The life and times of a domestic engineer

The Road to Hell…

2008-05-07T16:10:00.004-07:00

Is paved with good intentions.

Or so it is said.

You see, I bought the girls a sand box. Well, it's more of a sand table than a sand box, made by Step 2. But anyways, something for them to play with in the back yard.

See that? Good intentions.

It seemed like a brilliant idea, at first. We don't really have any toys in the back due to the pointy nature of the "gravel" landscaping our back yard. But then it came to me the other day- a sand box. We had looked into getting one last year but the idea was quickly kicked to the bottom of our "Hey, why don't we buy…" list due to other things.

So anyhoo, yesterday I bought them a sand table and this morning we went to Lowe's so I could buy sand.

I carried 50 frikkin pounds of sand from the car into our back yard. Twice. After a few minutes of rest (my arms were like jelly), I unceremoniously cut open the first bag of sand and dumped it into the table. And then half the other one (directions say this holds 80 lbs at the most).

The sand, I told the girls before I let them loose on the back patio, stays in the sand box. Inside of it. In. Side. Of. It.

So, imagine my dismay (although dismay doesn't really come close to describing the intensity of emotions I felt) when A. tells me S. dumped sand onto the patio less than an hour later.

It couldn't possibly be very much, I thought. I mean, the shovel that came with the sand box isn't exactly a work horse of a tool. Only a few teeny scoops of sand at a time.

I looked. And anger just filled me up so much I wanted to toss the whole damn thing into the wall. S. didn't dump the whole sand box out (thank God- I may have to give her away if she'd dumped 75 lbs of sand out of that fucking table). But there was much more than a few scoops. Enough to piss me off. Enough to leave me staring- angry, frustrated, disappointed- while I figured out what to do. I sent her to her room (and since she was apparently hiding sand in her shorts, A.'s bed is now awash with sand, too).

See, the great thing about having a sand table as opposed to a sand box, I thought, was that I wouldn't have to worry about them tracking sand into the house as it gushed out of their shorts, through the house, and into their beds and bath tub. Because they don't sit in it. They're supposed to stand up, and play with it.

So I have no idea how S. got sand in her shorts, or how she managed to track some of it through the house on the way to her bedroom.

All I know is that I'm starting to think this was the worst idea EVER!

How could I have been so naïve, thinking that the girls (S. in particular) would understand this one, very simple, very basic rule- Sand stays IN the sand table. Inside, like, not on the patio floor or even in our yard. It goes in the sand table. In. The fucking. Sand. Table.

Quite frankly, this makes me a little sad. Okay, more than a little sad- a lot sad. And possibly more sad than angry, even. Because I really thought I was buying them something that would bring them so much fun and me, so little heartache.

I'm sad because no matter what we do, or how we punish her, S. does not think that rules apply to her. And this is yet another example of her idea that she is "above the law" in this house.

I'm sad because every time I try to do something nice for them, it comes back to bite me in the ass somehow, and I end up wondering later if it was worth the effort or even money spent.

I'm sad because I feel like I can't do anything right. Not even for the girls.

I'm sad because I feel like anything that I do with or for or give to them is never enough. Never, ever enough. Because there's always something else. As in, "hey mom. Thanks for the table but I want you to buy me a (fill in desired toys of the moment)". Or, "I want you to do this, I want to go there and do that…"

I'm sad because I'm starting to think that the road to hell, as a parent, is most certainly paved with good intentions- fantastic intentions, even.

I'm sad because now I think- why do I bother? Why should I bother?

And just knowing that I think that at all makes me very, very sad, indeed.

(Note: I ended up making them clean up the sand with a broom and dumping the misplaced sand back into the sand table. Easy peasy. Kind of.)

W.’s Law of Housework

2008-04-11T15:12:00.006-07:00

There's a Murphy's-like Law-type thing that happens in my household after I've finished cleaning it. I hereby dub it, W.'s Law of Housework.

For example, it is guaranteed that within a few hours of sweeping and mopping my floors (kitchen, dining room and both hallways), they will become pock marked with spilled chocolate milk, yogurt, and various other sticky-type substances which I am unable to identify. There is usually also a weird intensity that comes with these brand new messes. Super duper thick chocolate milk puddles, yogurt dripping off the table, down the back of the chair and onto the floor. It's as if these messes are trying to make up for lost time.

Within that same time-frame, I will find pieces of cereal (of various types. Today was chocolate peanut butter Puffs) ground up into my freshly vacuumed carpets (living room or girls' bedroom. S. is not very particular about where she likes to sneak and spill food.)

Scraping dried up toothpaste off of the girls bathroom counter so that I can actually see it, ensures that it will turn into another toothpaste-y mess after having the girls spend 2 minutes in their bathroom to brush their teeth (or some such activity which resembles brushing teeth). I swear more toothpaste ends up on the counter around their sink than actually on their toothbrushes. This is why I have to keep the toothpaste on top of the fridge and ration it out when it's time for them to brush their teeth.

Consequently, I also have to ration out their body wash/shampoo. After having to replace their body wash 3 days in a row, I got smart and bought a few little travel size bottles. I put some body wash in each one, put those on top of the fridge with the original bottle, and they get one little bottle at bath time. Otherwise, all 16 oz. of wash will end up as soapy bubbles in the bath tub, and the bottle will end up on the bathroom floor. All used up and unwanted.

After I have them move their dirty clothes from their bathroom to the laundry room, different clothes, hand towels and toilet paper spring up from between the floor tiles in full bloom. I'm lucky if I can still see the floor after their baths.

Toys make their way from their bedroom to the living room. Random assortments of blocks which have been crayoned, a broken crown, and stuffed animals gather in front of the couch, as if they're trying to hide from me. Waiting to go all commando on my house cleaning ass and overtake my living room floor! Some of them never make it past the kitchen though. I think those are the toys that just weren't determined enough to stage a coup -Hell, no! We won't go- back into that toy box, bitch- but thanks for playing.

Newly scrubbed walls and bedroom furniture in the girls room almost guarantees that one of the girls (again, usually S.) will find another rogue crayon, marker, pen… whatever; and try to go all Picasso on the re-virginized whiteness surrounding their room. And their desk. And their closet door.

A. occasionally includes a signature in her bedroom wall art pieces. That's nice, because then I know who to punish. Although it's really not that hard to distinguish between A.'s works of art, and S.'s "works of art". A.'s usually has letters, and people, and arrows pointing from one thing to another (she's gotten quite fond of creating illustrated flow charts). S. just scribbles. Scribble, scribble, scribble. Sometimes they look like something, usually they don't. But she is, by far, the most prolific vandal in this house.

Also, less in the house work tangent and more in the "random ass observation" tangent-

They don't seem to understand what "quiet time" means.

Quiet time: a time in which rowdy girl chil'lins must away to their once pristine, white-walled bedroom and *gasp* BE QUIET for a little bit. So that I, the mater familias, may enjoy the sounds of the keyboard tip-tapping (if that) and nothing else.

I have explained to them the rules. Numerous times, even.

"Its quiet time, girls. That means you go into your rooms, and you. Be. Quiet."

It is as if I'm speaking to them in Esperanto, but they only understand the black-hole-space-quark-left-of-Milky-Way dialect of martian-ese.

And of course, this means that they pounce in and out of their bedroom, grabbing at each other's arms in the hallway and bossing each other around- loudly.

This also means that occasionally A. will yell out, "Is quiet time over yet?"

Uh, did it ever really begin?!?!

I think W.'s Law can really be summed up in this way:

An object or space which has been thoroughly cleaned will remain cleaned only in the event that children have grown up and moved out of the house. Even then, a perpetually clean house will only remain such if said children have clothing washers and dryers in their own "spaces" (home, apartment, dorm room, rv trailer) and which they have been thoroughly trained in its proper daily operation, thereby eliminating the need to come home and toss five weeks worth of reeking laundry onto the floor for mom to do.

Note to the college kids: Using the washing machine to make moonshine is not considered proper usage of such appliances.

The Not-Fun Fair

2008-04-08T22:26:00.003-07:00

The Tucson 4^th Avenue Street fair came and went this past weekend. Over 400 vendors selling various types of crafts, art, clothing and other goods, it seemed like an interesting time to me. And I thought I read somewhere that they would have activities for the kiddos, too. Like a jumpy castle or something like that.

So Saturday, I talked dh into coming and we loaded up the girls and head downtown.

Within minutes of spying the start of the booths, A. began badgering us about doing something fun. "Just wait," I told her. "We're looking for it."

Several more badgerings and a complete walk around the entire fair later, not a single jumpy castle was to be seen. Or anything else "kid-friendly" for that matter, in terms of entertainment. There was a really small Ferris wheel towards the end, but it looked lame, I was tired, the girls were tired… A. was already upset that we didn't find a jumpy castle, I didn't think she'd notice the stupid Ferris wheel (and she didn't) and so we proceeded the three blocks or so back to the car.

The admonishments began simple enough.

"Mama, that fun fair wasn't a fun fair," A. told me once we got settled into the car. "It was a no-fun fair."

I couldn't exactly argue with that… we did see some cool paintings but really the most beneficial part of the whole afternoon is that I felt better knowing I had gotten so much walking in that day. Other than that, I was in complete agreement with A. What could I do but apologize and promise we won't come back ever again?

You'd think a promise like that would allow her to just. Let. Go.

But no.

Sunday A. began to really turn on the heat about my terrible decision to drag them all to the fair on a very warm Saturday afternoon for an activity that had very little entertainment value for any of us.

"Mama, remember the time you took us to the no-fun fair?"

How could I forget?

I can't. Because even if my addled brain somehow dumped that afternoon from my memory, A. will be there to pick it right up and shove it in my face.

I know this, because that's all I've heard about it in spurts throughout the week, since Sunday.

"Mama, remember that time you took us to the no-fun fair? It wasn't fun. I don't want to do that again." She has said accusingly.

Over, and over again.

As if I'd spent her college fund on blow and hookers. Or something.

Could I feel any more terrible about spending a perfectly good Saturday afternoon at that fair? A. will make sure that I do, I'm almost positive of this.

However, the other upside (for me, not so much the girls) is that I got to see all of the cute, neat little shops up and down 4^th Ave. that I've never seen before. A few I've heard of, barely, like the Chocolate Iguana ( I believe it's a coffee shop). So I did come up with a list of places I'd like to try eating at, or visiting some other time.

Just, not while the "not-fun" fair is going on.

Can I have a Real Baby?

2008-04-03T20:45:00.005-07:00

First, some backstory.

I'm not sure if I've ever mentioned that A. is completely obsessed with having another baby brother or sister. This is a request she's been making for about a year now, and she's turned up the heat after two of our friends had babies in December. Well, now she not only wants one more baby brother or sister, but two. I asked her how many kids would be in the house then, wondering if she really meant two more babies. She counted, "me, S., one baby girl and one baby boy- that's 4". Apparently, she knew exactly what she was asking for. But this is one of our more interesting exchanges regarding infant additions to our household.

*note: we haven't completely written off having one or two more children. Just. Not. Now. Or next year. Or the year after that. And yes, I am perfectly comfortable with their being a 9-10 year age difference between A., the eldest, and the baby. Completely.

So anyways, without further ado…

*******************************************

A: Are we going to go to New York?

(I have no idea where she got this idea from)

Me: No.

A: Is that because it's not on the planet?

Me: No. It's on the planet. We're just not going there.

A: Ever?

Me: Maybe someday, a long, long time from now.

A: I want to go to New York and get a baby.

Me: What kind of baby do you want to get?

A: One that comes with pink, and can wear flowers and stripes and dresses.

Me: You want a girl baby?

A: Yes.

Me: Do you want a real baby or a doll?

A: A real baby.

Me: One that pees and poops?

A: Yes, but I want you to clean it up when it poops.

Me: Mmmmm. So, you don't want a real baby?

A: I do, I just don't want to clean it up when it poops. I want you to do it.

