Crossing the finish line!!

Yay! My last and final (isn't that a little redundant?) post of the month. And I DID IT. For Nablo, anyways. You already know how NaNoWriMo went for me, so let's not rehash that, shall we? I'm still grieving for the brilliant wordsmithing that never was.

So what type of tale shall I regale you with on this final nablo eve?

How about how A. told me the other day that "the white walls are disturbing me"?

Yep, she sure did! Here's the backstory. We painted our living room Turkey day weekend. A. and S. got little paint rollers and dh let them fire away while he cut into the trimming. At some point in time (it's all a little fuzzy cuz I was in our room sleeping contemplating frame placement) S. got her license to paint revoked. But that's irrelevant. What is relevant is that the living room is now not white (it's a really nice yellow-orangish color, if you care). And A. is totally impressed, not only that she got to help transform our drab living room into something cozier and visually interesting, but that it happened at all. We have plans to paint the kitchen red next. Cherry bomb red (sample grabbed from Dunn Edwards but cleverly brought into Lowe's for them to mix. Is that cheating?). A. has been chomping at the bit to get the kitchen painted. And after that, her and her sister's room. And after that- our room (but that won't happen until we replace the comforter set we have right now. Turns out I'm a lot less fond of it on my bed than I was when I grabbed it off the shelf at Sears. In April). Ok. So. A. comes up to me the other day, she's frowning. Not a happy camper.

"Mama," she says seriously.

"hmmmmm?"

"the white walls are disturbing me"

I stared at her. What do you say to that? How do you respond to a 4-year old who is making it sound like the very presence of the white walls in our home is making her crazy?!

By saying, "oh, hush. The walls aren't disturbing you."

Flash forward to today. There were plans of painting the kitchen this weekend. But due to dh recovering from a 7 hour drive as he is returning home from a 3-day tdy yesterday around 4 pm, and due to the fact that he had homework to do, painting was not on his list of things to do today. Which didn't bother me one bit. Paint it red today, paint it red tomorrow- eh. We have the paint and the supplies so I know it will get done. I have blogs to read and projects to knit other fish to fry so I'm not too worried about when it will get done. It will get done eventually. But this is not okay for A. So she's been badgering dh to start taping up the kitchen since she got up from her nap (yeah, they nap for him. Without fail. Not that I'm bitter. Or anything).

"I realized I don't have so much of a honey-do-list" he remarked this evening, "as a daddy-do-list. How did this happen?"

"Don't let her bully you into taping up tonight if you just want to rest. She's 4." I reminded him. As he is so often reminding me.

And so A. didn't get her groove on with the painting, and dh got a nice quiet evening while they watched Polar Express and forgot all about painting the kitchen red (At this point I always think about Alice in Wonderland: "we're painting the roses red, we're painting the roses red"… except substitute roses with kitchen. Get it!). Until it ended. But by then it was almost bed time.

Whew, he got off easy!

No doubt that will top her agenda tomorrow. After we return from dh's squadron children's Christmas party (Santa will be making his grand entrance on a helicopter! Oh, yeah!), of course. This kid- once she's decided on something, she can't be diverted. Try redirecting a kid like that! It just doesn't work. I'm not sure where she gets that from. *ahem. Me?*.

Oh, and my blackberry is possessed. I downloaded a trial photo viewing program, which is great. But it's taken over as my home screen. Which is not great. It doesn't have the functionality of the home screen that was there before Berry Pix took over. It's just a great big white advertisement for Berry Pix for wallpaper. That's all it is. Must have phone exorcised (without removing the software, of course. Cuz other than the violent take-over, I kinda like it). Oh yeah. I promised I'd let you guys know how it's going, didn't I? Well, maybe someday I'll be bothered to sit down and write about the technical crap that I like/don't like about my curve. Just know that for now, it is the most beautiful thing I've ever owned. Aside from my D70, of course. And it doesn't hurt that this beauty only cost me $30 (and a 2 year contract, but what the hell. Better than paying $199.99 after mail-in-rebate and a 2 year contract). I noticed that Dance Dance Revolution is one of the games I can buy to play on the curve. Which has me scratching my head. I mean, isn't the whole point of DDR to, uh, get you off your ass and dance? What benefit does one get from hitting tiny little keys on the keyboard to get the dance combinations right? You get a super bulked-up thumb? Gee, that's useful. Glad I'll be able to do away with the extra thumb flab I've been trying to get rid of since I had S..

So, there you have it, folks.

My last and final entry of November, and therefore, of NaBloPoMo.

A collective "HIP HIP HOORAY" to all my fellow bloggers who also crossed the finish line this evening.

And to my fellow NaNoWriMo-ers who actually hit or even surpassed 50,000 words in 30 days (yes, it does happen)-

YOU ROCK!

Maybe next year I'll join you in receiving the coveted purple bar (wasn't it green last year?).

The Airing of Grievances

I'll put it right out there. I'm not a Seinfeld fan. But I was fortunate enough to catch this episode somehow and you know what? It's fucking awesome! Probably the most brilliant idea to come from any sort of sitcom, EVER!

Of course, I'm talking about Festivus, folks.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with Festivus, it is a fictional holiday created by George's (one of the main characters) father. One of the Festivus traditions is the "airing of grievances". This is the part I have come to love so much. Because there are so many people in my life right now that I would just love to sit down and shout, "I gotta lotta problems with you people!" And then start going down the line with all the things they are doing and saying that somehow become my problem, which in turn causes me to strongly reconsider laying myself across some therapist's worn out couch and staying there. For a long, long time. Under heavy sedation.

And what better time to do such a thing than around the holidays, yeah? Because you know what happens after Christmas? The New Year. And people make resolutions that they'll be lucky to keep in the first 24 hours. Which makes the "airing of grievances" perfect for this time of year. Because then I have a reason to say all the things I'm unable to say the other 365 days without sounding like some tactless bitch. Anything to nurture the holiday spirit! And maybe what I have to say to these folks will give them something to think about. And they will conclude, you know what? Lynn is right! I do tend to (insert incredibly annoying and self-destructive behavior here)! This year I will resolve to be a better person and stop doing this or start doing that! And then I won't have to waste any of my time telling some stranger how and why these people are driving me bat-shit crazy throughout the entire fucking year, and figuring out coping strategies that do not involve me shaking the shit out of them until they can no longer see straight. Sometimes, my hands twitch at the very thought of them, and I look frantically around for a set of shoulders to grab. And then I remember that I am a grown woman. I have to be mature, right? Set an example for my girls about how to deal with such relationships. But seriously, if it weren't for the fact that several thousand miles separates me from them (Thank God for small favors, right?) I might have done it by now. I might have gone down the line and shaken them all up like snowglobes, and hoped that the falling snow would knock some sense into them.

Can you tell I'm just a little bit frustrated?

For your viewing pleasure, I present thee with a clip from Seinfeld's Festivus episode:

Happy Festivus for the rest of us!

Double Dipping

Whoa! Tonight you guys get two servings of vitamin me! Nablo ends in 2 days (yay) and I suppose this is my way of trying to go out with a bang! Because truly, my na-novel died a really slooooow, mildly painful death. I did make it to about 6,000 words. Well, there's always next year, right? A. will be in school by then so maybe I will do better. Maybe I'll make it to 10,000. Somehow it's easier to come up with a blog topic every day than to fabricate 50,000 words which only barely have to connect and make sense.

But that is not the reason I'm writing. I'm writing because I've just had a moment. One of those rare moments when your kid is not doing what they're supposed to (like sleep), but what they tell you is so adorable that you just have to humor them. And then when it's all done you're still smiling as you store it in that corner of your memory where you save such rare moments so you can call on them later when your kid is driving you bonkers.

