mentioned that the channel sponsored our Friday evening cocktail party at Ruby Sky, and they gave out bottles of "The Closer" Crimson. It's actually a nice red, bright and true, just how I like it. And lest you think I am giving you something I don't want, it's not true. I actually grabbed three bottles. One for me, one for Drama Queen and one for the lucky winner. I'm shameless for you people. Shameless!
The manicure kit has the full compliment of nail tools, including a cuticle stick and all held in a handy-dandy carrying case. The kit is courtesy of CafeMom. Love those ladies. The button, which you cannot see, says Be Nice To Me Or I'll Blog About You. Thank you Cafe Press, you guys rock. These came from my BlogHer swag bag and are my only ones. I am sacrificing them for your happiness. I hope you ingrates appreciate it.
To enter, leave a comment below, before Thursday night, say 6 pm PST. I'll announce the winner on Friday morning. C'mon, lurkers. I know you're there. Now is the time! Comment. It doesn't have to be witty or even clever. A simple "Hey, I want free crap," will do. I'm easy.
That's what she said. Ba-BUM-bum.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
More Yammering About Twilight.
After a week and a half of being away, I'm trying to catch up on my blog reading. It's hard, since I have a bajillion blogs I read and they all tend to be prolific posters. I just had a long visit with The Caffeinated Librarian, who sent me over to Occupation: Girl's hilarious, laugh-out-loud funny posts about the Twilight books.
Now you know I read them and loved them, but there is some shame attached to them. They are a guilty pleasure. Cleolinda articulates this beautifully. Seriously, I read these long-ass posts and laughed out loud many, many times. This girl is seriously smart and seriously funny and has perfectly expressed my mixed feelings about Stephanie Meyer's opus. Opuses. Opi? No that's nail polish...whatever.
If you have read Twilight, go and read these. If you haven't but want to, stay away and come back when you're done. If you're not planning on reading the books but are curious about why I would attend a 9pm-12 am prom-themed book release party without a gun to my head, go and let Ms. Cleo enlighten you.
That's all, go back to what you were doing. Wait! No! Remember to came back tomorrow, and read all about my 500th post giveaway extravaganza! Now, go back to what you're doing.
Now you know I read them and loved them, but there is some shame attached to them. They are a guilty pleasure. Cleolinda articulates this beautifully. Seriously, I read these long-ass posts and laughed out loud many, many times. This girl is seriously smart and seriously funny and has perfectly expressed my mixed feelings about Stephanie Meyer's opus. Opuses. Opi? No that's nail polish...whatever.
If you have read Twilight, go and read these. If you haven't but want to, stay away and come back when you're done. If you're not planning on reading the books but are curious about why I would attend a 9pm-12 am prom-themed book release party without a gun to my head, go and let Ms. Cleo enlighten you.
That's all, go back to what you were doing. Wait! No! Remember to came back tomorrow, and read all about my 500th post giveaway extravaganza! Now, go back to what you're doing.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
You Might Be A Stay At Home Mom Saturday
If you've ever put your kids in the grocery store playcare, just so you could drink a cup of coffee and read a magazine without interruption, you might be a stay-at-home-mom.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Jenny Wastes More Of My Time
I just noticed I'm perilously close to 500 posts. I have BIG plans for this milestone. Big GIVEAWAY plans, so stay tuned. The details are coming on Monday.
Jenny has introduced me to a new fun thing. No, not the what celebrity do you look like site. They lost me when they told me I looked like Eva Mendez. Sha, right. Whatever. No, this is an avatar creator. You all know my previous avatar, which David told me how to get.
But Jenny found an even better avatar generator. Why is it better? Because it gave me one that has BOOBIES! And I love my boobies. Here is the new me. Check out her rack!
Whooo! Rock those boobies, baby!
Jenny has introduced me to a new fun thing. No, not the what celebrity do you look like site. They lost me when they told me I looked like Eva Mendez. Sha, right. Whatever. No, this is an avatar creator. You all know my previous avatar, which David told me how to get.
But Jenny found an even better avatar generator. Why is it better? Because it gave me one that has BOOBIES! And I love my boobies. Here is the new me. Check out her rack! Whooo! Rock those boobies, baby!Go over to FaceYourManga to get one. Then post it on your blog and link to your site in my comments. We'll have an avatar fashion show. It'll be dorkilicious. Holla atcha boy, Blayne!
School's Starting. Break Out You Wallet.
Last night was better. Mr. Clairol reports that Missy didn't even ask for a binky. She slept through the night. It's 7:30 and she's still asleep.
Thank You, Blessed Mother and Father God. I recognize divine intervention when I see it.
Mr. Clairol braved the wee ones alone last night, while I struck out on a far scarier and perilous journey. Back To School Shopping with Drama Queen. I know, you just shuddered. I do every time I think of it.
Here's the thing. I remember bowing to my mom's idea of what was cute and not asserting what I wanted. I was afraid if I said no, she'd get mad and I would wind up with nothing. (FYI, that totally would NOT have happened. It wasn't that my mom was overbearing. It was that I lacked the confidence to say, no, I don't like that, I want this instead. All me, not her. She was and is a fabulous mom. I know this now, because I am a mother and a new perspective? It changes my recollection. A lot) She meant well and she had great taste, but it wasn't mine, you know? I was dorky enough on my own, it wasn't like I needed much help. And I want something different for DQ. Yet, she's falling into the same trap. I hold something up and can see by the "meh" look that she doesn't like it. But she's all, "No, it's cute. Really." Hand to God, once, she rolled her eyes. No, I never stab her with a hanger. But I want to.