Me: Yeah. That's not going to happen. Sorry about that.

Trail of Tears

2008-04-02T17:38:00.010-07:00

Do you know what happens when you get soooo tired that your eyes close and you doze off for thirty minutes in the late afternoon while the girls are still up and at 'em?

Yes. That is a trail of Lucky Charms cereal (and the spilled chocolate milk), which mysteriously jumped out of the cereal box in the pantry and scattered itself all over my kitchen, dining room, and front entrance.

Or maybe not so mysteriously. Because I know exactly who the culprit is.

I don't want to give her away, but I'll tell you that she's very short, her first name starts with an S. and ends with an A.

And the trail didn't stop at the front hallway.

It continued on into the living room. I don't have pictures of that though, because when I first told S. to clean up, she started right there in the living room.

By eating the cereal off the floor.

She's so delicate, let me tell you.

She was supposed to clean up the rest, too. I gave her thirty minutes. Thirty minutes because after that it was going to be time to go to the gym.

Because S. is a stubborn, stubborn child and refused to clean up the rest of her mess, and because dh was at a class until 6:30- I missed Body Combat tonight. Which now makes me cranky, because I've gained quite a bit of weight in the last several months, and then more in the last three weeks. I've been much better about getting to the gym lately, I go at least twice a week, but I'd like to go more. Anyways, now I get a little cranky when I miss the gym- like I did on Monday. And now tonight.

Grrrrrrrr.

But I think I'm going to go the gym anyways and just do some time on the elliptical, or the tread mill or stair climber or some such thing. Which I hate more than anything. Which is why I take the classes.

But one way or the other, I have to get out of this house.

Otherwise, I just might end up tossing dishes into the wall (which I occasionally fantasize about when I'm uber-pissed). Or maybe even kids...

I'm just joking about that last part, folks.

But seriously...

Paper-girl Turf Wars

2008-03-30T20:45:00.004-07:00

Just a few miles from my house, there is a 4-way intersection which has become taken over by grown women (and one man, but he's rather unimportant) selling newspapers on the medians.

For months, there was just this one lady. I don't know her name, I think it might be Valerie (I've seen something to that effect written on her safety vest) and I've never bought a paper from her but we'll call her Paperlady A. She's tall and skinny with short, dull brown hair and a very, very red face. Sometimes I wonder if she thinks to put on sunscreen before she steps out onto that median to sell papers for the next 6 hours (yes, 6). I wonder all kinds of other things about her as I drive by almost every day. Does she have a home? Is she single? Does she have kids? Is standing in the Tucson sun for hours a day worth it? Does she make any money? What does she list as her occupation? Newspaper girl/woman? Where does she eat lunch? Does she step inside a gas station on either side of the median and grab a hot dog and an extra-large icee?

But in the last few months, a few other women have appeared in that same intersection, also selling newspapers.

Paperlady B appears to be fairly short, although also very skinny and has an under-bite which causes the bottom part of her jaw to jut out. I wonder, for some reason, if she has false teeth, and if she's wearing them.

The lenses on her sunglasses reflect the sun in such a way that makes her sunglasses seem large. I always think of a fly with a thousand eyes scanning the busy intersection when I see her. I don't know why. I just do.

She always wears a bandana of some sort, although she has ratty hair that hangs out the back. I can't tell if they're dreds in the making, or really just ratty. And usually Paperlady B wears long, flowy, print skirts that make me think of hippies and gypsies. The other day she wore a skirt with blue jeans underneath. It seemed a little too warm to me for layers, but that's just me. She also has a dog. It sits under an umbrella that's usually perched a few feet away from her as she walks up and down the corner, hoping for someone to roll down their window and wave a dollar bill around. She has a large blue thermos, too. But again I wonder all the same things about her as I do about Paperlady A, and more. What's the dog's name? Is it a boy or a girl? Does she drug it, as it is never on a leash and yet I've hardly ever seen it move? How did she get there? Does she have a car? Where does she park it? At the gas station across the street? Do the gas station people know? Do they care?

So then there were two- Paperlady A and Paperlady B. I'm assuming they sell different papers, as there are a couple local papers here in Tucson. I've never seen them talk to each other. Paperlady A stays on her median, and Paperlady B stays in her spot caddy-corner from Paperlady A's median.

Then a month or so ago, another lady (we'll call her Paperlady C) showed up on Paperlady A's median. Paperlady C has a little more girth than Paperlady A and B. She wears a khaki (I think) ball cap, with her light brown hair hanging out the back in a pony tail. She dresses a little more sportier than the other two. Jean shorts and a plain t-shirt underneath her lime-green safety vest. She, too, keeps a water cooler nearby. I wonder if she has kids, too. If they're all grown up and out of the house and she needed a hobby so she took up selling papers in a busy intersection to ward off Empty Nest Syndrome. I imagine her going to her grand-children's soccer games, taking pictures that will never see the light of day on her point and shoot camera and cheering until her throat becomes hoarse.

Again, I can't explain why this is my vision of her life when she's not in that intersection. It just is.

Oddly, the first time I saw Paperlady C on Paperlady A's median, I wondered if Paperlady A knew that someone else was on her turf. I envisioned the two of them gently placing their stack of papers down and start tearing at each other's safety vests and hair, trying to punch each other in the nose. Like a grown up version of King of the Mountain. Except on a brick-lined median in the middle of the desert instead.

The turf war I like to imagine in my head never happens though. That disappoints me a little.

However, not long after Paperlady C tried to depose Paperlady A from her median, I finally saw the two of them standing together. I watched them speak with each other, praying the light would stay red long enough to see my flights of fancy come true. There were bold gestures on both parts, and before the light turned Paperlady A did in fact end up walking to the median across the street. She didn't look happy. It's possible I imagined that, though, because it's more fun to think the seeds of conflict are growing as opposed to them reaching a reasonable compromise.

Compromise is boring.

I do suspect, though, that they worked out some sort of time-share because I've noticed lately that one of them will be on the contested median in the morning, and then the other one is there in the evening.

I've been chronicling these events to dh as I've watched (and imagined) them unfold over the last few months. When I mentioned my time-share theory the other day he laughed. It amuses him that I've gotten so wrapped up in this whole thing when, really, I don't have a clue as to what is really happening. Maybe they were comparing notes or something that day I saw Paper ladies A and C talking. Maybe Paperlady A was complaining about her husband/live-in boyfriend. Or maybe even her girlfriend. I have no idea.

"I don't know what is really going on out there," dh said to me, "but I don't think I want to know, at this point. I like your version so much better!"

And you know what? I like my version better, too.

I can't explain why I'm so intrigued with the homeless/not homeless Paper ladies occupying practically every median in that intersection. I think that it's just that I see them every day as I'm driving the girls and myself to one errand or activity or another. Also, I tend to have a rich "inner life" (i.e. Imagination). Or so I'm told.

But this "rich inner life" springs to action while I'm driving, especially.

Everything and nothing runs through my mind when I'm behind the wheel more than any other time of the day.

Probably because I can't safely knit and drive at the same time.

In any case, I'm going to continue keeping a watchful eye on Paper ladies A and C. Maybe one day I'll see the knock-down-drag-out fight I've been waiting for. Because, really, what's more amusing than two (homeless???) women coming to blows over who gets the median so they can sell their papers?!!!

Nothing, as far as I'm concerned!

Tulibu Dibu Douchoo or That's Not Really What The Song Says, Lady

2008-03-21T08:30:00.005-07:00

I'm not really an American Idol fan. The few times I have watched it were the try-out episodes because I think it's funny to watch the people who actually think they have talent but truly don't.
Apparently, though, American Idol becomes much more interesting when you call it Music Idol and base it in Europe. Then it's not so much a matter of talent, but knowing your lyrics especially when the language isn't native to you.
And now, for the funniest wanna-be-music-star performance ever (in my humble opinion), I present this chick who thinks she is singing Mariah Carey's song, Without You.

Seriously, couldn't she google the English lyrics from Bulgaria?

Um, yeah those who-cakes are for me

2008-03-17T18:48:00.003-07:00

You know how, every once in awhile you get excited about a movie coming out? You may even occassionally (particularly if you're a parent) you even become excited about the occassional children's movie.

Well, at least, I do. My movie-obsession this month? Horton Hears A Who.

I can't really explain it. I've never seen the classic, and as far as I know, I haven't made it around to reading Horton Hears A Who- for my children or myself. But that's not even what I've been especially excited about.

I was excited about the IHOP Who-Cakes, created in honor of the movie release (God bless them for that!).

I happened to take a gander at the IHOP site on Friday (occasionally I "window shop" restaurant websites. I'm sick, I know) and saw the 4 who-cake specials. The stack of pancakes have this colorful blue and pink boysenberry syrup-type sauce drizzled on it with nerds-type candles sprinkled throughout. And then there's the pink (bubblegum flavored) lollipop sticking out the top. It came with "green eggs" (eggs with spinach) and ham. Yum. It was all I could think about when I went to bed that night.

So Saturday we're out and about town, and I didn't get a chance to eat breakfast since we had to dash to A.'s Soccer Pre-Season meeting. Not surprisingly, I started to get a little hungry not to long after finishing up. I mentioned to dh how hungry I was, since I had missed breakfast. Well, he asked, what do you want?

I didn't really have to think about it, although at first I felt a little silly admitting it.

"I want who-cakes" I finally said. He smiled. He may have even laughed. Now that I think about it, I'm almost sure he laughed. I started to backtrack. I guess I don't care, I replied.

But dh being the wonderful hubby he is said (once he finished laughing) "if you want who-cakes, we'll get who-cakes". Maybe he only did this to get his daily dose of "wierd things my wife does" episodes.

Do I really have to tell you that ordering the Jo-Jo kid breakfast (smaller portions than the Mayor's breakfast) amused him to no end, and he laughed. Again.

So we ordered.

Of course, when the food finally came, the waitress started to set my breakfast in front of S. I reached out to take the plate from her. "Um, those are actually for me" I admitted as I ogled the yummy looking short stack.

"It's okay." She told me as she doled out everyone else's plates. "You're not the first."

That made me feel a little less silly. But just a little.

Need I say that dh spent our entire mealtime suppressing fits of laughter as he watched me eat my food.

Oh, and by the way. The food- YUMMY! The spinach and eggs were interesting, but still good. That's the best I could come up with.

No child can resist the allure of a lollipop. Especially not one sticking out of a short stack of pancakes (which I ended up sharing with the girls because they wanted a taste of my who-cakes, too). A. almost tricked me into giving her my lollipop. But just in time I realized, this lollipop came with my breakfast. And I will unabashedly admit that I, like a selfish child unwilling to share their favorite toy, reminded her it was my lollipop and stuck it in my mouth.

Harsh! Some of you may be thinking.

How ridiculous! You others may want to scream at me. Taking candy from a kid.

I know! I know! It's probably a little of both (but is it really like taking candy from the baby if it's my candy their after?) But I enjoyed those who-cakes so much that I almost forgot that I was the adult!

I have yet to see the movie.

I'm contemplating either going with the girls (maybe dh, too) or just jetting off to watch it myself while dh stays at home with the girls.

But that would be too weird.

Or would it?

Either way, try the breakfast guys! It's muy muy delicioso!

I'm Fucking Matt Damon

2008-03-07T18:07:00.004-07:00

No, really, I'm not.
But according to this video, Sarah Silverman is. Go girl!
Some of you may have seen this already, but you should watch it again because it's pretty fucking funny!

Jimmy Kimmel, Sarah Silverman's boyfriend, didn't take this laying down (so to speak). Here is is response:

How awesome is that?!

The “Don’t Show Santa” Video Series

2008-02-29T22:14:00.004-07:00

I have some pretty brilliant friends. Most of them are pretty brilliant without even thinking about it, which makes them even more, well, brilliant.

Let me explain.

Last week I was telling a few friends about this colossal melt-down both girls had at the mall a few days earlier. I'm going to spare you the details of what was perhaps the most stressful 30 minutes of my life and just say they were world-class fits. They were going off at the same time and we were in public!