S. was supposed to be in bed. But she's becoming quite adept at making up excuses for why she's not in bed. Usually it's a stomach ache. Every night. At bedtime. Whether that is 8:30 pm or 9:30 pm. Tummy ache at bedtime like clockwork. So she comes out, patting her tummy.

Me: why aren't you in bed? You're supposed to be in bed…

S: (mumbling) my belly hurt.

Me: you're stomach hurts? Do you want water?

(somehow, this always fixes a stomach ache. A little bit of water in their plastic green cup and they walk back to bed smiling. I think A. was the one who decided that water was the appropriate salve for a belly ache. Strange.)

S: no. my belly hurt. You sing happy song.

Me: you want me to sing a happy song?

S: (looks down at the floor and nods)

Me: (thinking, "what the hell kind of happy song makes a stomach ache go away?" I finally came up with If you're Happy And You Know It, since it was the happy song most recently performed.) Do you want to sing "if you're happy and you know it"?

S: (smiles) yeah.

So we sing the first verse of "if you're happy blah blah blah hands", clapping our hands in the obligatory spots, of course.

Once we finish I ask S. if she feels better. She begins to look sullen again (where do they learn this crap?!)

S: no. My belly still hurt. (curls her hands into fists and begins to thrust arms towards the ground for emphasis) You. Sing. Happy. Song!

Me: I just sang the happy song. It's time for you to go to bed.

S: (thrusting fists) you. (thrusting fists, again) sing. (and yet again) happy. (and again…) song!

Me: No more happy songs.

At this point, our moment is gone. Gone is the spontaneous joy of clapping to that song with my then adorable and now tyrannical 3-year old.

And going is my patience for this child who will not. Go. To. Bed. So I do what any smart mom with an incentive would do. Since their dad is out of town for work tonight and he bought them souvenirs, I use that for leverage.

Me: you're not going to get your present from daddy if you don't go back to bed right now.

S: no! I want my present!

Me: then go to bed.

S: (finally sufficiently worn down) ok.

She shuffles off to bed, and I get to go back to drooling- uh, ordering this wonderfully discounted (50% off, baby) Opal feeling sock yarn in colors 1702, 1705 & 1706 that I've had my eye on for months. Before, I just couldn't justify spending $20 per skein when that money could have gone to so many other enjoyable items (mainly, java and books. Even books about making socks.) But at $10/skein, it's cheap enough for me to not think about the peppermint white chocolate mocha's that I'm passing up for yarn (albeit wonderfully soft, colorful, stripey yarn) so that I could make a pair of socks myself. Even though I could get colorful, (different) stripey socks from Target for 1/3 of the cost of this yarn. Some of you get it, though. And for those that don't, I don't know what to tell ya. Making socks is fun.

And by the way, don't you just LOVE a quiet house?!

The Translator

We frequently check out children's movies from our local library. The selection is quite good, so we have basically had at least one movie from the library a week for the last few months without renting the same one twice! And you get to keep the movies for 5-7 days. Free. So, its pretty awesome to have so many options available so I don't have to listen to Meet The Robinsons or Jungle Book twice a day, every day until I die.

So, I had to return some videos and pick up some reserves from other library's today. The girls looked through the movies, as always and A. picked out La Bella Durmiente. Sleeping Beauty. In Spanish.

There are no subtitles.

But this doesn't seem to bother A. one bit. When the movie started I even started translating what I could catch (3 years of high school Spanish but 11 years since I've actually had to use any of it). Which was quite a bit, to my surprise. Anyways, so I'm translating (Once upon a time in a land far away there was a king and queen- standard for any sort of fairy tale involving a princess) and after a minute she tells me, "stop telling me what they're saying, mama, so I can hear it."

Uh. Ok? So far she doesn't seem to care that she doesn't understand one bit of what's being said. She sees a princess, some fairy godmothers and a wicked step-mother. I guess she figures she can gist the rest from context? Oh well. They're quiet. They're not tearing up my living room. They're happy. Whatever.

I really love the latino take on Sleeping Beauty. At some point the prince was riding around this giant (is there a giant in the English version of sleeping beauty? No, wait. There are dwarves. Right?)- so anyways, Prince, giant, pokes the giant in the nose with his sword after being captured by him and held up for inspection. Weird.

Ok, so hey, check this out.

I'm all for bizarre and unconventional humor. It's how dh and I show our affection for each other. But I have NO idea how I feel about this. Maybe you all can tell me?

We're Scrooged!

Picky, picky

Could A. be a more picky eater?

A.: (seeing the Chinese food on her sister's plate) I want broccoli

Me: do you want rice? Or just the broccoli?

A.: I just want beef

Me: You just want beef?

A.: yes. Just beef. No rice, no broccoli.

Me: I thought you just said you wanted broccoli

A.: (she vigorously shakes her head) Nope. No rice. No broccoli.

Me: alrighty then.

I scoop the beef and broccoli onto a plate, then proceed to sort out the broccoli and deposit it back into the take-out box. I put it in the microwave because, who eats cold beef (no broccoli)? Apparently, A. does. Ew.

A.: are you making my beef hot?

Me: just a little bit.

I program 30 seconds into the microwave oven.

A.: I don't want it hot!

Me: it's not going to be too hot.

A.: is it just going to be a little bit hot?

I stop the microwave with 23 seconds left to go and take out the plate of beef. It's just not worth the fight.

Me: Just a little bit hot.

A.: (after being served her plate of lukewarm beef- if it even warmed up that much!) where's the beef? (I promise you she said that!)

Me: that is beef on your plate!

A.: oh, ok. Is it hot?

Me: no, it's not hot.

My God! This kid! Also, not just an hour ago I confiscated her half-eaten apple from her when she started hacking up apple skin pieces onto the kitchen floor. "Hey!" she said as I took it and tossed it into the trash. "That's my apple!" "You were almost choking. You don't need it anymore." I told her. So you know what this kid does?! She goes into the fridge and grabs another apple. Without even asking me! She almost choked on the first one, so she went back for another one?! Ugh. Kids.

Help Me Live The Dream!

In addition to her outrageously amusing sense of humor, Lotus over at Sarcastic Mom is offering one lucky winner one of these Living The Dream t-shirts for FREE. I'm particularly fond of this one, color and all. Which means, I WANT ONE!! And this post helps me get one, twice! I would tell you to check it out, but why would I want to increase my competition?

Aw, hell.
Because I'm a really nice person. And this is the giving season, right?

So check out Lotus's rack at Sarcastic Mom for your chance to win one super cute Living The Dream t-shirt of your choice!

It’s Potty Time: an international perspective

In honor of S.'s potty progress (and then consesquential pissing on the couch a half an hour after I let her wear panties tonight. Did I say we were making progress? ), I thought I'd post a video about how the Japanese handle potty training.

Enjoy (particularly the talking toilet bowl)!

We all fall down

A. has lost her ever loving mind! Seriously!

Dh discovered that A. had colored in a library book I borrowed for them. There were green crayon scribbles strategically placed throughout the book. "I wanted a check book" she explained when asked about the offending marks. So, dh sent her to her room for the night. To which she replied, "I don't love you anymore if you ground me!" or something equally absurd and with the same exact sentiment. So now, she is not only to spend the rest of her night in her room (it's 9 pm- she should have been heading there soon, anyways), but she is now grounded for tomorrow. She went into her room as told, climbed into bed and then continued to protest her punishment while hot tears streaming down her face. You know how kids will get themselves so worked up that they start heaving in choppy breaths? Yeah, well. That was A.- heaving loud heavy sobs in between railing at the gods. Then she called me in there to tell me that she doesn't want to see me again because her daddy grounded her. WTF?!!! You can imagine how well that went over! We were going to do something really fun on Tuesday. Something that even I am looking forward to. But then I told her I was so upset with her words that she wasn't going to have fun Tuesday, either. Grrrrrr. What I may end up doing is going anyways, but only letting S. play. A can just sit next to me the whole time, watching her sister have a good time as I, myself, have a good time. Or perhaps we can work out some sort of pardon tomorrow evening. I don't know. I just know that 75% of the time, punishing the girls means that I am punished, too. Guilt by association and what not. And seriously, did dh just leave football on the tv as he went to bed?!!!