The original plan? A couple pair of Skinny Jeans (intentional caps) and the supplies she had to have. Then Poppy intervened. With cash money. A lot of it. So the quick run to Mervyn's became a multi-store bargain safari. Which was pretty cool, if I'm being honest.
Mervyn's netted us a pair of Skinny Jeans and a pair of capris, a blouse and a T-shirt. Then it was on to Tar-Jay. And yes, we got Starbucks. (Fuck you, Skinny Bitch, wherever you are.) You know the clearance racks? We hit them and hit them hard. This is the beauty of XS, there are a ton of those babies left! We found so many cute things. And I finally found a way to participate without taking over. We made a deal. If I held something up, she could say, "I want it," or "That's not for me." No anger, no frustration. And it worked. Beautifully. She finally had the freedom to say no.
After clothes, earrings and assorted toiletries, we headed to school supplies. She insists she wants her binder from last year and her backpack too. And that's fine with me. We bought all the requisite writing utensils, protractors, etc. I had a minor heart attack when we went to check out calculators. She's taking Geometry this year and needs a graphing calculator. To the tune of $100. Yeah, I love the IB program. Have I mentioned the Washington DC trip? To the tune of $500? Unh. I better learn to love Top Ramen. (Update: G-ma has a graphing calculator that she is giving DQ. Along with a computer. My parents are seriously the best grandparents ever.)
So we scored a lot of cute new clothes, she's happy and my bank account is intact. Sounds like a happy ending to me. Except for the part where I have to start getting up at 5:30 am again.
Thank You, Blessed Mother and Father God. I recognize divine intervention when I see it.
Mr. Clairol braved the wee ones alone last night, while I struck out on a far scarier and perilous journey. Back To School Shopping with Drama Queen. I know, you just shuddered. I do every time I think of it.
Here's the thing. I remember bowing to my mom's idea of what was cute and not asserting what I wanted. I was afraid if I said no, she'd get mad and I would wind up with nothing. (FYI, that totally would NOT have happened. It wasn't that my mom was overbearing. It was that I lacked the confidence to say, no, I don't like that, I want this instead. All me, not her. She was and is a fabulous mom. I know this now, because I am a mother and a new perspective? It changes my recollection. A lot) She meant well and she had great taste, but it wasn't mine, you know? I was dorky enough on my own, it wasn't like I needed much help. And I want something different for DQ. Yet, she's falling into the same trap. I hold something up and can see by the "meh" look that she doesn't like it. But she's all, "No, it's cute. Really." Hand to God, once, she rolled her eyes. No, I never stab her with a hanger. But I want to.
The original plan? A couple pair of Skinny Jeans (intentional caps) and the supplies she had to have. Then Poppy intervened. With cash money. A lot of it. So the quick run to Mervyn's became a multi-store bargain safari. Which was pretty cool, if I'm being honest.
Mervyn's netted us a pair of Skinny Jeans and a pair of capris, a blouse and a T-shirt. Then it was on to Tar-Jay. And yes, we got Starbucks. (Fuck you, Skinny Bitch, wherever you are.) You know the clearance racks? We hit them and hit them hard. This is the beauty of XS, there are a ton of those babies left! We found so many cute things. And I finally found a way to participate without taking over. We made a deal. If I held something up, she could say, "I want it," or "That's not for me." No anger, no frustration. And it worked. Beautifully. She finally had the freedom to say no.
After clothes, earrings and assorted toiletries, we headed to school supplies. She insists she wants her binder from last year and her backpack too. And that's fine with me. We bought all the requisite writing utensils, protractors, etc. I had a minor heart attack when we went to check out calculators. She's taking Geometry this year and needs a graphing calculator. To the tune of $100. Yeah, I love the IB program. Have I mentioned the Washington DC trip? To the tune of $500? Unh. I better learn to love Top Ramen. (Update: G-ma has a graphing calculator that she is giving DQ. Along with a computer. My parents are seriously the best grandparents ever.)
So we scored a lot of cute new clothes, she's happy and my bank account is intact. Sounds like a happy ending to me. Except for the part where I have to start getting up at 5:30 am again.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
The Cost Of Cake and Candles (Updated)
The Binkie Fairy got her ass handed to her last night. In a big way. That Missy is more tenacious than I gave her credit for.
Don't get me wrong. They Fairy triumphed. But she's in rough shape this morning, children.
Missy had a great birthday. All the requisite ingredients: cake, swimming, friends, G-ma and Poppy, Lou and gifts. Life was pretty great, until bed time.
When it was time to put the binkies in the box, she balked. "I think I want to have a binky tonight, Mama."
"No, honey. You're a big girl now and it's time to give the binkies to the Binky Fairy. She's going to bring you a wonderful present!"
"Um, no. I want my binkies."
I forced the issue, because I am mean that way. The binkies went in the box, the box went on the porch, because she was suddenly afraid of the fairy. Well, the bitch was stealing her binkies! What's not to be afraid of??? And she cried. Cried and screamed until 9:30, when she fell into an uneasy sleep. She woke up five times during the night. You remember yesterday, when I mentioned how Mr. Clairol and I wept with exhaustion? We were revisiting that last night. And my darling child, that will sleep until noon, if I let her? Up at 6 o'-fucking-a-god damn- clock.