So I was telling S. and A. (my friends, not my kids) about how I just started singing to them, telling them in verse how they were going to be in trouble when we got home as we were making our way out of the mall and into our car. They were wailing the whole time, but I just kept singing. I had to. It was the only thing keeping me from handing them off to a stranger with the promise of a notarized letter transferring parenting rights to them within 24 hours.

Of course, because it wasn't her, and because it was over, S. thought it was pretty amusing. Honestly at that point, I did, too. But then she said something so brilliant she deserves, like, a Nobel peace prize for parents.

"Do you ever think to record them when they get like that?" she asked us jokingly. "I know that I always try to record A. (her son) when he's doing something cute, but wouldn't it be great to catch him having a fit like that?"

"Yeah," I agreed. "It would be awesome!"

So, fast forward a week to this past Wednesday.

I don't even remember how it started (do we ever?). I just know that A. (my daughter, not my friend) started throwing this fantastic fit, refusing to go into her room when I told her too, and crying about how she didn't want to lay down. I picked her up under her armpits and placed her inside her room, where she crumbled to the floor like feta cheese on a greek salad and resumed her screaming there. We'd all been sick all week. And on that particular day my throat was hurting really badly, so I wasn't much in the mood for screaming or yelling. I did ask her to kindly cooperate, seeing as how I wasn't feeling well. But she didn't care.

Wah, wah, IT'S NOT FAIR! Wah, wah! She wailed. I shut the door and stood outside of it. Less than a minute later I hear this thumping around coming from her room. It did not sound good. I opened her door to see that she had turned over her plastic kitchen and her rocker chair.

"Oh," I said. "You want to start throwing things around you're room, huh?"

I took the kitchen and the chair out.

"Are you going to leave the tv and dvd player alone or should I take those too?"

"Noooooooo!" she replied.

Alright.

And then back to the screaming and wailing- this time about how it wasn't fair that I took her chair (she didn't care so much for the kitchen right then, I suppose). I stared at her, at a loss as to how to handle this.

And that's when I remembered my conversation with S. last week.

Without saying anything I went and found dh's camera, which takes videos. I walked back to A.'s room where she continued to carry on and turned the camera on.

At some point she turned her head and noticed I was recording her.

"Noooooo!" she cried. "Don't take a movie of it!"

"Why don't you tell me why you're upset, again?" I asked. She got up off the floor, went behind her door and tried to shut the door on me. Unfortunately for her I was close enough to put my foot out and stop it before it could close on me.

So not cool.

I went behind the door where she was trying to hide and raised the camera up to her face.

She calmed down enough to tell me again that she didn't want me to take a video of her.

"Are you going to stop throwing things around your room?" I asked.

"I don't want you to show it to Santa!"

"Are you going to be good?" I asked again. She nodded and agreed to lay down for a little bit. When she started up again a minute later, I just went back in with the camera and started recording. She calmed down as soon as she saw the lens pointed at her.

I set the timer for 15 minutes, but somewhere about minute 8 she thought she'd try sneaking out of her room.

Again, I grabbed the camera, turned it on and told her she had 7 minutes left. A. took one look at the camera, crossed her arms and then stomped back to her room, where she stayed. Quietly. Until the timer went off.

That was all it took.

I would love to show you the video, but I promised her I wouldn't show it to her friends or to Santa (who just might read my blog, you know).

Just know that this has become my favorite discipline technique! We've only had to take the camera out two more times since then. Her last outburst didn't last very long.

So now I carry dh's Canon with me, to gather evidence for Santa when they act up in public.

I imagine we'll have a nice little collection of Don't-Show-Santa videos by the time Christmas rolls around this year.

Or maybe not…

Stranger things have happened, right?

Stupid Human Trick Lessons

2008-02-29T21:42:00.002-07:00

Stupid Human Trick Lesson #1

It is not a good idea to talk while trying to spit into a trash can where the lid pops up when you step on a pedal. It's a guaranteed collision course to smacking your nose right on the edge of the lid. Especially if you are not paying any particular attention to where the lid is in relation to your nose.

And it hurts.

Stupid Human Trick Lesson #2

It is not a good idea to jump through a moving hula hoop onto a yard landscaped with pokey rocks. Your hands will get scratched up.

And it hurts.

You’re making a mess, mommy

2008-02-29T21:37:00.002-07:00

S. walks into my office with her hands on her hips. She looks around and sees the cabled knit squares I was putting together on the floor.

S: Hey, you're really making a mess on the floor!

Me: Oh, I am, am I?

S: (comes closer to investigate. Steps on top of the squares) Yes, you are. Stop it.

Exit, stage left.

In the living room to dh and A.

S: Mommy's really making a mess in the office!

A: Yeah, I know.

Japanese Zombie Game

2008-02-27T14:50:00.005-07:00

This may be the funniest video I've seen in months! I love it, almost as much as the Japanese women's self-defense video.

Bonus- It's sub-titled, which is really what makes this video even more hilarious!

A Little Lesson In Manners From A.- sort of

2008-02-26T20:50:00.003-07:00

A: Can we watch cartoons?

Me: Ak your daddy if it's okay

Dh: Sure

(we walk into the living room)

A: Is spongebob on?

I flip to Nick.

Me: No spongebob.

Flip to Noggin

Me: But Little Bill is on. Lucky me.

A: Is Little Bill one of your favorites?

Me: Yeah, not so much.

A: Why not?

Me: Because I think he's obnoxious (never mind she has no idea what this means). Much like Ruby in Max and Ruby. She's rude and mean.

A. thinks about this.

A: But you're rude and mean.

Me: EXCUSE ME?!

A: When I'm bad, you're rude and mean. Just like when Max is bad, Ruby is rude and mean.

I think about this.

Me: I suppose you're right. Except that Ruby is sometimes rude when Max is not bad. But good thinking. I love you.

A: (smiles) I love you, too.

When Will I EVER Learn

2008-02-25T21:14:00.003-07:00

It all started innocently enough.

Weeks ago, A. came into the living room where I was reading to tell me that she was having bad dreams (although she'd only been in her bed a matter of moments and never really fell asleep).

I must point out that this has become a common occurence in our house.

So anyways, that night I told her to tell the bad dreams to "go away. You're not the boss of me!" She said okay, went to bed and came back less than 10 minutes later.

"The monsters won't listen to me."

Thinking myself to be very clever, I remembered she was sleeping with her princess blanket. And Disney princesses are magical, right?

Me: "Well, tell the monster that if it doesn't leave you alone, the princesses will beat them up."

A: "But, it won't go away!"

Me: "Just try it, okay?"

Silence.

Seconds later, compliance.

And minutes later, she returns.

Of course.

At a complete and total loss as to what to do, I racked my brain for something- anything I could use to get her to make the monsters go away and her stay in bed for the rest of the night.

Ah-ha!

A dream catcher!

Feeling quite pleased with myself for being so brilliant, I promised her we would go to Michael's and find some things to make a dream catcher the next day. I explained to her that it catches the bad dreams and only lets the good ones through the netting. Satisfied with this response, A. agreed to go back to bed and stay there and hold the monsters at bay for one more night.

So the next day we go go Michael's and because I hate buying things like this just for A., I bought a Dream Catcher kit for S., too. Not a terrible idea, though, since she seems to be catching onto the whole "I'll just keep coming out of my room and tell mama I'm having bad dreams until she decides to let me sleep on the couch and/or sleep with me" bug.

I promise you, I did look at the directions on the back before we bought them and it didn't look terribly difficult. It turns out I conveniently ignored the "6+" label as the appropriate age group. Because sometimes the girls can play with things meant for older kids provided there isn't anything to choke on. A.'s past the age of shoving things in her mouth but S. is just getting started (yes, at 3 years old. I know!).

I pay for the kits and we go home to make their dream catchers.

You know what I took out of the box?

A silver ring, a thin purple suede ribbon, some beads and feathers and this flossy type string. I look at the front of the box and notice the (finished) dream catcher is wrapped with the purple suede ribbon. I look back at the contents. The ring and the ribbon were two separate pieces coming out of the box.

Ooooh-kay.

I took out the directions and saw that I had to wrap the ring with the suede ribbon myself, securing the ends with glue.

Alrighty then. How hard could that be?

Yeah, well- it took me more than 10 minutes to wrap that damn ring because the suede ribbon was so thin and I had to keep readjusting. But finally it gets done and satisfied, I move on. I consulted the directions again and notice the nice netting in the ring on the box. I don't have a net to attach to the ring. It turns out, this flossy string- I'm supposed to create the netting by wrapping loosely around the edges of the ring and then wrapping through the loops over and over till we get to the middle.

Fuck.

I grab the flossy string and begin looping it per instructions. It looks like shit but I keep going. Then I began the second round of looping. It still looks like shit. I look back and forth between the box and the dream-catcher-in-progress in my hand. All the while, the girls are pestering me about finishing it, and telling me, "you have to put in the beads and feathers."

Yes, I know that.

Clearly, I am incompetent. In addition, I'm not moving fast enough for them.

After a half hour trying to create a dream catcher net, I give up. I am nowhere near being finished and there's no earthly way the girls can manage this themselves if we want them to be done before they graduate high-school. But I'm so fed up with it already that I just undo the netting, pack everything up and promise to get to it again… some other day.

Of course, in preschool-speak, "some other day" means "now".

The girls are upset that I'm giving up on the dream catcher so soon, and I'm upset with myself for creating not only more "work" for myself, but now a whole new drama because I know they will continue to tearfully admonish me for not finishing their dream catcher soon enough to make the bad dreams go away.

"Sorry, guys," I say. "But I just can't do this right now."

Or the next day- which A. doesn't really think about.

It's not until bed time that next night that she remembers my stalled attempt to create her dream catcher. She tearfully comes into the living room, telling me that if I don't finish her dream catcher, she's going to have bad dreams. I have no answer for this because I'm the one that told her the dream catcher would keep the bad dreams away. So I tell her, "go to bed. I'll work on it later." She reluctantly returned to her room. Peeved, I'm sure, that she must endure another night of bad dreams because I'm a retard who can't pay attention to detail!

Lucky for me, A.'s birthday comes along within days and between the gift-getting and ice-cream eating she forgets all about that damned dream catcher. Its days before she mentions it again, but mentions it, she does. And this time, dh is in the room to witness her distress.

"You've got to finish those dream catchers." He tells me.

Really? I think.

"Yeah," I say instead. "But you don't understand how much work those fucking things are!" (or something like that). He laughs because I've done it again- gotten myself in over my head with a project that was supposed to be for the girls but ends up being for me. I'm a fucking genius, I tell you.

I just can't bring myself to finish it. Because I feel like, if I have to spend one more second creating a fucking net out of dental floss, the floss would somehow end up wound around my neck, instead of in the ring- and that could lead to something tragic!

But now A.'s back to (consistently) reminding me about her dream catcher, and how I need to finish so that she doesn't have bad dreams. And all I can think of is… fuck. Because not only do I have to finish hers, but then I have to start on the one for her sister!

I should have just gone to some nearby reservation and bought authentic ready-made dream catchers! It may have cost me a little more cash-wise, but the sanity I would have maintained would have been priceless.

Just priceless, I tell you.

In Which We Learn A. Doesn't Have Shoulder Joints

2008-02-21T15:54:00.006-07:00

Thinking that, perhaps, this really can't be that hard, I attempt to do it, too (just pretend like the mess in the background isn't there):

Triumph- Finally!

2008-02-18T21:54:00.002-07:00

Ha ha! Those stupid mice couldn't outsmart us for long!

Dh finally found the rotting, stinking rodent corpse the other day, and he didn't even have to take the car apart to do it! He took the Merc to a car wash as he was waiting for our order from Subway on Saturday, and as he was vacuuming he hit something underneath the back left passenger seat. He lifted it up and wha-la! The missing mouse trap was revealed- with a jerkified mouse corpse inside pressed up against the smoky plastic. The cause of the offending odor was thus removed to the trash can, the car was thoroughly cleaned out and is now free of rodents (alive and otherwise) and mouse poop.