Ugh!

Too Old To Be Cute and The Potty Training Dilemma

Isn't 4 a little young to start getting upset about being called a "cutie pie"? I thought so, but apparently, I would be mistaken.

I took the girls with me to the LYS (local yarn store) this morning and one of the employees remembered the girls right away when we walked in. "Here come the cutie pies!" she said. A. turned to me after hearing that. "I'm NOT a cutie pie!" she insisted. "Yes, you are." I said, hoping the lady didn't hear A., and shoving her just gently enough to keep moving into the store and away from the door. I got them settled in "the nook" where there are toys, and pastries and pencils and paper- all put there specifically for the purpose of entertaining children and husbands whose idea of fun is not pawing through a colorful menagerie of various types of wool. My lys is probably the only place I can go to buy things where I'm not corralling my kids through the store in fear of them being snatched or walking too far away from me and getting lost. It's fabulous, and the employees are wonderful! I think it helps that the girls get a lollipop from the nice ladies when it's time to leave. Every time. Last time, they even scored pencils. Which reminds me that I need to get sharpeners for them, since I only use pens, there aren't really any laying around. And I think a steak knife would probably not be an appropriate tool for pencil sharpening. At least, not for two preschoolers. A. spends the next several seconds trying to convince me that she's not a cutie because she's not a baby ( I swear to you she said that. I have no idea where she learned this from.) and we must correct the nice lady who is clearly mistaken. I try distracting her with some toys and head to the aisle where the Encore worsted is being held, in search of a turquoise color for someone who is commissioning me for a project. Luckily, they had the exact color I was looking for in the exact brand of yarn, and was ready to make my purchase within a matter of minutes. A. was deeply involved in putting the white shorts back onto the tiny teddy bear, and S. was engrossed with some other plush type mammalian toy. Neither of them wanted to leave. Of course. This is the price I pay for bringing them to a place where they can enjoy playing while I enjoy shopping. Getting them out of the store is like pulling teeth. With greased up tweezers. Once we were in the car, A. reminds me that she is not a cutie pie because she is not a baby. And that lady should not call her a cutie pie again. "Mmmmhmmmm." I say as I think- isn't she a little young to be starting with this already?

On another note, we (meaning, "I") are having an interesting time potty training S.. A few weeks ago we were in the mall and S. needed to be changed. So we headed to the family restroom with the kid sized potty along with an adult sized potty, and one of those koala changing stations. A. decides she needs to potty as I'm changing S., so she goes to the big potty and does her thing. After changing S. I washed my hands, and when I was finished, noticed that S. had taken down her pants and pull-up and plopped herself on the potty. I wasn't in any hurry, so I stood there and played with my phone while I waited for the girls to finish up. I didn't really expect S. to use the potty because I've been trying the whole put-her-in-panties-and-let-'er-rip method of potty training on and off since earlier this year. Our most recent attempt, which was not too long ago, was a complete failure, much like all our other attempts. So she was once again in pull-ups until I regained the stamina necessary to shampoo piss off the carpets every half hour or so. And did I mention the laundry and constant bathing?

So I'm standing at the sink and A.'s finished washing her hands when I hear that wonderful sound of urine streaming into the toilet. And it was coming from S.! "You're going pee-pee!" I exclaimed. She smiled at me from the potty. "yeah." She said. I was so excited and so thrilled! But I didn't have any candy to reward her because, who would think a potty training kid would pee in public when they won't use the potty at home?! Dairy Queen was just outside the rest room area, so I stopped in there and bought her a child sized vanilla cone ( have you ever bought a child sized cone from DQ? The meager amount of soft serve you get for $1 truly astonished me! There probably wasn't even a full ounce of soft serve in that damn cone!) Anyways, I got her a cone, we sat down while she relished in her reward and then went about our evening. The incident must surely have been a fluke, I told myself.

Some fluke… she did it again in the mall a week later and was again rewarded with the perfect amount of DQ soft serve in a cone. A. was upset that she didn't get a cone, even after I explained to her why S. got one and she didn't. Her solution was to manipulate S. into giving her the cone for a few licks by hugging and kissing her and telling her how much she loved her. Which may sound innocent enough, until you stop to consider that this usually happens in such manner when S. has something A. wants. And it worked like a charm! S. was thrilled to be able to share her prize with her older sis. So that was that. And then we were at the library this last Tuesday for story time and as I was browsing through some books S. suddenly stopped, pushed her knees together and assumed the pee-pee stance. "Potty!" she said. "I have to go potty!" So off to the potty we go. The following statement will likely sound ludicrous, but if you are currently potty training, or have ever potty trained (those of you who potty trained your kid in a day don't count. Sorry) then you'll understand. When S. began to pee in the potty at the library I was completely flabbergasted! For the third time in 2 weeks she not only peed in a public restroom, but told me she had to pee before she actually went pee! There was no DQ nearby, so she didn't get a cone (which turned out to be a dangerous precedent to set, by the way. Because now when we go to the mall she thinks she's going to get a cone from there). I may have thought of something else in the meantime. I now have hershey's kisses in a sandwich bag in my purse.

So then I was left scratching my head- because just the day before I put her in panties thinking she'd go potty at home since she was doing it while we were out. But had no such luck. How do I get this kid to pee at home? I wondered to myself. We simply cannot afford to hang out at the mall all day until she's potty trained. Otherwise, that would be a fantastic solution to a fairly strange dilemma.

But then tonight she said she was wet so I went to change her and noticed her pull-up was dry so I walked her into the bathroom and let her climb onto the potty. Where she went! I was so excited! And she got a chocolate and she was excited! And then fifteen minutes later she did it again! Might we be making progress?!! God, one can only hope. I do have to say that this book I checked out may be helping- I took it out and started reading to her while she sat on the potty and she really likes it. It's called Tinkle Tinkle Little Tot and is compiled of (rather ridiculous) rhymes for potty training. So ridiculous, in fact, that some rhymes I just could not bring myself to read aloud. Gems such as:

Itsy-bitsy-poo-poo (sung to the tune of the istsy-bitsy spider)

An itsy-bitsy poo poo

Was floating in the bowl.

I wiped my bum with paper

And flushed it down the hole.

And

Toilet paper squares

One square, two square, three square, four-

Do not sprinkle on the floor.

Five square, six square, seven square, eight-

flush the toilet, you did great!

Regardless of how I personally feel about some of these rhymes, S. loved them in general, and the last time she went to sit on the potty she told me to come along and read to her from the book! I suppose I'll be committing a (very select) few to memory before it's time to return the book. Whatever works, right?

Things That Make You Go “hmmmmm”?!

I was talking to a girl yesterday who is going to school to become a pharmacist. At some point in the evening she and my friend, C. (who is a nurse) began entertaining me with stories of basic human stupidity in the med field. For example, the pharmacy-girl (we'll call her… J.) told us that whenever a patient is prescribed a suppository, they have to explicitly explain to the patient that the suppository is supposed to be unwrapped from its foil/plastic covering before ramming it up their ass. Because people were putting completely wrapped suppositories in their butt, which caused problems (duh) and landed them back at the doctor's office for a mysterious new ailment. I thought maybe this was some kind of pharmaceutical urban legend, but J. swears it's true. This is my favorite- patients being treated with anti-biotics for an ear infection have been known to put the anti-biotic in their ear, rather than swallowing it- the way you're supposed to. This, she assures me, is actually quite common.

WTF?!!!!!