Dear Blessed Virgin,
I am not a Catholic and so do not pray to you often, but you were a mother and I need to ask for some of your divine patience, since I'm pretty sure you didn't kill any of your children. Thank you.
There were many times during the night that I almost caved and gave her a binky. That is the truly hard part of parenting. Stroking her sweaty hair, meeting her red and teary eyes and denying her desperate request killed me. Hearing her heart-breaking cries? Well, it broke my heart. I'm not made of stone, people. But I stayed strong, knowing that four years old is far too old to have a pacifier. Even if it is only for sleeping.
Today, we get to go to the doctor and have four vaccinations! Yay! There will even be one for Drama Queen as well, so she doesn't feel left out. Missy's new motto is going to be Birthdays Suck Ass! Come to think of it, that's pretty catchy. Sounds like a bumper sticker to me.
Update: We're back from the doctor's office and I have a new respect for my middle child. I was honest with her from the start, that she was getting shots and they would sting a bit, for a little while. When it was our turn, she hopped up in the chair, told the nurse she needed shots, and took them like a little Marine. Not a wince, not even an ow! That kid is tough-stuff! Hoo-rah!
Don't get me wrong. They Fairy triumphed. But she's in rough shape this morning, children.
Missy had a great birthday. All the requisite ingredients: cake, swimming, friends, G-ma and Poppy, Lou and gifts. Life was pretty great, until bed time.
When it was time to put the binkies in the box, she balked. "I think I want to have a binky tonight, Mama."
"No, honey. You're a big girl now and it's time to give the binkies to the Binky Fairy. She's going to bring you a wonderful present!"
"Um, no. I want my binkies."
I forced the issue, because I am mean that way. The binkies went in the box, the box went on the porch, because she was suddenly afraid of the fairy. Well, the bitch was stealing her binkies! What's not to be afraid of??? And she cried. Cried and screamed until 9:30, when she fell into an uneasy sleep. She woke up five times during the night. You remember yesterday, when I mentioned how Mr. Clairol and I wept with exhaustion? We were revisiting that last night. And my darling child, that will sleep until noon, if I let her? Up at 6 o'-fucking-a-god damn- clock.
Dear Blessed Virgin,
I am not a Catholic and so do not pray to you often, but you were a mother and I need to ask for some of your divine patience, since I'm pretty sure you didn't kill any of your children. Thank you.
There were many times during the night that I almost caved and gave her a binky. That is the truly hard part of parenting. Stroking her sweaty hair, meeting her red and teary eyes and denying her desperate request killed me. Hearing her heart-breaking cries? Well, it broke my heart. I'm not made of stone, people. But I stayed strong, knowing that four years old is far too old to have a pacifier. Even if it is only for sleeping.
Today, we get to go to the doctor and have four vaccinations! Yay! There will even be one for Drama Queen as well, so she doesn't feel left out. Missy's new motto is going to be Birthdays Suck Ass! Come to think of it, that's pretty catchy. Sounds like a bumper sticker to me.
Update: We're back from the doctor's office and I have a new respect for my middle child. I was honest with her from the start, that she was getting shots and they would sting a bit, for a little while. When it was our turn, she hopped up in the chair, told the nurse she needed shots, and took them like a little Marine. Not a wince, not even an ow! That kid is tough-stuff! Hoo-rah!
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Happy Birthday, Missy Hoohaw
You are four years old today. It seems impossible to me, that four years ago, I held you in my arms and marveled at your beauty. Impossible that four years ago, your father and I brought you home and watched you watching us. Impossible that four years ago, your father and I wept from exhaustion, sure you would never sleep more than fifteen minutes at a time.
Eventually you did. Now, you are the sleeper in the house. You are almost always the last one up. And always needing a few minutes of cuddles and blankie time before you're ready to face the day. But you generally greet the day with a smile.
This is the year we say goodbye to the binkie. I've let you keep a pacifier, long after I thought it okay. You treasure your binkie and it seemed that every time I tried to wrest it away, you simply stole your brother's. I finally have put my foot down. Tonight we will take a beautifully decorated box and place all your binkies in it. The Binkie Fairy will take them away and make a star out of them. Tomorrow night, when you ask for your binkie, Daddy and I will take you outside and show you the star that once was the binkies. I hope, for all of our sakes, that you buy into this. In return the binkie fairy is bringing you a purse with a feathered fan, a boa and glittery pink nail polish.
You love nail polish. On a whim, I painted your toenails, while doing my own. You were fascinated and when I asked of you wanted yours done, you played it cool, but I knew you were bubbling with glee. For days afterwards, you would show your toes to any and all that happened by, delighted in the hot pink. They are purple right now, thanks to your sister. I think the sparkly pink will be a hit. That Binkie Fairy knows what she's doing.
Your other obsession is the bus. The pearl white, 66 Volkswagen camper, affectionately known as Fraulein Greta. The best time in the world is riding in the front seat, safari windows open, feeling the wind in your face and hair. I believe that bus and Lou are all you truly need for happiness. Maybe the Binkie Fairy should give you the deed. She'll have to negotiate with Daddy. 