Yay!

I got the wonderful pleasure to drive the rodent-free vehicle this weekend and it smells lovely!

We finally got those mice bastards!

The Birthday Letter and Music hell

2008-02-14T21:50:00.004-07:00

A. turned 5 today. Yes, 5. In six months she will be boarding a big yellow school bus and officially become a kindergartener! Wild.

Because I've been feeling super crafty and sentimental lately, I sat down last night and wrote her a letter about some of the things she learned to do in the last year. Realizing that 3 pages might be a bit much for such a young child to sit through, I told her she could stop me anytime she wanted and I would put the letter away.

I got through the introductory sentence.

Over 12 hours of labor 5 years ago, 2 hours of writing last night and 3 pages of effort and I get stopped at the introduction!

I know, I know. She's young and the letter won't really mean anything to her until she gets much older but I would have liked her to know what I wrote, anyhow. I think I must have had a vision of angelic smiles and huge, heartfelt hugs after reading her the letter. I was seriously delusional.

So, A. says "stop", and I fold up the letter, put it in the envelope and toss it onto the (growing) pile of books on my night table. And even though I anticipated a little bit of a lack of interest, I was still a little upset by the haste in which she wanted me to stop. And the speed in which she hopped off the bed and out of my room...

Oh, well.

Moving right along-

Have you ever gotten a song stuck in your head? I have just a touch of an obsessive personality, so songs get stuck all the time. They're not even always good songs either. Or grown up songs. Which is why this is particularly annoying, I think.

I've got a kids song stuck in my brain! It's like an illness, really.

Today I am being victimized by this cd of silly songs for kids (Wee Sing Silly Songs) I got for the girls. I was playing it for them this afternoon and somewhere around 20-something tracks in, a song came on called "The Green Grass Grows All Around". It's one of those songs where you build onto the verse and then put them all together before moving on.

It started somewhere around 3 pm. And it hasn't stopped. In. My. Head.

It played in my head as we got ready to go to dinner at 4:30, as I ate dinner about 6, on the drive to Coldstone Creamery at about 7, and then again as I navigated my way around Target buying pillows and carpet shampoo (approximately 8 pm).

And because misery loves company, I'll give you a glimpse of what the hell is break dancing around my brain. Since I love you all, though, I'll just cut right to the end (which is really the bulk of what's looping around my head, anyways):

"On that bug, there was a germ, the prettiest germ that you ever did see;

the germ on the bug and the bug on the feather

and the feather in the wing and the wing

on the bird and the bird in the egg

and the egg in the nest and the nest

on the branch and the branch on the limb

and the limb on the tree and the tree

in the hole and the hole in the ground

and the green grass grew all around, all around,

and the green grass grew all around."

There. If you made it this far you have officially entered my hell.

Welcome! I'll be bringing drinks around shortly.

What I'd like to know, though, is how the hell a bug gets into an egg?

What Crawled In Here And Died?!

2008-02-13T19:57:00.002-07:00

It's been 3 weeks and we haven't had any more traps disappear. As a matter of fact, we haven't had any mice at all in this time. So this means we win, right?

WRONG!

Wrong because it seems that some rogue mouse died somewhere in that stupid SUV. It seems this way because the truck REEKS! I mean like, something seriously crawled into some hidey hole and died! We took the truck to the Renfest on Sunday, so we were in there for 4 hours total with no foul smell. But it's been heating up into the 70's this week. So dh's theory is that the mouse may have been there for the last several weeks, but was basically refrigerated. And now that it's warming up, well, you know…

Ewwwwww!

He's been driving around with all the windows open (we switched cars for a few weeks) so he doesn't suffocate in the disgustingness! So the plan? He's going to go through the car, maybe start taking apart the dashboard and what not to see if he can't find the decomposing mouse. *shudder* Better him than me cuz seriously- I think I would be so disgusted when I come across the rotting mouse that I would be puking for days. And then I'd be in therapy for more days, because I'll start having nightmares about skeletal mice chasing me into a plastic cube with a one way door, where a slice of yummy chocolate cake awaits as bait…

Flybaby

2008-02-01T10:29:00.001-07:00

I am a flybaby. Although I have to admit, I haven't been as observant as maybe I should be (my morning routine springs to mind). But baby steps, right?

For those of you who are seriously confused, I'm talking about the techniques created by The Fly Lady for staying on top of housework and keeping your home organized.

Last week was my first week, and we were in Zone 5: Master Bedroom. Which turned out great because I had plans to clean up my bedroom, anyways.

But what most excites me about the Fly Lady system is the Control Journal. It's a place where you are to write down your daily/nightly routine, put detailed cleaning lists of the zones, record emergency numbers and stuff like that. So a lot of my time has actually been spent modifying the control journal to suit my needs and put one together.

Because I'm truly a geek, I have created several documents to go into my journal. I'll let you in on my geek-ness.

I am creating a Dinner Idea Master List. Sort of like a cook-book I guess. But it doesn't include recipes. I take recipes that I've found that we like, or that I'd like to try and put them all into a word doc by category (poultry, beef, fish, etc…) and I list their serving sizes and ingredients. I'm working on including general costs of the ingredients for each meal, but I still have to update my Grocery Price List before I do that.

The point of my Dinner Idea Master List is to help me plan dinners more efficiently. If I'm stuck for dinner ideas, I can consult this list and I'll see exactly what ingredients I'll need without having to go through the recipe books or web sites to get ingredients for each recipe. And when I include the price, I'll be able to have a better idea of how much we're spending on dinners, and I can adjust meals according to price when I have to.

I've been working on it all week. Oddly, I am actually having a good time doing this! It's so sick and crazy, I know. But I think about how much easier meal planning will be for me with this document. So far I've got over 35 recipes. Some we've tried, many we haven't. If we try one and don't like it, I can just delete it and move on. Of course, it will always be a work in progress as I find new recipes and get rid of others.

I created a document where I can list 3 weeks worth of menu's as a master reference of what we'll be having and I've created Weekly Dinner Menu's. As in, the meals for the week are presented on it with cute little clip art and funky type just like you would see in a restaurant. That goes on the fridge, so I have a pretty little display of the week's menu.

See that? Geek.

Hades Has A New Address

2008-01-22T15:30:00.000-07:00

Hades has a new address.

Yes, the entirety of Hades has moved, taking it's captives with it.

It is now located at:

1234 The W. Household Circle

Tucson, Az blah blah blah blah

Please make a note of this and take the time to change it in your address books.

Rescuing The Princess

2008-01-22T15:25:00.000-07:00

In more ways than one.

I thought about A.'s lost toy phone all night. Part of me felt that I should just go back and get the phone (if it was even still there) and just give it to her, and part of me felt I needed to teach her a lesson and make her earn money to get a new one.

The first part of me won.

I called the Children's Museum when they opened up today and asked if anyone had turned in a toy princess cell phone. Yes, the person said, we do have a princess phone. But she sounded reluctant to tell me it was there. "We were having a lot of fun with it last night," she said. "We were taking pictures of each other." (apparently, this phone has a functional camera- sort of. Who knew?)

"That's great." I said. "We'll be by to pick it up today."

"We'll take good care of it for you."

I didn't tell A. that we were going to get her phone back until we were half-way to the Children's museum.

She was so happy to see that phone, and the guy behind the admissions counter was happy to have made her smile. That was very sweet, I thought.

So, what did I end up doing with the phone?

I gave it to her with no strings attached.

I figure it this way- if I had lost something that I purchased, and thought I knew where I had left it, I would go back and get it before I replaced it. Since this is something that A. purchased with her very own hard earned money, she deserves the same courtesy I would give myself or dh had it been us who had lost something. Particularly something we cherished.

And so, the Princess was rescued phsyically (the toy phone) and emotionally (A.) by the Mom-In-The-Silver-Mazda and everyone lived happily ever after.

The Triumph Over Potty Training

2008-01-21T20:15:00.001-07:00

Sort of.

I have changed approximately 3 pull-ups in the last few days.

No, no. S. has not finally decided that using the potty at home is the coolest thing in the world.

I'm having her change her pull-ups herself. She takes off her shoes, her pants, her pull-up, cleans herself up and puts a new one on. I actually got the idea from a passing comment a friend made last week when I was going on about my potty training woes. She just started telling me about different things that her friends had done to potty train their children. And one of them made her daughter change herself.

It didn't register right away as being something that we should try until a few days later, I found S. sitting in her pink rocker chair- she was soaked, her chair was soaked. And she was wearing a pull-up. She wasn't bothered the least bit by it, either. This surprised me because I had changed her just a few hours earlier but this child pees more often and in greater quantities than I've ever even heard of!

As I was shampooing her chair (for the fourth time that week- perhaps we should find chair covers?), I thought about how much this sucked. I'm shampooing furniture whether she's in pull-ups or panties- plastic or otherwise.

Then it hit me.

If she doesn't want to pee in the potty, or tell me when she needs to be changed- she'll just clean up and change herself, dammit.

So, I took a brand-new pack of pull-ups, put it in the cabinet underneath the sink. I showed S. where the pull-ups were, and explained to her that from now on, when she needs a new pull-up, she has to come into the bathroom and take care of herself (I still help with the poopy ones though. I'm afraid poop will end up all over the bathroom floor if I don't, but luckily those don't happen too often)

There was a little resistance the first time. The getting off not such a big deal. It was the putting a new one on that was the problem. It took about ten minutes for me to get her to do it. She peed on the carpet in the meanwhile. Lucky me.

But since then, it's actually been going pretty well. I still have to ask/tell her it's time to be changed. But she heads straight to the bathroom where all this business is being done now and did what she needed to do. She even put a new one on immediately and without a fight! Yipeeee!

And here's the kicker- she was so proud of herself!

I'll take what I can get.

Another thing I did was copy a picture of the huggies pull-up designs from their website. I typed "S.'s pull-ups" on top and printed it out at about 6x6 image. Then I taped it on the cabinet door which led the way to her pull-ups.

Oh, how she loved that!

This last time I shuffled her into the bathroom, she ran! Then sat on the bathroom floor and ooo-ed and ah-d over this lovely picture of the princesses which also adorned her pull-ups. Then she changed herself and ran back into the living room. The whole thing took less than five minutes, and all I had to do was get her and take her back to the bathroom!

And again, she proudly proclaimed "I did it!" I congratulated her and fussed over her being such a smart girl before she ran off.

If I'd known this particular method would be so much less soul-wrenching for the both of us, I'd thought of it much sooner! But the important thing now is that I found something that works.

She's still not "potty trained", but I'm not changing pull-ups every few hours either. It's a win-win situation.

Also, A. saved up just enough money doing chores that she was finally able to buy the princess cell phone toy she saw at wal-mart last week. I gave her the money to give to the cashier all by herself, even. She was so excited! She's been carrying that phone everywhere since she bought it yesterday, occasionally flipping it open even as we're walking and putting it up to her ear to see what Princess Jasmine has to say about Aladdin's latest adventures.

But she lost it at the children's museum today, and we didn't realize it until we were half-way home. It was too late, anyways. The Children's museum would have been closed by the time we got back there.

It really was heart-wrenching for me to see her distress over losing that phone. Because it wasn't just any phone. It was the very first thing she's ever bought with money she, herself, has earned.

I thought about calling them, turning around and going back for it, but I didn't. As much as it sucks, this is a great way for her to learn about keeping track of her things and taking responsibility for them. I'm always telling her to keep this or that in the car because I don't want her to lose it. But today I just didn't. I didn't think of it. My bad. But this isn't about me.

I told her that I was sorry she lost it, but that she could earn more money to get a brand new one, and maybe next time she'll be more careful with her things. Surprisingly, that was enough to quell the tears flowing down her cheeks. Still though, I'm thinking about calling the Children's museum to see if her phone has been turned in. But then what? If I give it to her, she'll never learn to be responsible for her belongings.