In the Air Force, there is a saying- "if it's being briefed, it's been done". Meaning that if the powers that be mention that you shouldn't stick your tongue in a light socked during a pre-holiday safety brief (meeting), than it's because some idiot airman ended up severely hurt (or dead) because they put their tongue in a light socket. My favorite is, "don't lick your computer screen". I'm almost positive that this particular statement was someone's wise ass way of spicing up a safety briefing. But I love the image of uniform clad soldiers running their tongue across their monitors! It makes me smile.

Looks like the Air Force might have hit on something, except in these cases it's more like- if you're pharmacist has to tell you that you should not ingest the ky jelly you're about to purchase, then it's because some moron (possibly even several) actually ate some ky jelly.

So, in the spirit of celebrating basic human stupidity, I have found and compiled a short list of product instructions and warnings that will make you go, "hmmmm"?!

• Liquid Plummer: do not reuse bottle to store beverages
  Well, shit. Where am I going to put the beer I've been home brewing?

• Hair color: do not use as an ice cream topping
  This one was so outrageous to me that I went to look at some hair color names on the Garnier website- every single one of them is named for a food/drink! Maybe not such an unreasonable warning, after all? Because chocolate almond does sound as if it would be delicious on my vanilla ice cream.

• Sleeping pills: may cause drowsiness
  I'm speechless
  

• Mattress: warning- do not attempt to swallow
  How would you get even close to doing this?!
  

• RCA tv remote control: not dishwasher safe
  Is there a better way to get the peanut butter and honey off of it, then?
  

• Rowenta iron: do not iron clothes while on body
  But my blouse will look so much nicer seared onto my skin!
  

• 500-piece puzzle: some assembly required
  Well, fuck. Guess this is one gift I'm taking back to the store. Who wants to put 500 pieces of anything together?
  

• String of Chinese made Christmas lights: for indoor or outdoor use only
  Whew, I 'm so glad to hear that! I was wondering if it would be safe to put these outdoor lights on my garage door.
  

• Blanket from Taiwan: not to be used as protection during tornadoes
  Might this warning have come from the "hide under your desk in the event of a nuclear attack" era?
  

• 13-inch wheel on wheelbarrow: not intended for highway use
  Guess I'll have to get a new spare, then.
  

• Toilet bowl cleaning brush: do not use orally
  I don't even know what to say about this one.
  

• Portable stroller: caution- remove infant before folding for storage
  How far do you think this moron got before they realized the baby that should have been strapped into a car seat, has actually been folded up and tossed into the trunk with the stroller?
  

• Tv manual: do not pour liquids into television set
  Again, I've got nothing, folks.

• 6x10" inflatable picture frame: not intended for use as a flotation device
  Damn. I suppose I'll have to get a real life jacket for my kids to use at the pool!

Isn't this all just truly astounding?

This Video Could Save Your Life

First, I'd like to say that it is Thanksgiving day, and the temperature today is currently 69 degrees, with an expected high of 78. Bizarre.

Second, Happy Thanksgiving! Eat lots of turkey and pumpkin pah. You can think about how you're going to get rid of the extra calories tomorrow.

Now, have you ever thought about taking a self-defense class? Or thought about learning a new language? What about learning self-defense and learning a foreign language at the same time?!

Well, the Japanese have it covered. Here is a video designed to do just that! You get to learn how to protect yourself, as well as how to say come very critical phrases in English should this happen to you (assuming you are a Japanese woman about to get robbed).

Pay attention now, ladies. This video could save your life one day!

Rock On!

Okay. So I'm not a Guitar Hero kinda gal. I'm not even a real guitar kind of gal, I think. Which is a shame, because a few years ago (about 5) I decided I needed to learn how to play the guitar. So I sprang for a beautiful Ibanez which only cost me about $300. I tried to teach myself from a book for awhile (three months), and even had a friend come over to teach me once in awhile. I wonder what my noise must have sounded like to dh, because, gawd! I'm sure I was pretty awful! I love the idea of being musically talented with an instrument (5^th grade clarinet doesn't count because I really wanted a saxophone, and I only played in the band for that year. The clarinet simply wasn't as cool as a sax, you know?). I mean, my sister plays the piano and the flute, my mom allegedly played the guitar in her younger days, and I played… the clarinet. Hmph. But I can kinda sing, so I guess it all evens out, yeah? That's what I tell myself, anyways. Regardless, that doesn't excuse the fact that I own this beautiful guitar that has stayed in its case for the last few years. It got lugged around, packed up and hauled out through 3 moves last year. In it's case. I haven't once taken it out since we lived in MD, which was two years ago! And that's at least. Occassionally I've thought- I should just let go and sell it! I should at least get half of what I paid, considering the impeccable condition it's in. Do you know how much peppermint white chocolate mocha latte's that would get me! And yarn! Lots and lots of wonderful yarn. And books! Ah, my books. Coffee, yarn and books- this is what I'm passing up because I can't bring myself to get rid of it. Dh wants to keep it and maybe when the girls get older they may take an interest and then actually use the damn thing!

Which brings me back to Guitar Hero. Just not my thing. I've tried. Seriously. But I'm clumsy and my fingers just don't move that fast! Plus, I have small fingers. That sort of makes things a little difficult at times.

But Rock Band. Is. AWESOME! Because as I said in my previous post, it's not just about the guitar. You can play with the drums that come with it instead. Or you can be a lead singer and just do karaoke. Or, you could have one person on the guitar and another singing and another on the drums. You could form your own ROCK BAND! Get it! And go through all the challenges together and open cool venues and items and songs. AND the songs for Rock Band are simply just awesome! The developers got a really great playlist together!

After dh came home, and set up Rock Band (the girls did wake up, by the way. But while he was setting up, not after he started playing). A. grabbed the mike and muttered- er- sang along with his songs. What she could anyways, not knowing the songs and being unable to read and all. Eventually I decided I needed a shot at being a lead singer. So I took the mike, dh set up the game so that we could form a band, with him on the guitar. Our band name is Porksword, by the way. His band name is Frag and I'm Marmelade, but with a silent 'e'. So it's pronounced more like "Marmelahd"- all Frenchy and shit. Don't ask where it came from- it was just there. Thus, we became a band and started going down the beginning sets. Among them were:

Weezer- Say it ain't so

Garbage- I think I'm paranoid

OK Go- Here it goes again (which I flubbed quite nicely, although that was the mp3 ring tone for my phone for like- ever!)

Radio- head Creep

And several more really good songs that brought my memories of the 90's just flooding back.

My favorite set was "I think I'm paranoid". I love that song. I love Garbage. And most of the aforementioned songs (with the exception of Creep) are REALLY FUN TO SING!

I love this game!

The cool thing, for the lead singers, is that the "bars" scroll across the screen with the words, so you know if you need to be singing in a high pitch, low pitch, falsetto, whatever. It get's pretty specific. And you get to see when you flub, so you know what to try to improve later. Anyways, your success as a lead singer depends almost completely on your ability to match the pitch as closely as possible, with the "easy" mode giving the most flexibility in getting the right pitch. if you were too high or too low.

Rock Band is the perfect party game, I think. Even a great mom's night out activity for women who like to karaoke but not sit in a smoky bar to have a good time (are there still smoky bars in Tucson?). There's something for everyone. And if everyone just wants to karaoke, well then that's okay, too. And hey, I was a great lead singer! Mostly.

Soooo much fun!

For the girls, too! A. ran into her room and returned with her pink electric guitar (which I made her turn off while we played the game. So she still got to jam. Just really really quietly), and then S. appeared with this little toy drum she has. Which I also made her turn off. Later, S. grabbed A.'s guitar and pretended to be rocking out with us on her (still quiet) electric guitar.