Happy Birthday, Missy Hoohaw. Your joy and love brighten our world and we are incredibly blessed to raise you. Your laugh is my gift from God and hearing it wipes even the saddest thoughts from my mind. We adore you.
Eventually you did. Now, you are the sleeper in the house. You are almost always the last one up. And always needing a few minutes of cuddles and blankie time before you're ready to face the day. But you generally greet the day with a smile. Your brother and sister are pretty stereotypical of their age and gender. You, of all my children, have the most of my free spirit. You don't particularly care about conforming, preferring to do your own thing to what the group is doing. I like that about you, but I have a feeling it's going to become a problem as your school career progresses.
You love to run and chase, tickle, tag and swim. Physical play is your favorite, though lately, you've re-discovered the joy of pretend. It usually involves you rescuing your baby dolls. They need a lot of comfort and care, but they can always depend on you to provide it. You're a great dolly mommy. And a pretty fine baseball player. You can hit a slowly lobbed pitch, but only if you have your Volkswagen baseball cap on and only is we say, "Keep your eye on the ball." If we forget, you remind us. I can't wait for you to do that in Little League.
You love to read. Your favorite book varies from night to night, but the current rotation is Skippyjon Jones, If You Give A Moose A Muffin and David Gets In Trouble. At night, you like to look at your books, until you feel tired. Of course, you always have a stuffed animal and you blanket. Oh my, the blanket. Other kids hold onto an old receiving blanket, a soft reminder of their baby years. You chose for your own a maroon and white woven throw that features the wonders of Arkansas. I blame your Uncle Virgil and Aunt Karen, since they are the ones who gave it to your father eons ago. You love that thing, never mind that it is huge and a little ugly. It's been only recently that I have convinced you the blanket must stay at home. I have yet to convince you that washing it is a good (and necessary) thing.
This is the year we say goodbye to the binkie. I've let you keep a pacifier, long after I thought it okay. You treasure your binkie and it seemed that every time I tried to wrest it away, you simply stole your brother's. I finally have put my foot down. Tonight we will take a beautifully decorated box and place all your binkies in it. The Binkie Fairy will take them away and make a star out of them. Tomorrow night, when you ask for your binkie, Daddy and I will take you outside and show you the star that once was the binkies. I hope, for all of our sakes, that you buy into this. In return the binkie fairy is bringing you a purse with a feathered fan, a boa and glittery pink nail polish. You love nail polish. On a whim, I painted your toenails, while doing my own. You were fascinated and when I asked of you wanted yours done, you played it cool, but I knew you were bubbling with glee. For days afterwards, you would show your toes to any and all that happened by, delighted in the hot pink. They are purple right now, thanks to your sister. I think the sparkly pink will be a hit. That Binkie Fairy knows what she's doing. You're an animal lover. Your first word was puppy and The Beast is a beloved playmate. He's a little big and rough though, so when Lou the puppy came to live with G-ma and Poppy, you were delighted. We call her Lou-cifer. You call her your little sister. You'd love a kitten, but Daddy and Mommy are very allergic, so that, my dear, will be a dream delayed. It's not just the fuzzy animals that capture your heart. You love fish, bugs, reptiles...anything. They fascinate you. Next year, I see a pet fish in your future.
Your other obsession is the bus. The pearl white, 66 Volkswagen camper, affectionately known as Fraulein Greta. The best time in the world is riding in the front seat, safari windows open, feeling the wind in your face and hair. I believe that bus and Lou are all you truly need for happiness. Maybe the Binkie Fairy should give you the deed. She'll have to negotiate with Daddy. Happy Birthday, Missy Hoohaw. Your joy and love brighten our world and we are incredibly blessed to raise you. Your laugh is my gift from God and hearing it wipes even the saddest thoughts from my mind. We adore you.Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Good F*&#ing Morning!
Yesterday was a party. A frickin' surprise party to which I showed up with old clothes, bed head and no make-up. A surprise party in which the guests all hated me, embarrassing stories were told and a slide show of my worst ever pictures ran continuously. The soundtrack was 4 Non-Blondes song What's Going On. I was the pinata.
Okay, I've veered off into melodrama. It was a bad day. On the positive side, I got some laundry done and I am finally back online. But on the negative side...
Big Red crapped on the floor. How great is that? He took off his trainers, squatted and dropped a load in my f'ing living room. LIKE A DOG! And I swear to God above, if anyone comments that is a sign of toilet readiness, I will hunt you down and peel your skin back with a rusty vegetable peeler.
My refrigerator died. Did I mention it was crammed full of milk and eggs and assorted perishables? I managed to get the stuff in my freezer transferred to the big garage freezer and the really fragile stuff on ice, but I was frantic for most of the afternoon. We cannot afford a new fridge right now. And I don't mean, if we buy a fridge, there goes the back-to-school, vacation, savings, etc. There is NO money. Luckily, God heard my despair and that evening, the fridge had come back to life. I've dubbed it Lazafridge.
I had a severe allergic reaction to something that caused the white of my eye to swell and bubble like something out of a sci-fi movie. My iris and pupil appeared sunken and my blood-shot eye had bubbles rising and collapsing. And, children, it freaked me right the hell out. I called Mr. Clairol, made him come home early and drive me to the doctor's office. I had a four o'clock appointment. I left there at 5:45 with eye drops and instructions to keep a cold compress on it. Thanks, Schmaiser and f*%# you very much.