So now I'm trying to think of extra things she can do around the house this week to earn the money back faster (that $3.06 was the result of weeks and weeks of accumulated change).

I just feel so terrible that she lost it so soon after buying it.

It's hard to be a preschooler, sometimes, isn't it?

Still There

2008-01-18T15:31:00.001-07:00

I caught another mouse in the garage.

In the car- not so much.

And yet again, in the car there was a cracker on the outside and NO FUCKING TRAP!

I looked under the seats, between the seats- where I noticed that the traps weren't the only thing this fucking vermin was rearranging. I found a moth ball (which was in the drivers side cupholder) underneath the front passenger seat.

Son of a bitch!

That fucking rat bastard!

I don't want to use poison because I'm afraid that it will work, but the mouse will crawl into it's hidey hole before it croaks, and then I'd be left with a rotting mouse carcass somewhere in my vehicle.

This whole ordeal gives me the neebie jeebies. I get all shivery- the kind of shivery you get when you're scared of something and not sure if you'll be able to escape.

What the hell does a girl have to do to get rid of an obviously smart magician mouse?!

Seriously.

Ideas anyone?

Updated to say:

I am bolting down the traps tomorrow. Duct tape, velcro, super glue-

let's see houdini make it disappear then!

The Rodent Magician

2008-01-17T18:48:00.001-07:00

This is going to sound terribly disgusting. And if you happen to be someone whose vehicle is manned by children (in any number) 95% of the time yet have managed to not have stray French fries on the floor boards or sticky car seats will probably definitely find this terribly disgusting.

I do have to say though, that I am disgusted myself so- I won't be hating on the haters this time, yo.

There are vermin living in my car. Or maybe just one mouse. I'm not sure yet.

See, I started noticing these odd black rice sized thingies scattered in the cup holder and on the floor boards of our suv. I immediately figured out that we had a boarder of the disease-carrying kind. I did what any normal person does when faced with an unknown situation. I googled, "there is a mouse living in my car". Lo and behold, I found page after page of people plagued with the same problem.

*whew* I'm not alone in my disgustingness, then. That makes me feel just a teensy bit better. But just a teence.

So anyways, the vermin must go.

First I deep cleaned the interior of my car. I vacuumed in spaces I had no idea even existed, pulling chairs up and even getting into the compartment in the back where the jack is (who knew it was even there??? Not me!). I was sure I'd find that fucking mouse just a nibbling away at some wire or piece of plastic. But no such luck.

After I vacuumed, I wiped the consoles down with Lysol wipes, and then I shampooed everything- the floor boards, the seats…

Satisfied with my wonderfully clean and mouse-shit free vehicle, I went to Target to get moth balls, which I read mice did not like. I bought a box and just dropped like, 5-6 in one of the cup olders. And yet, the droppings showed up again the next day.

Son of a bitch!

Now I had to get all hard core and actually buy mouse traps!

On the way to Wal-Mart, I pondered the techniques used to dispose of a live mouse stuck on a glue pad (I'm not fond of having to clean up mouse guts). Do I just throw it right into the trash like that (ewwwww)? Do I smash it's head with a hammer and put it out of it's misery (double ewwwwww. And kinda psycho, don't you think?). Luckily, once I found the traps at Wal-Mart I realized that I would have to do neither. Because there were these "humane" (funny, how I'm all concerned about being humane to disease carrying vermin which are not, um, human) traps called Mouse Cubes or something like that. It's a rectangular plastic box with a few holes in the door, which only goes one way. So the mouse can get in, but can't get out.

Disposal then became less of a concern for me. I figured when I trapped the mouse I could take it into the desert (away from my house) and let it free to be eaten by snakes (which is another reason these mice must go. Snakes eat mice. And remember what happened a few months ago? I don't know that I could sufficiently bash a rattler to death with A.'s walking stick all by my lonesome. I prefer dh to do the dirty work.)

The directions on the trap suggested that I smear peanut butter on a cracker and slide it into the trap (not cheese. Huh.). And so we got home and I got to work putting crackers slathered with peanut butter into the traps. The directions also suggested that I put a little bit of pb on the door of the trap, to attract the mice. So I did that, too.

Two traps went into the garage, because I remembered dh telling me, not too long before I realized that mice were living in my car, that he saw one in the garage.

And two went into the SUV.

I've been driving dh's car while I make my suv rodent-free, because this mouse (these mice?) are fucking smart. I've never seen or heard one in my car. Just seen the droppings. And you know what else? The day after I cleaned my car, I took the girls to story time. I went into B&N with a shit-free car and came out two hours later to see droppings on the back passenger floor!

That fucking mouse waited until we were no longer in the vehicle and then took a dump all over the fucking place! So, I figured I had to stay out of the car, to increase the chances of catching that little fucker.

The next day I found mice in the garage.

Take that, you car-shitting fucker!

Then I checked the traps in the car.

The one in the left rear passenger side was missing.

MISSING!

But when I looked under the seat, there it was. With the peanut butter cracker sitting RIGHT IN FRONT OF IT!

I have no idea how that is even possible, but the fucking mouse moved the trap and got the cracker out of the trap with the one-way door! Oh, and he pooped in the pb. Ewwww.

I shut the door and checked the front passenger side trap.

The trap was still in place, and the cracker was still there, but the pb I smeared onto the door to attract it/them to it was all licked up! There was a clean trap door!

Mother fucker!

I went back inside, furious that I was being bested by mice. Mice! I glanced at the mouse traps in the garage, each being occupied by an unsuspecting mouse. "You'll pay," I told them on the way into the house, "you're little buddy wants to be a smart-ass, so you will pay. Let your demise be an example to him/them!"

Right then I decided that I was just going to toss their traps into freezer bags and then into a plastic target bag and then finally into our trash can (thank God trash day was the next day).

Life is cruel like that.

It took an extra day for me to catch the mouse in the car. In the front passenger trap cowered a little gray peanut-butter-car-shitting nuisance and I laughed when I saw it there.

Triumph!

I got you my pretty.

I had hoped he was the only one, but I can't be sure. Because when I checked the back trap again yesterday, it was gone. Not moved this time, but disappeared! I checked the very back, where the 3^rd row seating is- the trap is fucking gone. Like some kind of rodent David Copperfield putting on a show, the fucking trap had VANISHED. I don't know if it vanished before or after I found the one mouse because I didn't check that one again until later. But it's not there anymore. Or anywhere from what I could see.

Son of a bitch! Bested again!

We'll see about this.

Yesterday I went back to Wal-Mart, purchased four more traps. This morning they were placed, as before, two in the garage and two in my car.

As of this afternoon- no mice.

This could be a good thing meaning I caught them all. Or this could mean that Vermin Copperfield and his remaining buddies are incredibly smart and sly.

I'm hoping for the former.

Because really, my ego can't handle being out-smarted by a fucking rodent again.

I Trust You, But…

2008-01-13T09:54:00.001-07:00

A conversation at Jamba Juice:

A.: I want an orange drink.

Me: we're going to share today (they never drink all of theirs).

A.: Are you getting orange?

Me: No, I'm getting something else, but it has strawberries in it. You'll like it.

(after a brief pause of consideration)

A.: Well, I trust you, but I still want my own.

Potty Trainers Anonymous

2008-01-11T18:09:00.001-07:00

*Note: This will be the LAST post about potty training EVER. I'm sick of thinking about it, so I'm sure you're sick of reading about it. Thanks for sticking around!*

Hi. My name is Lynn, and my 3 year old doesn't use the potty.

That's right, folks. Potty training boot camp is officially a bust.

This past week I finally got a hold of more plastic panty covers and began using them over real panties, instead of the plastic panties with the liner. And you know what?

Not only was I still shampooing wet spots off of the upholstery and carpeting, I began cleaning trails of pissy foot prints off the floor with Lysol wipes and Pinesol.

We did give it a break for a few days, because not only was S. not using the potty- even after replacing the plastic panties with plastic panty covers- but she began crying every time she peed her panties and we had to clean her up and change her! I didn't think that was such a good development. So we put her back in pull-ups and went about our business.

S. quite obviously isn't ready to use the potty at home, yet. Just in libraries and malls, apparently. But then today she said she wanted panties on so I put them on her, thinking maybe we've made progress since she requested.

Ha ha! The jokes on me, man!

Cuz she still peed (and pooped, lucky me) in her panties, left behind pissy foot prints traveling from her bedroom to the living room and back to the bathroom, and I still had to shampoo the carpet and clean those prints off of the floor. Oh, and also the bathroom floor, because her panties were dripping urine from beneath the panty covers. Into the laundry they go.

I have made peace with the fact that S. may well be in diapers when she finally leaves for college. And when she gets married, we'll have to find or special order really pretty plastic panty covers (perhaps with frilly ruffles and sequins) for her to wear under her wedding dress. Her groom probably won't want to be rooting around under the dress for the garter at the reception, but who cares? At that point, her potty habits will officially be his problem and not ours. Maybe we can marry her off early? Let's say, when she turns 4? Then someone else can take over this wonderful task of civilizing this stubborn kid, and I won't be buying pull-ups for the next 15 years?

I know for a fact that some of you have sons. Anyone want to betroth their son to S.? I'll throw in a year's supply of pretty-as-a- princess-pull-ups as part of the dowry…

Why don't you take the weekend to think about it.

You know where to find me once you've made your decision.

Say It Ain’t So

2008-01-10T15:30:00.001-07:00

The strike, the strike. That damn'd Writer's Strike!

It appears that my favorite shows will continue to be on hiatus as the Writer's Guild of America attempts to coerce the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers (AMPTA) to satisfy their demands.

To date, the strike has lasted 9 weeks and 3 days according to wikipedia, with shows such as Private Practice and Pushing Daisy's (two of my favorites) among those whose production has come to a halt until the savage beast we have come to know as the WGA, can be soothed.

However, on January 2nd, David Letterman returned to night time tv with a full writing staff after their demands were negotiated and met by Worldwide Pants, Letterman's production company.

And lucky me, Grey's Anatomy returns tonight with an all-new episode. Hopefully the first all-new episode of many for the rest of the season.

Hey, it's something, and I'll take it!

Being that the strike was organized by the Writer's Guild, it seems a little odd that factions of that guild would return to work while others wait to have their terms accepted. Guild spokesmen refer to the return of Letterman's show as their "Trojan Horse". They contend that, as a result of Letterman's writers getting what they asked, the other writers's demands will come to the attention of show producers and apparently save them all. As if other show producers are hiding with their heads in the sand and have no idea what the writers are demanding if they are to return to work.

This, quite frankly, sounds like a lame excuse for why writer's of one show are getting what they want as other writer's man the picket lines until their terms can be met. Were they striking then, as an organization? Or as teams of writers assigned by show?

Hopefully, this is an indicator that the Guild does not have the stamina to really "stick it to" the networks and their show producers until the bitter end. That would, indeed, be great news for those of us who are nervously pacing in front of our televisions and obsessively checking the next days tv schedule to see if our favorite show has been reinstated.

But, the last Writer's strike, which took place in 1988, lasted for 21 weeks.

God, help us all.

You Can’t Kick Me Out, I left YOU

2008-01-09T21:43:00.001-07:00

A few months ago I received an invitation from one of my friends to join hoverspot.com. It's another one of those social networking sites, except with this one you earn points somehow to win products like ipods and what not. I joined because my friend would receive points if I did, like some kind of referral system. In all I thought the site was pretty lame, and really worthless unless you were hard on about winning stuff. I don't give a shit about winning stuff- especially if I have to get friends to join or make new ones with that purpose in mind. Not much of a social network, I think.

In the few months I'd been a member I received 2 emails from other hoverspot members. Perfect strangers who were sending me messages as if they KNOW ME. Like one, dated 12/11/2007, asked "where are you?". The last straw, dated 1/7/2008 asked, "do you even get on here anymore?"