Now, I have to say that I don't really foresee myself playing this much without dh- if at all. I have other obsessions- uh- interests that need to be tended to. I simply do not have any more room in my schedule for yet another one! And, like most things, I just have more fun doing it along with him, rather than by myself.

But still- if your very own game-addicted dh or spawn gets Rock Band, pick up the mike and take a swing at being a lead singer sometime. Or get the drumsticks and pound away. Or rock out on the guitar. You'll have a good time, even if you suck. I promise!

Could This Be For Real?!

It is ten till six pm- wackadoodle Arizona/mountain time. The girls and I were out all day and got home about fifteen minutes ago. We left at 10:30 am to go to a story time on the other side of town (oh, the places I go to get us out of the house!). The story teller was going to be dressed like a turkey, and, seriously, how do you pass up on the chance to see a 30-40 year old man dressed up like a turkey? You don't. You get the kids dressed and ready and strapped into the car and you go. So we did. And they had a great time, "shaking their sillies out", listening to stories about turkeys going through an identity crisis and they even enjoyed the "turkey parade" towards the end. I'd post a pic, but it's crap. I can't get the camera on my phone to not shake when my hands do (sadly, A. takes clearer pictures on that thing than I do)! Who'd a thunk I'd need a camera phone with an anti-shake feature?!

So, story time ended, I let them play in the library for a little bit with the puzzles and what not, then we went home for a quick lunch and headed out to the park.

See that? All day. And it must have worn their preschool arses out! Because they both fell asleep in the time between me putting my credit card into the gas station majig and closing the gas cap! And they're still out!

Now, this could be a good thing- they may sleep through the night. Or it could be a bad thing- they'll wake up at 11:30 pm and want to play. That would suck. Tremendously.

So I'm thinking- what the fuck do I do with myself? I have writing to do and blogs to catch up on but I feel like I should be doing something else- something important. Something productive…

HAHAHA!

Had ya going there for a minute, huh? Cuz why would I spend precious alone time doing housework? As Dr. Phil would say (does anyone even watch him anymore?), that dog don't hunt. Or something really profound like that.

Dh is on the way home and is super excited about Rock Band. It's a game much like Guitar Hero, but instead of just guitars, you can buy a drum kit and it comes with a mike so that one can karaoke while the other is jamming on the guitar. And it was just released today. He's been waiting for months, and now he has it. So he'll want to play.

He better not wake up them kids!

That's all I'm sayin'.

Why I Write

Coleridge was a drug addict. Poe was an alcoholic. Marlowe was killed by a man whom he was treacherously trying to stab. Pope took money to keep a woman's name out of a satire then wrote a piece so that she could still be recognized anyhow. Chatterton killed himself. Byron was accused of incest. Do you still want to a writer--and if so, why?

- Bennett Cerf

I love this quote! So, on the second 0-word day of my na-novel I have decided to write about the reasons that I am doing NaNoWriMo to begin with and why I write altogether.

You may want to grab some hot cocoa and settle in somewhere comfy. This may take awhile.

You good? Good. Here goes.

My love affair with all things writerly began in the third grade, although according to my mom, I have been winning writing contests since I was in kindergarten. I'm not so sure about that- I mean kindergarteners can barely write a simple sentence, right? When I became old enough to realize my mom may be exaggerating just a bit, I decided that I wouldn't be the one to kill her dream. So I smile and say, "wow. I was a smart kid, huh?" To which she always agrees. Of course she would, she's my mom!

Anyways, third grade. My third grade teacher, whose name I have long since forgotten, ignited this passion for writing when she added creative writing to her curriculum. On creative writing days (which I initially thought meant I'd learn to write really fancy), she handed us each a picture and told us to start writing about what we thought was going on in it. So on that first day I studied the picture and began writing. And writing and writing and writing. Not about the same picture, of course, but I wrote all the same.

I spent much of my elementary days from there on writing short 3-5 page stories. And I spent almost all of my junior high school years writing in class- any class where I felt struck with inspiration- when I should have been learning other things. Like how Columbus and his crew handed out pox infested blankets to the Native Americans, effectively committing one of the first acts of biological warfare. Perhaps this is also why I am terrible at math. I was too busy writing to be bothered with dividing fractions and multiplying decimals!

I always carried a notebook, which filled quickly with misspelled words and whole rows of eraser marks (this was long before I discovered the beauty of electronic media). I wrote poems, stories, plays (which my friends had the lovely fortune of acting out for me), essay contests (which I occasionally won)… Writing was like breathing- it came so natural to me. I can't tell you whether I was really any good or not. And it hardly occurred to me when I was younger, to care. I just wrote. It was what I did. And everyone knew it, besides me.

Somewhere around nine or ten years old my parents, recognizing my love for the written word, bought me a typewriter. You know, those clunky old school typewriters with the knobby thing that held the paper and moved along as you typed so that you had to hit the carriage return lever to move onto the next line. It had a case, so I dragged that thing from room to room with me so that I could type whenever I wanted. I loved that thing to death, and still remember the sound of those keys hitting the paper that was rolled through the knobby thing. Even today, I am partial to the sound that the keys make as I string one letter after another to form words, sentences, paragraphs and pages. It is the sound of production- the sound of progress… it's comforting.

Then, when I was about eleven or so I got one of the best gifts I've received throughout my childhood- an electric typewriter! I think it was a brother, I don't remember. But it was fabulous! It even had a correction function. Remember how you could hit that correct button or whatever and the carriage would move back a space and lay some correction stuff over the letter and bam! Just like that you're mistake was gone. Kinda. Except for that telltale patch of white out, but whatever.

Looking back I realize how cool of a thing it was for my parents to even think of getting me one to begin with. They saw a passion for writing in me, and believed in me enough to give me a few of the tools to facilitate and encourage that passion. I was pretty lucky. Maybe one day I'll publish something, and get paid a nice royalty for it, and make them proud. Maybe some day.

Somewhere around high school I began writing mostly poetry ( I think it was that whole teenage angst thing), and then eventually the whole writing thing sort of tapered off. I still wrote occasionally, but I never finished anything. And even after I stopped actually writing, I still had ideas here and there, prancing through my mind, daring me to pick up a pen and lay them all down. But I never could find the time or motivation to really do it. And then having your boyfriend at the tender age of 20, tell you that you're latest idea was stupid because "it sounds like what's going on in your own life" and therefore unworthy of even bothering with, didn't help, either. I stopped writing completely for years after that. Poems, short stories, grocery lists… anything. I just didn't write.

But I never let go of the idea that someday I would write again- someday I would have something worth saying, worth writing and then I would just do it.

That day came in the fall of 2001 when I read a newspaper article about honor killings. Something about the story just got me. I thought about it for weeks, began surfing the net for information and started a file. Plot, check. Protagonist, check. Antagonist, check. Climax, check, check, check. But when I began to start actually writing it, I just couldn't. I had all the essential elements of information, but I could not get myself past the prologue. Because, what do I know about honor killings, really? How do I know how a 15 year old boy gets a hold of a weapon? I couldn't even accurately describe a gun! Paralyzed with uncertainty, the project came to a halt 10 pages in. But I couldn't get this story out of my mind. In my mind I had a powerful story. One that would make people think, that would give them another perspective of the world in which they live and knowledge about the parts in which they don't. It would be original and profound (to this day I have seen only one novel written with this topic in mind, and while I haven't yet read it (it's on my list), reviews I've read tell me that the direction of that novel is not the same as the one I have in mind for my tale). Months later I found the fountain of ideas began flowing again and soon I had about thirty pages and a blossoming plot line. But then over half of those hard wrought pages disappeared into cyber space, and I was completely deflated. I couldn't get those words back, so I couldn't move forward. They were gone forever and so was my dream of seeing this idea come into fruition. But the idea stayed- haunted me, even. To this day I still find my mind turning over the idea, trying to find ways to put all the pieces together. To this day I still believe that, if written well and at all, it could be a very poignant and thought provoking book. And I still want to write it. Maybe someday, I will.