Mr Clairol neglected to put Pull-ups on Missy last night and she soaked her bed. So at 1:30 in the morning, I was changing sheets and consoling Missy, who was devastated that her nightgown was too wet to sleep in. Plus, her blanket was soaked in pee, so she had to do without that as well. The trauma was extreme, people. EX-treme. It was then that I began investigating the possibility of changing my name and opening a massage parlor on Bora Bora.
But today is a new day and I have hazelnut coffee from Bubba's Sis brewing, bread in the machine, strawberry cream cheese crescents in the oven and I'm making a sour cream fudge cake with peanut butter icing for Missy's birthday tomorrow. Her gifts are wrapped, she's so excited, she's carbonated and I get to put up balloons and streamers tonight. Plus, the house guest who has been here for ten days is going home. I love the kid to death, but I'm ready for my home to be my own again. So it's gonna be a good day. With God as my witness, it's going to be a good f*&#ing day!
Okay, I've veered off into melodrama. It was a bad day. On the positive side, I got some laundry done and I am finally back online. But on the negative side...
Big Red crapped on the floor. How great is that? He took off his trainers, squatted and dropped a load in my f'ing living room. LIKE A DOG! And I swear to God above, if anyone comments that is a sign of toilet readiness, I will hunt you down and peel your skin back with a rusty vegetable peeler.
My refrigerator died. Did I mention it was crammed full of milk and eggs and assorted perishables? I managed to get the stuff in my freezer transferred to the big garage freezer and the really fragile stuff on ice, but I was frantic for most of the afternoon. We cannot afford a new fridge right now. And I don't mean, if we buy a fridge, there goes the back-to-school, vacation, savings, etc. There is NO money. Luckily, God heard my despair and that evening, the fridge had come back to life. I've dubbed it Lazafridge.
I had a severe allergic reaction to something that caused the white of my eye to swell and bubble like something out of a sci-fi movie. My iris and pupil appeared sunken and my blood-shot eye had bubbles rising and collapsing. And, children, it freaked me right the hell out. I called Mr. Clairol, made him come home early and drive me to the doctor's office. I had a four o'clock appointment. I left there at 5:45 with eye drops and instructions to keep a cold compress on it. Thanks, Schmaiser and f*%# you very much.
Mr Clairol neglected to put Pull-ups on Missy last night and she soaked her bed. So at 1:30 in the morning, I was changing sheets and consoling Missy, who was devastated that her nightgown was too wet to sleep in. Plus, her blanket was soaked in pee, so she had to do without that as well. The trauma was extreme, people. EX-treme. It was then that I began investigating the possibility of changing my name and opening a massage parlor on Bora Bora.
But today is a new day and I have hazelnut coffee from Bubba's Sis brewing, bread in the machine, strawberry cream cheese crescents in the oven and I'm making a sour cream fudge cake with peanut butter icing for Missy's birthday tomorrow. Her gifts are wrapped, she's so excited, she's carbonated and I get to put up balloons and streamers tonight. Plus, the house guest who has been here for ten days is going home. I love the kid to death, but I'm ready for my home to be my own again. So it's gonna be a good day. With God as my witness, it's going to be a good f*&#ing day!
Monday, August 11, 2008
A Tantrum In A Teacup
I just condoned the forceful retrieval of a plastic teacup.
Missy is trying to have a tea party. Big Red is trying to steal her teacups, because he is desperate to be played with. She watches her brother snatch the cup and wails in ear-shattering decibels. I'm getting tired of it. (I know, you're shocked.) So I stop making out with my newly-restored Internet connection and tell Missy, "Take it back."
She looks bewildered for a moment, then reaches out to take the cup back. Big Red dances away, since, duh, this is exactly what he was after. Missy looks to me as if to say, "How far do I take this?"
Big sisters of the world, unite. I, too, had a stinky, pain-in-the-butt, play-with-me, play-with-me- please brother and I remember. Vividly. Because he's still a stinky, pain-in-the-butt brother sometimes.
"Go get it back," I encourage her. So she corners her brother, grabs his arm and wrests the cup away. He screams (anger, not pain), she ignores him and I help him find a teacup that is not crucial to his sister's happiness and my sanity. I do suggest that she let Big Red join the tea party, but she rolls her eyes and informs me that he will ruin it because he is a baby and also, a boy. Boys always ruin tea parties. But then she asks him if he wants tea in his cup and tells him to sit over there (across the living room) while she gets it.
Probably not the most politically correct, modern parenting, but you know what? I'm okay with that.
Missy is trying to have a tea party. Big Red is trying to steal her teacups, because he is desperate to be played with. She watches her brother snatch the cup and wails in ear-shattering decibels. I'm getting tired of it. (I know, you're shocked.) So I stop making out with my newly-restored Internet connection and tell Missy, "Take it back."
She looks bewildered for a moment, then reaches out to take the cup back. Big Red dances away, since, duh, this is exactly what he was after. Missy looks to me as if to say, "How far do I take this?"
Big sisters of the world, unite. I, too, had a stinky, pain-in-the-butt, play-with-me, play-with-me- please brother and I remember. Vividly. Because he's still a stinky, pain-in-the-butt brother sometimes.