WTF?!!!

I don't even know you people!

Therefore I felt it was just time to cancel my account and be done with random ass people asking me about my site activity (or lack thereof).

At the end of the cancel request form there was a box. Hoverspot wanted to know why I was cancelling. Fair enough. In a nutshell, this was my reply:

I only joined to help out a friend. I'm not really interested in this site. Plus, I'm getting messages from people I don't even know about my whereabouts and it's getting to be a pest.

And you know what?

I got an email from hoverspot today saying that my account has been deleted because I "have been determined to be in violation of hoverspot terms of service".

Uh, WTF?!!!

If cancelling my account is a violation of their terms of service, then I can most certainly understand. But when I think "violation", I think of people putting porn on their site, or threatening to kill the president, or putting porn on their site and threatening to kill the president…

But cancelling an account?

I sat over this email for a minute, part of me laughing and part of me outraged (I've kind of been on a short fuse lately).

You can't kick me out! I left you!

So I sat thinking. I told dh about it. And we laughed. And then I thought some more.

I decided I wanted to send a really pissy email back to the administrators of hoverspot, demanding to know what terms of service I am in violation of? And could they kindly kiss my ass because, fuck you (meaning them), I quit before they kicked me out.

I thought better of it. Maybe that was the smart thing to do.

But why do I feel so violated?! Like some vicious rumor was being spread about me throughout the blogosphere.

And really, WTF?!!

So anyways, here's one for google:

Hoverspot sucks balls.

A Compelling Conversation With A.

2008-01-05T22:30:00.000-07:00

A: Mama, I'm compelled to play with my toys.

Me: Do you know what compel means?

A: No, what?

Me: It's when you really want to do something.

(I realize now that my definition leaves something to be desired, but she's 4, and it's close enough I think)

A: Oh, like you are compelled to knit and I am compelled to play.

Me: Exactly. Where did you learn that from?

A: I don't know.

Me: you're not in trouble, it's alright.

A: I don't know. I just know it.

Potty Training Boot Camp

2008-01-05T22:17:00.001-07:00

I would first like to apologize for yet another potty training entry. There may be a few potty training adventures yet to come, but I promise I'll use the utmost discretion in deciding what to bitch about post.

We've got sort of a potty training boot camp going on in our house right now. The plastic panty thing? Not so much working. For all the wet spots I still have to shampoo off the carpets and the upholstery every day, I gave up on the plastic panties and just toss regular ones on her when the mood suits. I consulted with my "source" about the dilemma and she recommended I try the actual plastic panty covers, since the all-in-ones do have a higher tendency to leak. Wish I'd a known that $12 ago?

So tomorrow I'm back to Babiesrus, where I will purchase exactly 2 packs of the plastic panty covers, for approximately $3 for a pack of 3, each. In the meantime, she will be wearing panties all day. Again. And I will continue shampooing the carpets and upholstery approximately every two hours. I'm sure that by the time S. finally decides that using the potty at home is the cool thing to do, we will have bald spots on our brand new carpets and the upholstery will have thin, wispy patches here and there. Also, my Bissell may overheat from having to keep up with the puddles of piss being left behind in various rooms numerous times a day.

The best part about all this?

I never really know exactly where S. was when she peed her panties, because she won't tell me right away. She'd walk around in wet panties all day if she could! So I have to hunt down wet spots in the common areas- the living room or her room, dragging the shampooer with me as I look. The Bissell has not seen the closet in two days, but this sure does add some excitement to my otherwise boring days…

But I am determined. If this kid knows when she has to potty while we're at the library, she's going to figure out how to use the potty at home when the urge strikes.

There's no telling how long this boot camp will last. A week, two weeks- the rest of my life…

When I was freaking out about A.'s lack of interest in the potty a year ago, I'd heard people tell me to relax, that she'll be out of diapers by the time she goes to kindergarten. And with A., that turned out to be true. But with S., I'm not entirely sure she'll be out of diapers by the time she goes to college…

The Plastic Panty Potty Training Challenge

2008-01-02T20:22:00.000-07:00

I have a 3 year old who will not use the potty at home. Emphasis: at. home.

If we're at the mall, the library, the park, the bx- anyplace where she will have to use a public restroom, she'll tell us she has to potty, we take her and she goes. But at home, not so much. I've tried just about everything. Sticker charts (one from Chuck e Cheese, even), letting her wear panties around the house. Nothing works!

Someone recently suggested I try plastic panties, so that I'm not shampooing upholstry or carpeting every few hours. So the girls and I had a mission today. Find plastic panty covers (we had some for A., but those didn't work for her so we tossed them. Doh!)
After checking Target and the Bx, I ended up right back next to Target at Babiesrus. Why didn't I think of that earlier?

I stood in front of the stupid training pants rack for what must have been at least 10 mintues trying to figure out if I wanted the plain plastic panty covers (3 for $2.99) or the set that were actually plastic panties. The outside is plastic, just like the panty covers, but the inside is lined. What makes them so different than pull-ups, dh wondered. Good question.

These aren't as absorbant as pull-ups, so they've got to be a little more uncomfortable. Plus, they can be washed, and therefore, reused.

Sweet! I thought. This way I won't have to put panties under the plastic panty covers. I've got an all-in-one majiggy here.

S. has gone through 2 of them in the last 5 hours. 2. She will not be putting on another one tonight. One, because it's almost bedtime, and two, because it's not quite working out the way I'd hoped.

I was advised (and wanted) the plastic ones so that I wouldn't be shampooing everything she sat on every few hours. Maybe I bought a faulty pair, or maybe she's not getting uncomfortable until the liners are beyond capacity and they're leaking, but they're leaking. So far I've shampooed a spot on the sofa and both of their fabric rocker chairs.

Oh, and, both times there was poop.
Ewwwwww.

But I am prepared- I bought 4 of them, the 2 are in the wash now, and tomorrow is another day.

My advisor said it may take about a week before we start to see progress. So, a week it is.

She'll be in those damned plastic panties while we're home, and I'll just keep the shampooer handy- again. For one week.

After that I'm giving her to the gypsy's. They can return her after she's decided that using the potty at home is as necessary and cool as using it at Cold Stone Creamery.

Wordless Wednesday: Ringing In The New Year

2008-01-02T19:16:00.001-07:00

This is how we spent our time as we waited for the ball to drop on that last evening of 2007:

Our special bubbly- sparkling cider:

Tall man, plastic pink champagne flute- it doesn't get much better than this!

Dancing the night away with the girls:

Almost time to celebrate!

One of the few pics you'll ever see with me in it:

Welcome to 2008!

Not That I'm Delusional or Anything

2007-12-31T19:18:00.000-07:00

Several years ago, dh and I made a deal.

Well, it was less of a deal and more of an, "uh-huh. That'll happen." thing from dh, but regardless of whether or not he was being sarcastic (which he undoubtedly was), he said it. So, I get to hold him to it!

The deal was that, at our 10 year anniversary I could upgrade my ring. I don't want any other anniversary gift other than upgrading my ring.

There's nothing wrong with the rings I have now. I like them. But, you know, guys get to upgrade computers and game consoles- sometimes even cars, why can't I upgrade my ring? Just my engagement ring. And really, just the diamond. I wanted a diamond that was a tad bit bigger, and even better quality.

It all sounds terribly superficial, I know. I'll give you that. But I'm the daughter of a jeweler, who is always buying jewelry. And that's what happens.

Although I'm not that into jewelry. As in, jewelry stores are not my favorite places to shop. Usually I prefer to spend $300 extra dollars on a new ipod, or a new lens for my camera. Cuz I'm a geek like that. But every once in awhile I'll see something I absolutely love!

In the last several years I have specifically wanted 2 things jewelry related- a dragonfly pendant and a tanzanite right hand ring. I got the ring, and I'm still thinking about the pendant.

Anyways, diamond upgrade, 10 years.

So last night we were actually talking about my upgrade, and how ridiculous it was for me to want to spend extra money to get a better diamond (he says, not me, obviously). I agreed (a little... but just a little) and put the matter in the back of my mind for the next few years, when I get to take it out, dust if off and bring it up all over again.

However, I came across this jewelry website by reading a blog post by Kristi at A Beautiful Mess. She was going down a list of her wants, and she had a link to a ring she really liked. So, seeing that is was a link for diamond rings, I naturally followed. And that's when I saw this:

Yes, those are butterflies flanking the center stone.

Isn't it wonderful?!

It's incredibly gorgeous! I love every single thing about it. I love it's originality, it's detail, and I love that even with all those diamonds it doesn't look gaudy.

And the kicker- dh actually things it's quite beautiful as well (our taste in all things aesthetic differ quite a bit).

Not that I'll be getting it any time soon. Especially since this ring costs a whopping $3,900 (and that's the wholesale price). I'm not delusional or anything. Entirely.

But I'm printing copies of the images to put on my bulletin board, in my wallet, and under my pillow (you know how the tooth fairy comes and takes teeth from under the pillow and leaves $$$$ ? Maybe if I leave my rings under the pillow at night, the ring fairy will see the images of this one up here, and then trade my ring for it. And it will magically be exactly the right size! Maybe it will even come with a custom made wedding band to accompany it?).

It may be a long time before I get it. If I ever do get it.

But a girl can dream, right?

Right.

2007: My Year In Review

2007-12-31T17:05:00.000-07:00

In 2007:

1. I learned that sometimes you have to do someone else's job for them to get what you need. Especially if you're dealing with medical clearances.

2. I realized that I can be friends with someone, even if our children aren't.

3. I learned how to knit socks and hats on two circular needles, instead of dpn's. I like it much better, except for the parts where I occasionally get tangled up in the needles hanging off the cable when moving from one to the other.

4. I learned that a lack of communication will sink a relationship faster than the Titanic. It doesn't take long to go from "extreme confidante" to "I know we share a bed, and have two kids together, but who are you again?"

Also, no one plays music as the relationship is going down…

5. I said good-bye to friends I'd made in my year in San Angelo, and learned to say "hello" to new ones.

6. For the first time in a very, very long time I was reminded of how it feels to be so far away from people whom I love and care about very much; not just family, but friends. Friends who have become family to me; who always made me laugh, who have seen me at my tired-est and absolute worst, and love me anyways; who always get my bizarre humor (and countered with oddities of their own). Friends who would actually become genuinely excited about the upcoming Pirates vs. Ninja's Dodgeball game for the Xbox 360. Friends with whom I have many things in common and great chemistry, to boot. These friends are just simply too, too far away.

I miss them all, and I miss them tons. Every day.

7. In a violent corporate-coffee-drinking coup which took place on my taste buds, Pumpkin Spice latte's were usurped as my seasonal favorite of choice and replaced by Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha (which is NOT the same thing as a peppermint mocha, or a white chocolate mocha. It is it's own entity. Don't make that mistake again!)

In 2008, I will:

1. Read at least 75% of the books I pay money to bring home, rather than having them languish with neglect on my bedside table. Or in my office. Or tucked away somewhere in the living room… (I am nothing if not organized. Ha! Had you going there for a second, didn't I?!)

2. Take better care of myself. This is a multi-faceted resolution:
Aside from actually using the gym membership my otherwise-for-coffee/yarn/books money goes to, I will remember to eat my fruits and veggies.
In non-liquid form even (although a Jamba Juice gives me more than enough of my RDA).

3. Actually include pics of finished objects (fo's) on my knitting blog (Just One More Row for those of you who are morbidly curious).

4. Worry less, play more.

5. Become a "screamfree parent"- or something very closely resembling one.

6. Spend less money on coffee and more money on... uh, ok. This one obviously needs some work. Do I even need to spend that money at all?

Haha!

Had you going again! Of course I do! Drop a habit, pick one up, I always say!

7. Overcome my complete and total anxiety and contempt for the drive up to Mt. Lemmon, and actually look at the scenery the whole way as dh drives us up there. How I feel about being there once we arrive is still open for negotiation.

How about you? What are a few of your goals for the New Year?