*side note: It took Barbara Kingsolver 30 years to write one of my favorite books, "The Poisonwood Bible." It is now a national best seller and has made her nice and rich. Rightly so. The book is beautifully written and a lot of research and heart went into the writing of it. I think about this when I think about my book-that-is-yet-to-be.*

I didn't write anything again for another few years. Then in 2005, just as I was separating from the Air Force, I had an idea about a girl who marries a Jewish boy and then has to wrestle with her own religious beliefs as she decides whether or not to convert to Judaism. I'm particularly fond of the title- "Shiksa." Shiksa is Yiddish slang for a non-Jewish woman. How fitting, no? Although it's not particularly a nice term, I'm keeping it.

Anyways, I actually got over one pages written! And everything was progressing nicely until, again, I came to an impasse. I don't know anything about how to become a Jew! I've read books, and found articles, personal essays, I found forums and asked people who've been through it, but I still felt that I was lacking something really important that I needed to keep going. I even knew what the ending was going to be, I just didn't (and still don't) know how to get there. So I took a step back and gave myself time to think about. I'm still thinking.

It was at this time I learned about NaNoWriMo. I had already started writing "Shiksa" by then, but I was fascinated with the idea and so last year I did it.

Again, idea, plot, protagonist, antagonist, climax, ending- I had them all in my 12-chapter outline. All of it was spelled out. I would tear down that wall that kept blocking me! I was prepared, motivated and intent on getting those 50,000 words! And I got them, with about a week to spare until the end of Nano. Once again, I fell pray to some force that would not allow me to connect the middle to the climax to the end. I just didn't think I could do it. So there that novel sits, in the Tupperware box I bought for my failed attempts at authorship. I have come to look at this box as a grave yard of sorts. A final resting place for my ideas and my hope that I would one day finish a book. I'm not looking to get published, or make a million dollars, although that would be nice. At this point I'm writing because I want to, and because I can. Until I can't.

NaNo this year is shaping out to be quite the failure. Half way in and I've still only got 4,000 and some change in words. And the last two days I haven't written anything. It's not like the idea isn't there. As history has a way of repeating itself, I'm sure you can fill in the blanks- I have most of what I need to get at least several chapters in. But in reality, I just started chapter two. And I enjoyed writing what parts I did write. I'm having a lot of fun with the MC, whose turning out to be kind of a quirky bitch and I love it!! But for some unknown reason, I can't go any further. I just can't. I will not see 50,000 words this year. I'll be lucky to get out 5,000.

And that's okay. Because Nano has given me something to look forward to all year. Nano inspires me to keep writing, even though lately I haven't been doing much of it (on my na-novel). November will end, and with it, the craziness and excitement of NaNoWriMo. But my efforts don't have to. I can continue to work on this novel at my own pace throughout the next year. And truly, I fully intend to. Nano got my foot in the door. It's up to me to kick it wide open. Most novels weren't written in 30 days, after all. Unless you're Steven King. But that's beside the point. The man is touched. That's the best way I can describe it.

I write because that's what I do. I'm finally being able to say that it is also who I am. I am a writer. Because even when I'm not actually "writing", the words never leave me. They're always there. Just like they always have been.

From childhood until now. And God willing, for all the tomorrows I've yet to face.

So, there you have it. My love of writing from conception to present.
For those of you who made it this far, thanks for hanging in there. I love you for it!

Good night.

Give Thanks

Why you should be thankful for oven-ready turkey this Thanksgiving:

Gotta love it!!

Gobble, gobble...

Now Presenting Louis C.K.

Tonight I would like to share one of my favorite comic acts. I love the way Louis C.K. talks about parenthood. He is so right on about so many things! And he's hilarious to boot.
My favorite bit is the "why" bit.
I hope you guys enjoy!

Is Kellie Pickler Smarter Than A 5th Grader

Kelly Pickler of American Idol fame was a contestant on last night's episode of the game show "Are You Smarter Than A 5th Grader". Rather than editorializing, I'm just going to loosely transcribe a few of my favorite things that tumbled out of her mouth. On tv.

"We're going to kill all those blond jokes..." she declared before the questioning got under way.

We'll see about that.

The game begins:

Category: 1st grade animal science
Q: True or false. Road runners are birds.
Kellie: Is that the same thing as road runner like, the roadrunner- beep beep?... I'm gonna say, it's a bird?

Category: 1st grade spelling
Q: how many times does the letter 'e' appear the following word-
Kelly: It's not in "word"
JF: the word is watermelon (except he pronounced it like "wuhtermelon")
Kelly: oh, I was like, there's not an 'e' in word... give me a piece of paper... there might be two 'l's', but we ain't couting the 'l's'... I feel really smart right now!

I forgot the category. So sue me:
Q: The piccolo is a member of what musical family? Woodwind, strings or percussion?
Kellie: well, we all know about wind... piccolo- like pickler- piccolo...and percussion starts with a 'p'... I'm just going to keep the 'p's' together... percussion.

Brilliant, that girl.

And my absolute favorite:

Category: 3rd grade geography
Q: Budapest is the capital of what European country?
Kelly: This might sound like a stupid question... but I thought Europe was a country... I know they speak french there, don't they?

After much hemming and hawing she went with France, even though she "didn't think France was a country".

Her 5th grader, Nathan I believe, saved her ass with the correct answer- Hungary, which Jeff Foxworthy pronounced as "Hungry". With the emphasis on the first syllable. You know, like how "hungry" you get when you're convinced you're going to starve to death.
Anyways, Kellie's reply upon hearing the correct answer was "I've never heard of it. I've heard of Turkey but..."

Uh-huh.

Category: 3rd grade US History
Q: Which of the following people was a US president? John Hopkins, Franklin Pierce or Brigham Young?
Kellie: I want to say... it's Pierce. Because I have my ears pierced. It's pierced... my last name starts with P... Franklin Pierce.

Surprisingly she talked herself into the right answer using this bizzare alliterative thought process. After tripping onto the right answer she exclaimed, "I could be a rocket scientist".

Not like a train-wreck waiting to happen. It was like watching a train wreck as it was happening. And it didn't last nearly long enough.

Somehow, she made it to $50,000 before having to call the game. All of her winnings (brought to you courtesy of some very smart 5th graders) are going to the American Red Cross and an AARP charity for grandparents who are raising their grand kids. I'm going to be a bitch and go out on a limb here to say that perhaps some of that charity money should go into the Albemarle education system.

Just like a rocket scientist, folks.

See for yourself at Fox network's website for
Are You Smarter Than A 5th Grader.

So, where are you from?

I went into a Chinese restaurant the other day to make a take-out order for me and the girls. And something so remarkably unremarkable happened to me that I have to share.

First, you have to understand that I am part Filipina. My mother hails from Angeles City (former breeding grounds for bar-girl-and-GI-gets-married-and-may-or-may-not-live-happily-ever-after type of fairy tales). My dad is from Greenwich, CT. His parents were from Germany. Cologne and Berlin, I believe. Anyways, so I'm this (quite common for a military brat. The mixing in general- not the flavor) mix of German-Philippine heritage. I look more like my mom. Which means, I look more like a Filipina than anything remotely resembling a European. Well, except for the Spaniards. Which makes sense, considering the 300-year Spanish occupation of the Philippines some time ago.

As a result, I find myself being stared at and sized up whenever I come across anyone with any remote claim to Southeast Asia. Or sometimes, even just Asia in general, like China or Japan.

A few years ago I was in a nail salon getting my nails done. The salon lady (Vietnamese) kept looking up and staring at me while she was trying to buff my nails with the little buffer thingy. I knew, even before she opened her mouth, what she wanted to say.