"Go get it back," I encourage her. So she corners her brother, grabs his arm and wrests the cup away. He screams (anger, not pain), she ignores him and I help him find a teacup that is not crucial to his sister's happiness and my sanity. I do suggest that she let Big Red join the tea party, but she rolls her eyes and informs me that he will ruin it because he is a baby and also, a boy. Boys always ruin tea parties. But then she asks him if he wants tea in his cup and tells him to sit over there (across the living room) while she gets it.
Probably not the most politically correct, modern parenting, but you know what? I'm okay with that.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Streamers and Cupcakes
In the midst of a very trying Internet withdrawal period, I've had birthdays to contend with. Summer is the Season of the Birthday here. Big Red, my Dad and Missy Hoohaw all have birthdays within a month of each other. This is also the time we are receiving the paperwork for back to school. With three kids entering school district programs, it's been a paper-work-apalooza here.
The mass birthday party was a great time. This is the third year we've done this and I have to say, it's been a wonderful idea. We gather at my folks house, my brood, my brother and his guests, my aunt and her husband, along with their grandkids and my grandmother. The kids all have gifts to open.Even the ones with birthdays at a different time of year. It gets a wee bit insane, because my mom and aunt are crazy gift buyers. My dad called it Christmas in August.
Mostly, it's a great excuse to get together and visit. We're a pretty close family and these times are increasingly precious, for obvious reasons. This year, my grandfather joined us as well. Not my grandmother's husband. See, my maternal grandmother is the one who joins us regularly. It's my paternal grandfather who joined us this time. I know. My family gets a little convoluted.
Another new addition was my brother's new love interest (I'm not allowed to call her girlfriend) and her son. She's great and we all breathed a big sigh of relief, since we were all a little afraid he'd be back to his hoochie-loving ways. But she is lovely, sweet and seemed to have a good time with the family. This is important, since my brother is a mama's boy.
We had to leave early, due to impending bed times, but I was so glad that were able to get together and enjoy each other. It doesn't always work out that way. Because you can't choose your family. Mostly, I'm glad about the one I got.
The mass birthday party was a great time. This is the third year we've done this and I have to say, it's been a wonderful idea. We gather at my folks house, my brood, my brother and his guests, my aunt and her husband, along with their grandkids and my grandmother. The kids all have gifts to open.Even the ones with birthdays at a different time of year. It gets a wee bit insane, because my mom and aunt are crazy gift buyers. My dad called it Christmas in August.
Mostly, it's a great excuse to get together and visit. We're a pretty close family and these times are increasingly precious, for obvious reasons. This year, my grandfather joined us as well. Not my grandmother's husband. See, my maternal grandmother is the one who joins us regularly. It's my paternal grandfather who joined us this time. I know. My family gets a little convoluted.
Another new addition was my brother's new love interest (I'm not allowed to call her girlfriend) and her son. She's great and we all breathed a big sigh of relief, since we were all a little afraid he'd be back to his hoochie-loving ways. But she is lovely, sweet and seemed to have a good time with the family. This is important, since my brother is a mama's boy.
We had to leave early, due to impending bed times, but I was so glad that were able to get together and enjoy each other. It doesn't always work out that way. Because you can't choose your family. Mostly, I'm glad about the one I got.
Saturday, August 09, 2008
General Updates
*I survived the prom-themed Breaking Dawn release party. I finished the book. Oh. My. Sweet. Baby. Jesse!!!! SO GOOD!
*Saw the Mummy 3. I have to say, I have never been so disappointed by a movie. I love the first two Mummy movies. But they re-cast the Rachel Weisz role with Maria Bello and she didn't deliver. The plot was okay, had great potential, but the writing was horrendous. The dialogue was porn movie bad. And while that doesn't matter in a porno, I'm sure, it mattered here. A lot.
*My newest challenge? Back to school shopping with Drama Queen. Unh.
* Ran into the Worm and family at Tar-jay. Unpleasant, uncomfortable and a whole lot of other un-words. I pretty much feel like a giant pile of crap. Also, my husband is worried about what the VW crew thinks of me. That was a blow, I won't lie. I don't give a rip (haven't for years, since I realized nothing I did or said would make them like me) but he does and I can't make them think well of me. I'm trying really hard not to be hurt by the fact that they matter so much more to him than me, when he matters so little to them. So far, it isn't really working.
*I completely forgot to plan a party for Missy's birthday, which is taking place in a few days. Can you say, "Oh shit," children? I can. I've been saying it a lot lately. So I'm hastily throwing together a swim play-date and calling it a birthday party. Thankfully, Missy is still too young to know the difference. If there are cupcakes and balloons, it's a party! Woooo!
* I have a pile of paperwork beckoning me. I hate paperwork. All back to school type things with a smattering of insurance and warranty stuff to season it.
*Red's clavicle seems to be healing well. He's out of the brace, and I'm making an appointment for an x-ray later in the week. Just in time for his first day of Parent Toddler, thank goodness.
* I've gained back every pound I lost. Hooray! Wait, that's bad. Booooooo. So I'm back on the wagon today and trying to haul my giant ass onto my elliptical machine. Gotta remember to charge my ipod.
So there you have it. My scintillating life, in bite size morsels. Appetizers, ala PTN.