2007 Award Nominations

2007-12-30T21:11:00.000-07:00

A New Year is soon upon us.

We've survived the year and prepare to forge ahead into 2008, where more mistakes will probably be made, and more celebrations will hopefully be had.

In any case, learn from the mistakes of these folks and you will at least survive to see yet another year come and go!

2007 Darwin Awards

A few events that are in the running:

* What goes up must come down

20 June 2007, South Carolina

A 21 year-old couple was found naked in the road an hour before sunrise by a passing cabbie. The unconscious, injured pair was taken to the nearest hospital, where they died without regaining consciousness. Authorities were at a loss to explain what had happened. There were no witnesses, no trace of clothing, and no wrecked cars or motorcycles.
Investigators eventually found a clue high on the roof of a nearby building: two sets of neatly folded clothes, and nothing else. There was no indication of foul play, only of foreplay. "It appears as if [they] accidentally fell off the roof," Sgt. Florence McCants said.
Safe sex takes on a whole new meaning when you are perched on the edge of a pyramid-shaped metal roof.
This is a true Darwin Award trifecta: TWO people die, WHILE in the act of procreation, due to an ASTONISHINGLY poor decision. Bottom line: If you put yourself in a precarious "position" at the edge of a pointy roof, you may well find yourself coming and going at the same time.

* Beer For Bears

19 August 2007, Serbia

It's well known that alcohol impairs judgement. It's well known that carnivorous wild animals and humans don't mix. What happens when we combine all three? One might expect men, beer, and bears to combine with lethal consequences. Such was the case for a 23-year old man who inadvertently fed himself to Masha and Misha at the Belgrade Zoo.
The Zoo director said of the incident, "Only an idiot would jump into the bear cage."
The man's naked, mauled corpse was found inside the bear habitat, along with several mobile phones, bricks, and plenty of beer cans. His clothes were completely undamaged, suggesting that he approached the bears bare-naked by choice. The bears, fearing that his intentions were as dishonorable as they were ill-informed, meted out a summary justice.
Later, Masha and Misha "reacted angrily" when keepers tried to recover the man's corpse, but were eventually persuaded to give up their tasty prize. We await word on how many beers were bartered for the body.

Which House is Which?

2007-12-29T13:08:00.001-07:00

People in my neighborhood are already starting to take down their outdoor Christmas decorations (odd, considering they can't be bothered to take their trash cans in at the end of trash day!). This makes me sad, but not for the reason you might think it would. I am not mourning the passing of another holiday season. I'm mourning the loss of the ability to find my house at night.

You see, our house is, like, the 16^th house on the block. There's even a street in between the main street and our house. But that only knocks the count down a few houses. So in addition to being the 16^th on the block, we're the 14^th after the first street on the right. See, not much difference.

You know how, when you're looking for someone's house, they usually tell you that they're the 4^th house on the right, or right at the end of the cul-de sac, or some such thing? I can't do that!

In such situations, have you ever tried to count past the first 5 houses on the block? No? Try it. It is statistically impossible to count past the 5^th house. It gets even harder if you happen to make it into double digits, because by then all the houses start to look the same and when you try to peek at the small house numbers on the front as you're driving by, you lose count. And then you're like, "Did I just past the 5th or the 15^th house? Which way did they say it was again? How many houses have we passed? Now we have to turn around and start all over! Fuck."

We have lived in this house 7 months. 7 months! And sometimes I still go past my house and have to turn around and regain my bearings! In the middle of the day!

In the beginning, it was easy! We live in a brand new development, and we were pretty much the only residents down our way for much of the summer. Look for the solar lights by the driveway, the truck on the curb, and the "Protected by (insert security company here)" sign. Now, all the houses are occupied. And EVERYONE has solar lights by their driveway, a "protected by…" sign in front of their house, and parks their truck on the curb! Several of them are even the same color, so color coding doesn't work, either.

But, see, this Christmas our neighbors to the right put blue lights on the roof of their garage. So I knew we were the house right before the blue lights (obviously, this only works at night. I haven't come up with a good daytime solution, yet). And now they're gone. So I'm back to creeping through my neighborhood at 2 mph to make sure I don't pass my house.

And that makes me sad.

I discussed getting some obnoxious lawn ornament with dh, so I would have no trouble identifying our house during the day. He pretty much vetoed that idea as soon as it came out of my mouth. Not a fan of lawn decorations of any kind. And normally I'm not, either. But this is a matter of survival!

And I don't think the HOA would approve of us painting the garage door neon pink…

Star Wars Celebrity Jeopardy

2007-12-28T21:42:00.000-07:00

You've gotta love this! A parody of SNL Celebrity Jeopardy "starring" Sean Connery (of course), Keanu Reeves and Hilary Swank.

SNL Celebrity Jeapardy and Sean Connery

2007-12-28T21:33:00.001-07:00

And then of course, a montage of the original SNL bits.
How can you NOT laugh at Trebek (played by Will Ferrell) being harassed by a hot octogenarian?!

This Christmas: Greatest Hits

2007-12-26T21:04:00.000-07:00

Just a few of my favorite photos over the last few days:

This photo has become one of my favorites, and needs a bit of back story.

A good friend of ours went into labor Christmas Eve morning, so dh went to pick up her 4 year old to hang out with us. She was supposed to spend the night, but was having a real hard time with it. Sometime in the wee hours of the morning (about 1 am), I stepped into A.'s room to see if they were sleeping. They weren't. Her friend, A.B., had her head in A.'s lap as they watched some movie together. A. was petting A.B.'s head, trying to comfort her. It worked. For a little while.

It was the sweetest thing I think I've caught on camera in a very long time. It is definately one of those moments that makes me so proud of A., and reminds me of what a truly wonderful and empathic child she is and always has been.

Oh, Christmas tree!

A. and dh duking it out to see who gets to play Beautiful Katamari first.

A. enjoying her l-max.

This game? Harder than it looks, people!

But not for A. She is the fishing pro of this house.

S. actually smiled for the camera! This is typically unheard of behavior for her.

Driving Ms. S.

She's gonna be a rock star someday!

Happy birthday to- uh, you?

Sleeping Away A Time Out

2007-12-26T15:21:00.001-07:00

Here lies S.

Notice, that she is lying not too far from an office corner.

She is lying next to the corner because fifteen minutes ago, she was banished to that corner. Her infraction? Not only did she refuse to help her sister clean their room, she acted as if she couldn't hear me tell her to help clean the room.

I warned her 3 times that she would have to stand in the corner if she didn't do what she was supposed to.

There was a lot of crying emanating from that space in the office, until finally she started telling me that she was tired. But she always says that when she's a) in time out or b) supposed to be cleaning.

I guess this time, she really meant it!

Because one minute she's crying and telling me she's tired, and the next minute, all is quiet and when I look over at her, she's on the floor breathing softly with her eyes closed.

Is this what it takes to get her to nap?

This Christmas

2007-12-25T17:25:00.000-07:00

First things first:

For very many reasons, it has been pretty hectic leading into Christmas this year. I dreaded it, and couldn't wait for it to be over. But now that it is, it wasn't so bad. Except for the botched batch of fudge. And sweet potato casserole. But that's okay, cuz it was just us for Christmas dinner. So no one missed out on any of that stuff except for me. I love fudge. But it's probably for the best. I'm starting to pack on a few lbs. We do, however, have an apple pie sitting patiently on the counter. I suppose I'll have to break into that tonight. It will at least make me feel less guilty about eating it. Cuz there's fruit in it, you know? So, it must be better than fudge.

Today has been a pretty relaxing day, for the most part. It helps that everything is closed anyways, so there isn't anywhere to go if we wanted to. But that's fine by me. Finished one book and started another last night, finished one knitting project last night and made a lot of progress on my second knitting project today. So, despite us being home bound (or maybe as a result?), I've been pretty productive.

So, you may be wondering what Santa brought everyone this year?

Here, I'll show you!

I made this at a local pottery store called Paint Yourself Silly, where you can buy ceramics and paint them. I saw this, thought it would be perfect for dh, and wha-la. I even turned it into a candy dish! Not exactly from Santa, but I like to think I come in a close second.

The chocolates are already gone though. This time, not my fault!

A. and her coveted Leapster L-Max (they used to own a regular Leapster and seriously guys, one of the best toy investments we've ever made).

S. has her very own L-Max, too.

To dh from A., also from Paint Yourself Silly.

To dh from S., again, Paint Yourself Silly.

And last but not least, a child-friendly X-box360 game for the girls-Beautiful Katamari:

The goal? You start off with a little glob (your "katamari"- God love the Japanese), and you roll over things, which stick to your glob. You have to make it as big as you can in the allotted time frame. Here's a screen shot:

I have to admit, I'm not sure if the game is more for A. & S., than dh. But it doesn't matter. They sit together, take turns playing, he helps her and S. and everyone has a good time trying to roll over people and boats (really. You can stick people to your glob- katamari-. It's cool, too, because their arms and legs flail once they get all rolled up and I'm like, "sorry bitches. But a glob's gotta do what a glob's gotta do!") It's great!

There were many more gifts, of course. From Santa and us and everyone in between, but these were the biggest hits.

Plus, I took over 200 pictures and I don't want to inundate you with all the great photos I shot.
*say cheese*

Although I probably will post a few others tomorrow. But just a few.

I hope you're holidays are filled with lots of wonderful memories!

The Not-Now Mom

2007-12-23T15:17:00.001-07:00

I came across a devotional book for mom's that I'd bought a long time ago (well, ok. Maybe a year ago. But it seems like forever…); I'm A Good Mother: A Devotional Book For The not-so-perfect mom. It's been sitting on my bookshelf for that long. I think maybe I opened it once when I first bought it, then quickly shelved it and left it to gather dust. I don't know what got into me last night. I guess trying to read two other books and knit two projects at the same time just wasn't enough for me. So last night before bed (which is where and when I do most of my reading), I saved it from it's bitter fate of becoming a "Not-Read" book.

However, I must say that the title, for whatever reason, particularly appealed to me last night.

I already know I'm a not-so-perfect mom. This book was written for not-so-perfect moms. So maybe there would be some words of wisdom for me.

The devotionals are pretty short, but still I only managed to get through about ten pages before I closed it and placed it on top of the other books gracing my night table. But there was one devotional that got me to really thinking.

In a few short sentences Gigi Schweikert, the author, discussed how sometimes we, as mom's, get so caught up in the other things that need doing (laundry, dishes, cooking, car pooling, running errands) that we forget to stop and just enjoy our children in the moment. And when they ask for our attention, we often respond with, "not now", and send them off to wonder exactly when "now" will be.

The Not-Now Mom can be a sahm, just as much as she can be a working mom. After all, there are play groups and doctor appointments to get to during the day. Housework and grocery shopping. Cooking and then bathing.

It is quite possible to spend all day with your child and still be a Not-Now mom.

I know that first hand.

Because I am guilty of this. Very, very guilty of this.

Sure, I take the girls to playgroups and story times, as well as other various environments where they can play and be with other kids. But sometimes I just forget that they need an hour with me more than they need an hour with their newest friends at the mall playground. I know I need to have more positive interactions with them, rather than most of my interactions being for discipline. I see that very clearly right now.

I have a lot of work to do. On myself as a person, and myself as a mom. Perhaps perfecting one will enhance the other. I don't know.

I just know that from now on, I resolve to be less of a "Not-Now" mom and more of a "Yes-Now" mom.

Maybe then the girls and I will all become better people and build a much more special bond with each other.

Starting with Now.

Someone, Stop The Madness!