"Where are you from?" she finally asked. I hesitated. Because for me, "where are you from?" is a difficult question to answer. I've found, however, that to give the right answer, I have to know exactly what people are asking. What I've learned is this:

If I'm being asked by a Filipino, Guamanian or Vietnamese person in particular, they want to know why my skin is brown, and why my eyes are a little slanted- they want to know my Asian heritage. They don't care about the other side. They want to know if they can relate to me somehow.

If I'm being asked by someone affiliated with the military, "where are you from" normally means "where were you last-from where did you pcs". That's an easy one to answer. I mean, I can only really live in one state at a time.

And occasionally a military affiliated person, and most certainly a civilian will ask me that wanting to know what my hometown is. After years of stumbling over myself to get the whole story out in one short breath, I've simply begun answering like this: My parents retired in NC. But sometimes I ask them to clarify. Because sometimes "from" means, where were you born (Clark AFB, Philippines), or where did you grow up (I'm a military brat and therefore, grew up everywhere and nowhere at the same time. But I spent 8 years in Japan. I was 7 when we moved there and 15 when we left. The formative years… and graduated HS in NC. Which I don't consider being anything close to "home". It's simply where my parents live), or where are your parents (assuming, I guess, that where ever they are now is where I was born and raised).

"Where are you from" means so many things to so many people. And they're not shy about making that very clear, either.

For example:

I was looking through lamps at Lowe's with dh and the girls. A stocker in a red vest stands up and begins looking me up and down. He's not checking me out, not sexually anyways. He's trying to assess which Island I may have hailed from. I know this for a fact. Because he himself looks like an islander, and only another islander would stare in such a manner. So I smile and finally he asks me where I'm from. I began to give him the "dad…military…parents…8 years…Japan…NC…" shpiel when I decided I'd just k.i.s.s. (keep it simple, stupid).

"My mom is from the Philippines." I said.

"Ah." He replied. "I knew you were from the Islands."

"yeah… are you from the Philippines, too?" Usually I can tell, just the way they can tell. But I always ask. It seems only fair. They get a question, I get a question.

"No," he said. "I'm from Guam."

"Ah. Same difference." I remarked. We laughed and I went back to looking at the lamps.

So back to the Chinese take-out.

The Chinese-food-order-taker-lady began to ring me up, and as we're waiting for the credit card to process, I see that look.

"Where are you from?" she asks, ripping the paper off of the receipt-spitter-outer and handing it for me to sign. I knew immediately what she wanted to know. And I wasn't in the mood for chit chat so I replied simply, "my mom is from the Phillipines."

"Oh, that's what I thought." She hands me a pen. "Where is she from?"

"Angeles City." I hurriedly scribble my name next to the 'x' and return the pen.

Awkward silence.

"Have you been to the Philippines?" she continues.

I hesitate again.

"I was born there." I decide to tell her. "Then we visited when I was 10."

I waited for the next question that usually comes up in exchanges like these. "Do you speak Tagalog?" To which I would have to say, "not so much. Unless screaming 'mother fucker son of a bitch' counts. If so, then, yes. Tagalog, Ka Pampangan and possibly even a little in Ilocano (grandpa spoke one, grandma spoke the other- Tagalog was their common language and my mom grew up hearing it all. So my mom's Tagalog tends to be a mix of all three with the occasional smattering of English. At least, that's what she tells me. I personally don't know. Not speaking the language and all).

Thankfully that question didn't come up. Because I was incredibly hungry, plus, I had two incredibly hungry preschoolers with me, and A. made a point of asking me if she was still going to get an eggroll. I needed that eggroll ASAP. Because I needed A. to stop asking. ASAP. (After 15 minutes it starts to get old).

At some point between giving me my receipt and handing me my food, she may have told me where she was from. I don't remember. I just wanted to get out of there. I don't like being inquisitioned when I'm hungry. And certainly not by a Pinoy in a Chinese restaurant. That's just so weird…

Which gets me to thinking… my girls also look an awful lot like Filipina's. We affectionately call them our Island babies. Especially when we're trying to accentuate dh's non-Island-ness (Norse and German descent or something. The Kraut-Viking he says). We're not very pc- dh and I. At least, not with each other.

Anyways- I'm thinking. Will the girls get the same reaction whenever she comes across Southeast Asians? Will they look as foreign as I have looked for most of my life? Different enough for people to approach me and ask "what I am"? (different post entirely, I'm afraid. Because it's not just the Asians. They're just a little more subtle about it). If so, what will they say? They can't say, "my mom is from the Philippines." The closest to that would be, "my mom was born in the Philippines." I didn't grow up there. They're going to have an even harder time explaining their ethnicity.

I better start coming with answers for them now, I suppose.

Let It- uh- snow?

Seriously- exactly where do these guys think they're going? Are they really intending to shovel the car out and, um, go somewhere?

They'll be shoveling for years.

This looks like fun- until the sun comes out. Then you'll have to pick up the garbage and beer bottles left behind by the melted snowmen.

And did I mention that it was in the high 70's-low 80's today?
Just throwing it out there.

I Need An Exorcist

What in HOLY HELL, I wonder, possessed A. and S. tonight that allowed them to think that it was OK to play with their little wind blowers (like a kazoo. Maybe it is a kazoo, and the library story time lady just didn't know it. Anyhoo...) at 11:28 PM!!

If anyone knows the name of a good exorcist, let me know. I'd love to get a consult, or whatever.

Oh, and the kazoo-majigs are now in the trash.

Maybe I should have put them in with the recyclables, instead?

*edited at 10:58 pm to say:

A. came out at about 15 after midnight and DUG THE KAZOO OUT OF THE TRASH! Yessiree- she came into the living room with it IN HER MOUTH. EWWWWW! So I confiscated it. Again. And threw it away. Again. Where it, thankfully stayed, for the rest of the day.

Is It Too Much To Ask?

For a little obedience from my spawn? I know I'm not the most uber-fabulous mother to grace the land of mommyhood. I know that. But, come on!! Is a little bit of obedience just too much to ask of my kids?

Apparently, it is. Because for the millionth day in the last few weeks I found myself thinking I just couldn't take it anymore. I began thinking about how I would put my resume together and start looking for a job. Any job. Yes, I will wipe shit off of the inside of a toilet bowl in a hotel bathroom to get out of this gig. Not because I enjoy wiping shit off of other people's toilet bowls, or because I'm even seriously dying to get back to work. I wanted a job so that the girls could spend 8 hours being disobedient to someone else during the day.

Where is this all coming from, you probably wonder.
Let's start with this, although it's not so much obedience related as just plain annoying (and a fantastic way to start the day):

At approximately 0900 this morning, S. woke up and came out of her room. She entered my office and stood by my chair. I looked at her, said good morning and then she started crying. As if that weren't dramatic enough, she then threw her 30+ lb body at the arm of my chair. Obviously, because gravity works, she fell to the ground in a crying heap. Where she stayed. For almost five minutes. Crying.

I asked her what was wrong, and was graced with more tears and screaming in response. WTF?! She obviously is not ready or willing to tell me what's wrong so I can help fix it. S. is way too content crying to be bothered with anything resembling problem solving. So I ignored her and went back to whatever mundane shit I was doing on the computer. I asked her again, what's wrong. Again, more crying. This went on for almost 15 minutes. 15 minutes! Twice she picked herself up off the floor and took herself to her room, where she cried a little bit more before coming out and crying on the way to and inside of another room. It was almost like she was blessing the house. You know, just going room to room shaking the priestly rattle thing and showering holy water on everything. Except she didn't have a priestly rattle thing. And there was nothing holy about her outburst.