*Saw the Mummy 3. I have to say, I have never been so disappointed by a movie. I love the first two Mummy movies. But they re-cast the Rachel Weisz role with Maria Bello and she didn't deliver. The plot was okay, had great potential, but the writing was horrendous. The dialogue was porn movie bad. And while that doesn't matter in a porno, I'm sure, it mattered here. A lot.
*My newest challenge? Back to school shopping with Drama Queen. Unh.
* Ran into the Worm and family at Tar-jay. Unpleasant, uncomfortable and a whole lot of other un-words. I pretty much feel like a giant pile of crap. Also, my husband is worried about what the VW crew thinks of me. That was a blow, I won't lie. I don't give a rip (haven't for years, since I realized nothing I did or said would make them like me) but he does and I can't make them think well of me. I'm trying really hard not to be hurt by the fact that they matter so much more to him than me, when he matters so little to them. So far, it isn't really working.
*I completely forgot to plan a party for Missy's birthday, which is taking place in a few days. Can you say, "Oh shit," children? I can. I've been saying it a lot lately. So I'm hastily throwing together a swim play-date and calling it a birthday party. Thankfully, Missy is still too young to know the difference. If there are cupcakes and balloons, it's a party! Woooo!
* I have a pile of paperwork beckoning me. I hate paperwork. All back to school type things with a smattering of insurance and warranty stuff to season it.
*Red's clavicle seems to be healing well. He's out of the brace, and I'm making an appointment for an x-ray later in the week. Just in time for his first day of Parent Toddler, thank goodness.
* I've gained back every pound I lost. Hooray! Wait, that's bad. Booooooo. So I'm back on the wagon today and trying to haul my giant ass onto my elliptical machine. Gotta remember to charge my ipod.
So there you have it. My scintillating life, in bite size morsels. Appetizers, ala PTN.
Friday, August 08, 2008
Rumors Of My Demise
Have been greatly exaggerated. Rumors of my computer biting the big one are pretty much true.
We're down, yet again. This time, installing a security program caused us to lose our internet access. Dell wants to wipe my hard drive, for the third time. Argh. At least this time I can access the hard drive, so I'm frantically backing things up and hope to be back online by next week.
Be patient with me. I'm trying to come back to all you lovely people. I'm having pretty severe internet withdrawals. Not to mention the Twitters. Oh, the humanity!
We're down, yet again. This time, installing a security program caused us to lose our internet access. Dell wants to wipe my hard drive, for the third time. Argh. At least this time I can access the hard drive, so I'm frantically backing things up and hope to be back online by next week.
Be patient with me. I'm trying to come back to all you lovely people. I'm having pretty severe internet withdrawals. Not to mention the Twitters. Oh, the humanity!
Thursday, August 07, 2008
Negativity to the 4th power.
I really hate stupid f*&#ing Dell. And their service techs. And the mothers of their service techs. And the dogs of the mothers of the service techs. You get the picture.
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Monday, August 04, 2008
Sunday, August 03, 2008
Hope
A few days ago, my father sent me a link to this report on a possible cause of familial ALS. Yes, there is a familial strain of ALS and yes, that is some scary shit. But a group of scientists have discovered that certain properties of a certain type of protein that overproduces and clumps together in the brain. This causes a "toxic gain of function."
Toxic Gain Of Function seems like a great title for a book or a song...maybe even the name of a band.
The discovery of the protein happened fifteen years ago, but recent research has enhanced these findings and made clearer the role this protein has in ALS. Familial ALS is rare, estimated at only 10% of diagnosed ALS cases, but it's symptoms are the same as sporadic ALS. This is a breakthrough in research for a disease that is, for the most part, a mystery. Even more exciting is the stem cell research that is happening.
You never hear ALS talked about. There was a blip, a few months ago, when Angela Lansbury stepped up to become the spokeswoman for the ALS Association. Her sister died of the disease many years ago. Apparently, she filmed this PSA, which I have yet to see. In the wake of that, Nancy O'Dell talked about her mother's struggle with the disease. But if I had a nickel for every time someone asks me what ALS is or assumes that it is MS, I'd be a rich, rich bitch. I'm tempted to print up leaflets, just so I don't have to explain what the disease is and why it's different than MS. Maybe the ALS Association will kick a few my way, you know, since my Dad is their poster boy. Yes, he's totally famous! Locally, anyway.
I don't blog a lot about ALS, mostly because I can't do it without crying. I've perfected a clinical and detached manner when speaking to people and have a rehearsed spiel about how it's great to have time to say goodbye and my dad is an inspiration and blah, blah, blah. People probably think I'm callous, when in reality, it's a defense against breaking down in tears. But here at home, it's harder. Here at home, it gets personal. Here at home, I can't help but cry. And that doesn't help anything. So I'm taking action. I've joined as an ALSA Advocate. I'm not sure what that will look like, but it's going to feel a lot better than raging against a disease and a medical community, better than grieving for a loss that hasn't happened yet.
Stay tuned. I'm gonna be getting all medieval on ALS. Or at least on some legislators.
Toxic Gain Of Function seems like a great title for a book or a song...maybe even the name of a band.
The discovery of the protein happened fifteen years ago, but recent research has enhanced these findings and made clearer the role this protein has in ALS. Familial ALS is rare, estimated at only 10% of diagnosed ALS cases, but it's symptoms are the same as sporadic ALS. This is a breakthrough in research for a disease that is, for the most part, a mystery. Even more exciting is the stem cell research that is happening.
You never hear ALS talked about. There was a blip, a few months ago, when Angela Lansbury stepped up to become the spokeswoman for the ALS Association. Her sister died of the disease many years ago. Apparently, she filmed this PSA, which I have yet to see. In the wake of that, Nancy O'Dell talked about her mother's struggle with the disease. But if I had a nickel for every time someone asks me what ALS is or assumes that it is MS, I'd be a rich, rich bitch. I'm tempted to print up leaflets, just so I don't have to explain what the disease is and why it's different than MS. Maybe the ALS Association will kick a few my way, you know, since my Dad is their poster boy. Yes, he's totally famous! Locally, anyway.
I don't blog a lot about ALS, mostly because I can't do it without crying. I've perfected a clinical and detached manner when speaking to people and have a rehearsed spiel about how it's great to have time to say goodbye and my dad is an inspiration and blah, blah, blah. People probably think I'm callous, when in reality, it's a defense against breaking down in tears. But here at home, it's harder. Here at home, it gets personal. Here at home, I can't help but cry. And that doesn't help anything. So I'm taking action. I've joined as an ALSA Advocate. I'm not sure what that will look like, but it's going to feel a lot better than raging against a disease and a medical community, better than grieving for a loss that hasn't happened yet.
Stay tuned. I'm gonna be getting all medieval on ALS. Or at least on some legislators.
Saturday, August 02, 2008
Dust Bunny Alert
I've told you all how much I love David Dust. He's one of my favorite reads and I look forward to my morning Dust, a lot! Suddenly, he's under review by Blogger! I, for one, would love to know what's going on and why Blogger is doing this. Hey Blogger, WTF?!? We Want David!
In the meantime, you can find him here.
http://gailsfunbags.blogspot.com/
In the meantime, you can find him here.
http://gailsfunbags.blogspot.com/
You Might Be A Stay At Home Mom Saturday
If you get mildly homicidal when people say, "It's so nice you don't have to work," you might be a stay at home mom.
Friday, August 01, 2008
Happy Birthday Dad
Today is my father's birthday. I will, of course, call. There will be birthday emails and the obligatory cards. There will be gifts, though I'm not saying what since he is the only member of my family that reads with any regularity. On Saturday, there will be a big party, celebrating him, Missy Hoohaw, Big Red and other assorted cousins with summer birthdays.
But his birthday finds me remembering things. Driving the levees in his truck, sitting in the back with hot wind in my hair. Indian Princesses meetings, wearing leather medallions around our necks, and the knowledge that this was daddy/daughter time. Learning to ride a bike. Learning to drive a car. Water fights. The first time he gave me music and said, "Listen to this, I think you'll like it." (U2's Rattle and Hum, which my mother later confiscated, because of the line "She's a needle, needle and a spoon")
My dad passed down a lot to me. His biting wit. His love of language. His need for things to be as perfect as possible. His work ethic. His love of family. His taste in music. So much of what I value in myself, I can trace back to him and his influence in my life.
I've tried to be a good daughter, and I know that I've let him down, from time to time. There was the great advice, not taken. There was the broken trust. There was the choosing of paths he knew led to heartbreak. But he let me make the mistakes and as a parent, I now know how excruciatingly hard that is. But all in all, I know he's proud of me, glad to claim me as his own. He's been there to help me, whenever I need it, rarely saying, "I told you so" and never withholding his forgiveness and love.
So thank-you, Dad, for life, love and lessons no one else could have taught me. Thank you for spending time with me when I was young. Thank you for doing what was hard, because it needed to be done. Thank you for showing me what a loving father and husband look like, because without your example, I would never have found true and abiding love, nor known how to maintain it. And thank you for always letting me watch you build the Pinewood Derby car, and even, on occasion, letting me help.
Happy Birthday, Dad.
But his birthday finds me remembering things. Driving the levees in his truck, sitting in the back with hot wind in my hair. Indian Princesses meetings, wearing leather medallions around our necks, and the knowledge that this was daddy/daughter time. Learning to ride a bike. Learning to drive a car. Water fights. The first time he gave me music and said, "Listen to this, I think you'll like it." (U2's Rattle and Hum, which my mother later confiscated, because of the line "She's a needle, needle and a spoon")
My dad passed down a lot to me. His biting wit. His love of language. His need for things to be as perfect as possible. His work ethic. His love of family. His taste in music. So much of what I value in myself, I can trace back to him and his influence in my life.
I've tried to be a good daughter, and I know that I've let him down, from time to time. There was the great advice, not taken. There was the broken trust. There was the choosing of paths he knew led to heartbreak. But he let me make the mistakes and as a parent, I now know how excruciatingly hard that is. But all in all, I know he's proud of me, glad to claim me as his own. He's been there to help me, whenever I need it, rarely saying, "I told you so" and never withholding his forgiveness and love.
So thank-you, Dad, for life, love and lessons no one else could have taught me. Thank you for spending time with me when I was young. Thank you for doing what was hard, because it needed to be done. Thank you for showing me what a loving father and husband look like, because without your example, I would never have found true and abiding love, nor known how to maintain it. And thank you for always letting me watch you build the Pinewood Derby car, and even, on occasion, letting me help.
Happy Birthday, Dad.
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