After her second self-imposed exile, she finally stopped. I still have no idea what the hell was wrong with her. I strongly believe that she didn't either. Because sometimes, S. just does that- she'll wake up, walk out of her room and start crying. And then cry for minutes until either we put her back in bed, or she puts herself back into bed, cries for a bit more and then goes right back to sleep. I'm not kidding. It's like she's a sleepwalker whose natural response is to cry as she walks about in her coma-like state. She's incredibly inconsolable in those moments, which is how we can tell the difference between an unhappy awakening, or an unhappy sleep walking episode. Either way it sucks.

So there's that.

The obedience thing can best be illustrated with the following exchanges:

Conversation #1:

(as we're picking out donuts at Safeway)

Me: "A., stop leaning into the cart. You'll get hurt."

A.: "I'm trying to get my wind blower."

Me: "I don't care. If you need something in the cart, just ask me."

A.: "okay."

(seconds later she's reaching into the cart again)

Me: "Didn't I just tell you not to do that?"

A.: "But I wanted my wind blower."

Me: "well, you know what? Now you don't get it because you don't know how to pay attention to anything I say."

A.: "But I'm going to be a good girl."

Me: "sorry, too late."

And now, as I write this, I realize that she went into my purse to get the noise blower out, because she "wanted it."

Uh huh.

And how about this:

Conversation #2:
(lunchtime)

S.: "I want a donut."

Me: "did you finish your eggroll?"

S.: "no."

Me: "finish your eggroll and you can have a donut."

S.: "But I want a donut."

Me: "go eat your eggroll."

Minutes later, wailing is heard from the dining room.

A.: "S. took a bite of my donut!!"

Me to S.: "don't eat her donut. You didn't eat your lunch so you don't get a donut."

Me to A.: "You don't have to cry about it. Just eat your donut."

Even a few more minutes later, S. reappears before me with a fortune cookie in her hand:

S.: "I want that."

Me: "did you eat your eggroll?"

S.: "no."

Me: "eat your eggroll."

S.: "no. I want cookie."

At which point I confiscate the fortune cookie and she departs.

A few more minutes after that (déjà vu, anyone?):

S.: "I want donut."

Me: see above responses

S.: "How 'bout that?" (points to previously confiscated fortune cookie now laying next to the monitor)

Me: "no"

S.: "How 'bout… waffle?"

Me: "no"

S.: "How 'bout-"

Me- (completely exasperated at this point with the whole exchange): "eat your eggroll."

S.: "Okay."

And still later:

S.: "can I have donut, please?"

Me: "did you finish your eggroll?"

S.: (pause) "yes"

Mmm hmmm. We'll see.

I looked. Judging by the fly that was sitting on the top of the crispy brown rectangle with veggies falling out, she didn't finish it.

Fabricator!

I could go on, but I think you get the gist.

And I get this. Every. Single. Day.

Again, WTF?!!!

I understand completely that as preschoolers they are testing their limits. I get that. But at what point do they stop testing these limits and just say, "okay mom. You don't want me to do that so I won't" instead of something along the lines of "why?", "why not" or outright unspoken defiance? When? When they're 5? 15? 55?!!!
Oh God.

Pieces of my soul dissipate with each "why not" I get asked. Which means that pretty soon there will be nothing left of me. I'll just be a hollow shell of a person with no soul or spirit to speak of.

Those of you who know and love me, get your fill now. Because soon I may become a void entity until I completely disappear and become nothing but a memory.

The Silent Soldiers

This nation will remain the land of the free only so long as it is the home of the brave. ~Elmer Davis

As you take the time to honor our veterans today, also remember that they were not the only ones who sacrificed...

THANK YOU to the "silent soldiers"- the loved ones who gave up safe, stable and long lives with their soldier in order to support him/her in the pursuit of liberty, and justice for all.

Happy Veterans Day

Unleashing My Inner Techie

It turns out that I'm kind of a tech geek. Not hard core or anything, mind you. But enough to be uber-excited about new model DSLR camera's and pda phones.

This past January I began seeing commercials for AT&T's new Samsung Blackjack.I was actually in the market for a pda-phone at that time, and completely fell in love with it's sleek, slim design. Come tax time I spent my throw-away money on a close to full-priced one on ebay, rather than going to AT&T and taking on a contract to get it cheaper (our contract ended last September, so we can drop them anytime we want now). When it finally came in the mail a few days later, I took it out and marveled that it was just as beautiful as I imagined it would be! The fact that it got mostly stellar reviews helped a lot, too. And it's still a great phone and pda. I love it. BUT then in March I saw the Treo 750 and was so impressed with the touch screen (yeah, I don't know either) that I wanted one of those. I browsed reviews and checked prices religiously for a few months. Since the Treo really doesn't have features that are above and beyond the black jack (they actually came out pretty even, with the blackjack coming out on top for call quality), I stayed my course. I just couldn't justify spending a few hundred dollars for a lateral move, rather than an upgrade. So my Treo fancy began to dissipate over the summer. Until the Blackberry Curve came out and I saw how beautiful and functional it was. But again, I couldn't much justify spending so much money on upgrades I could do without. If you look here, you'll see that there isn't much of a significant difference between the three phones. But then just a few days ago I checked the AT&T website to see what kinds of promotions they had going on, and I saw that AT&T is selling refurbished Blackberry Curves (8300 model) for $30 (with a two year contract, of course, but still- $30!) My heart jumped into my throat and pools of drool began gathering at the corners of my mouth.

I began doing research on reviews comparing it to the black jack and came up with basically the same conclusion as with the Treo- the Curve looks much nicer, I think, and it has a 2 mp camera as opposed to blackjacks 1, but is it enough to make me trade it in? For $30! Hell yeah!!! But then as I'm browsing for reviews on the 8300, I come across the recently released 2nd generation Curve 8310. From everything I've seen, user reviews and official specs and features, the main difference between the 8300 and the 8310 is that it has a built in GPS system. Oh, my! And it also comes in two colors- titanium and crimson. Personally, I would go for the titanium, but that's just me. Oh, and also the price. BIG difference in the price- $199.99 after a $100 mail in rebate with a two year contract for the 8310. Bummer. But I hit the cyber-highway to discover whether or not the built in GPS is worth the $160 extra and found nothing conclusive. Hmmmm. There was only one thing left to do.

I went to a real AT&T store to check one out. The store I went to didn't carry the 8300 at all, but again, not a big deal because these two phones are the exact same except for the built in GPS system on the 8310. So the kind and knowledgeable AT&T lady (she let me play with her Treo last month when I ended up in that store getting a new sim card for my blackjack) points me in the right direction and lets me have-at-it. The track ball was kinda cool- not a feature I've ever used. And it had some built in apps that I didn't have on my blackjack like a password keeper. I had to buy a 3^rd party app for my blackjack. But anyways, the 8310 was lovely! While I'm scrolling through one app to the next I finally come to the GPS system demo. Hmmmm. Well, I'm here, I think. So I may as well check it out. I open the app, agree to giving away my first born child if I violate the terms of agreement and the GPS demo fires up. And THEN it starts TALKING TO ME! Turns out, this is part of the GPS feature. You can get point-by-point directions by voice as well as on the screen. On a cell phone. How fucking cool is that?! Super cool, if you ask me.

So now I have this dilemma- do I grab the $30 phone that doesn't talk and give me vocal directions? Or do I suck it up and go for the $199.99 phone that does talk and give directions? I have to mention that although the 8300 doesn't have a built in GPS, it does have blackberry maps pre-loaded onto it, so if I'm lost I can still get directions from it. It just won't talk. And also, the 8310 GPS system can pinpoint my exact location… I mean, what if I take a wrong turn at Albuquerque and I don't know where I am? How will I know which way to go then? Or if I end up locked up in someones car trunk? How will the cops know where to find me?

Argh! Now I don't know!

My birthday and Christmas are just around the corner, and I'm sure these prices won't last very long… Oh, the pressure!!!

What do I do?