2007-12-21T20:49:00.001-07:00

I'm not much of a gamer. There was a time when I bought myself a Playstation 2 and spent all night trying to beat games (Parasite Eve comes to mind). But those days are long gone. Video games of such type just don't interest me before. I did go a little Sims crazy (pc version) when it first came out several years ago. Dh and I were dating at the time, and I think he found it a little confusing when I would tell him about how Barbra Simovich or whatever I named her, died in the swimming pool because she was apparently very tired and I didn't know it. So she swam when she should have been sleeping and then, poof, there was the grim reaper and then she was gone. Leaving behind nothing but a small gray tombstone on the side of the swimming pool. There were times he wasn't sure about whether I was talking about real people or not. I stopped playing a few years go,until Sims 2 came out. But after I had a family of my own, I felt guilty spending any time trying to take care of simulated people- getting kids off to school so they wouldn't be taken to juvy- when I had my own kids right outside the room to feed and change and play with.

But dh is a gamer, through and through. When we first met, I would go visit him in his room and he would be playing Unreal Tournament on his computer.

I do enjoy watching him play, though. Sometimes. Dead Rising, a zombie game that came out earlier this year, was fun to watch. The MC (main character) was a photographer. So in addition to fighting for his life because the helicopter pilot couldn't get him out of that zombie infested town soon enough, he got to take pictures for points. Super duper extra points for "action shots": catching zombies taking chunks of flesh off of cartoony characters who were neither smart nor fast enough to protect themselves. Part of the MC's mission in the game is to find "survivors" (video game morons hiding behind the counters, crying like babies while the zombies close in on them, instead of being quiet and trying to find themselves a really safe place) and bring them to safety- which is a store room or something like that (the setting is a mall). So he (Frank) goes out, kills some zombies, takes a few pictures, gets survivors and brings them to safety. Some of these "survivors" are whiny babies which made me think that Frank should have just left them behind since they obviously don't appreciate being brought out of danger by some brave and compassionate stranger. One of the prizes you get after you've killed like, a million thousand zombies or something like that, is a pitchfork which you can mount onto a shopping cart and just drive right through hordes of zombies, goring them right through the middle along the way. It was pretty funny. And then there was the freakazoid cult that had taken over the theater or something like that.

I liked watching that game.

And the more recent game I didn't mind sitting through was Bioshock. That game is about an underwater utopia created by a man who became disillusioned with the growing oppressive political and religious authorities in the "real world". And so he builds an underwater city as a utopia, which he believes will become an exemplary example of the way humankind is supposed to be. Things go incredibly awry, and this is where the MC, Jack, comes in. He is in a plane crash and happens upon this once-utopian underwater city. But it is in shambles, and society has become the exact opposite of the vision that Ryan, the city's founder, had for it. A good deal of the plot has to do with genetic alterations serving or destroying Rapture. Then there are these little girls, harvesters, who go are also genetically mutated, and go around harvesting blood from corpses laying around what's left of the city.

What I like about Bioshock was the plot was interesting, and the visuals were phenomenal. Rapture, being created in the 1950's, had a really interesting art deco look throughout. And the dialogue was interesting and well written.

This latest game- Mass Effect- is some space age game in which the dialogue is truly terrible in incredibly astronomical proportions. According to dh, Mass Effect has received very good reviews- including for it's dialogue. I'm not sure who these wackadoo's are that think that the dialogue in this game is any good. But I disagree with them, whole heartedly. Just being in the same room and hearing half the crap that spews out of these characters's mouths is painful in a way that would make military interrogators proud! As a new form of torture they could just sit their detainees down in a room, make sure they're handcuffed and lock them in. Then they would make them watch someone play this game. For hours at a time. After sitting through an hour of this game, I am sure the detainees will break, and spill everything they know, if only the game would be stopped.

For the love of God, just make it stop!

But I sit out here, because I am trying to be a loving wife- I like dh's company. And he, mine. I just hate this stupid game. It makes me hostile and prone to mocking whenever the characters begin talking. Consider the fact that I am already in a terrible mood today, and my feelings about this game multiply a hundred-million-thousand fold. Bad, bad, bad. I think it's just bad.

But I'll let him play until he's ready to retire. I'll just finish reading Carpe Demon, or work on the sock that I've recently frogged 52 rows of, and try to ignore the noises emanating from the speakers.

I need these Bose headphones- the ones that cancel out sound. I need them, and I need them NOW! But they're like, $200 or more.

*sigh*

Would anyone like to donate to my "stop the Mass Effect dialogue and help me save my sanity" charity?

Pretty please?

With a cherry on top.

Wordless Wednesday: Making Rice Krispie Treats with Daddy

2007-12-19T21:11:00.000-07:00

There are more, but I'm too lazy to fire up the other computer to put those pictures on here. Perhaps tomorrow I will post the others. Although, then, it wouldn't be a wordless Wednesday, now would it?

Unaccompanied Minors

2007-12-15T17:30:00.000-07:00

Dh and I went out on a date last night in (early) celebration of my upcoming 30^th
birthday. We chose last night because a local kids gym, JW Tumbles, offers a babysitting service on Friday nights called Kids Night Out between 5:30-9:30 pm. Since the friends who usually watch the girls for us are due to have a baby any day now, we didn't want to ask them to babysit. So I was pretty excited when I saw this. The price wasn't too bad either. $50 for non-members with 2 kids for the entire night, and they give the kids dinner, snacks, activities, play around in the gym (A. loves the trampoline), and showed a movie. The girls had a GREAT TIME! When I walked them in, they kicked off their shoes and ran into the gym! They didn't look back as I signed them in, and they didn't even think to say good-bye when I told them adios, and left.

The itinerary:

It was actually difficult to think of what I wanted to do on our first evening out without the kids in months. If we do go out without them its usually during the day, so Tucson at night- very foreign to me. I finally decided on dinner (Great Wall China- yeah, I know. There's no of. But that's how they're advertised. Weird, huh?) and a movie (I Am Legend), since they're not things we can do easily and peacefully with the girls in tow.

We had to revise the plan at last minute, though, for several reasons:

I didn't even think about the traffic going each way at 5 pm on a Friday night! We left a little later than we should have, and so were running 15 minutes behind when we went to drop off the girls. With the traffic being what it was, we weren't going to be able to get to the restaurant, order, eat and run to be seated for the movie in time. Something would have to give. I decided we should just head to the mall, see how much time we have and eat at one of the few restaurants in that area. We headed towards Bamboo Asian Bistro to see about the wait. None in the bar area. Fantastic! We grabbed a seat, ordered our drinks and hurriedly figured out what we wanted to order so we were ready by the time the waitress came back to take it. A quick glance at my watch told me it was exactly 6 pm when we sat down. We had 45 minutes to eat, because the movie started at 6:55. Luckily, the restaurant was right outside the theatre, and we didn't have to wait, so it had to work out, right?

Oh, how naïve we were!

Everything appeared as if it were going to go smoothly.

That was, until 6:30 came around and our food was nowhere to be found! Our table hadn't been visited by a waiter/waitress since they dropped off our appetizer (at least we got that!).

Then a waitress, who was not the same one who took our order but sometimes that happens, right?- came to our table with a bill. But she wasn't trying to get us to pay. No sirree. Judging by the credit card sticking out the top, my guess was that the rightful owners of that credit card had already paid and just needed to sign the receipt.

"Here you go, guys," she said with a smile as she held out the black bill putter-inner thingie. "You can just yada yada yada (I forget what else she said because I was trying to figure out how we paid for food we didn't receive, with a credit card that didn't belong to us)"

I looked at her.

"That would be great. But we haven't even received our food." I said.

She lowered the bill thingie and then she began to look confused. "No?"

"No." I replied. But dh saw a great opportunity for us to get the hell out of there right away so we could catch our movie, which would be starting in 10 minutes.

"But, that's okay, actually. If you could just take the meals off of our bill we'll pay for our drinks and appetizer."

Said waitress looked even more confused. Like, what, You don't want to keep waiting for your food. That was ordered over a half hour ago?

"We're kind of in a hurry." He added. More blank staring. "We have some place we need to be. We don't have time to wait anymore."

Finally, the situation seemed to register with the waitress.

"Ok." She said slowly. I'll just go check on that and I'll be right back. I'm so sorry. I hope you're not mad."

"We're not". Assured dh. Speaking for himself.

"I would be," she remarked as she walked away with the bill that wasn't ours. Thanks for sharing...

She disappeared into the back, returned to give the credit card to it's rightful owners (who were caddy corner from us and a table of 4 full of Caucasians, as opposed to our table of two, occupied by one very short Asian looking chick. How she got mixed up? I have no idea.) Minutes later the manager appeared with the new check, minus entrée which had been MIA (missing in action). He apologized and assured us that we would be taken care of if we ever came back. I wondered if he had put some magic code on our receipt so they would know we were supposed to be "taken care" if we ever came back. And then I didn't care. Dh put down cash (Thank God he had cash) and we raced into the theatre.

I had bought our tickets online ahead of time at Fandango.com. A smart thing, because of course the ticket line was super long and we were cutting it very close. We got to go straight to the podium and presented the ticket I printed at home. And then, wham-bam-thank you-ma'am, we were headed towards our theatre.

(Seriously, this is the best way to get your movie tickets. Fandango is a free service.)

We made it with minutes to spare. But, as we suspected, the theatre was packed. All the empty seats were being saved for others.

Except for the seats in the front four rows.

Grrrrrrrrr.

I hemmed and hawed about whether or not I wanted to just cash the tickets in for a pass and do something else, or sit in a front row seat and risk a major neck cramp from trying to watch the movie. I decided to find a seat, watch a few minutes of the previews to see how it felt and decide from there.

I did not realize how big that screen was! We ended up on the end of the third row from the front. A middle seat would actually have been better, but some teeny-boppers had already claimed them.

Double grrrrrrrrr.

Anyways, really big screen, reclining chairs= surprisingly comfortable and pleasant viewing experience.

So we stayed.

What wasn't pleasant, was the slew of teeny-boppers which had converged upon the theatre. You may remember, from my previous confession post, how I feel about teen-agers. Especially unaccompanied teen-agers. Actually, these were more like, pre-teens. None of them looked older than 15. Which really burned me up.

"We're sitting next to teen-agers." I growled to dh while the previews rolled. He patted my leg and smiled. God love him. So I tried to pretend they weren't there. But it was so hard to do because they. Wouldn't. Shut. The. Fuck. Up. (girls by the way. Yeah, I know)

They talked throughout the previews. Then they talked through the opening scene of the movie. And kept on talking for the NEXT HOUR! I know, because I looked at my watch before I finally said something. And when I say they were talking, I mean, softer than normal but louder than whispering. Finally, I leaned over and tapped the girl next to me on the knee.

"Excuse me, but do you guys think you could shut up for the rest of the movie?" I said. I tried to be polite about it. How did I do?

One of them looked at me like I just caught her with a joint in the back of a car with her 18 year old boyfriend.

"Sorry." They said.

Uh, huh.

I returned to reclining position, and then noticed the teeny-bopper boys in the row in front of us started up. I began creating an attack plan. Do I just hit them on the head and tell them to shut up, or do I stand up in my row and shout for all the talkers, particularly the ones under 21, to SHUT UP!?

Lucky for the entire theatre, (and for dh, too, I guess), those boys did shut up a minute later. So I didn't have to unleash my wrath on the entire teeny-bopper population during the rest of the film. Smart kids.

Which reminded me of this other plan I had devised (before we even had kids) about how I would handle letting my kids loose into the world without supervision. I'll share. You may find it useful yourself, one day.

Ghillie suits.

Snipers make ghillie suits in order to blend in with the terrain when they're on a mission.

We could just have a few of our friends trail the girls (secretly of course) while they're oot and aboot, and they could wear ghillie suits so that they're less noticeable. And then when the girls fuck up, they would jump up out of the bushes and start yelling at them like a drill sergeant, shocking and embarrassing them into submission: "Inappropriate behavior! By the power invested in me by your mom and dad, get into that corner right now, young ladies!"

And then they'd take the girls by the arm and escort them to the nearest corner, where the girls will stand with their nose in it- one minute for each year of their age.

Maybe they'd be so embarrassed, they'll mind their p's and q's the next time. If there was to be a next time.

I reminded dh of this plan after the movie. He pointed out one fatal flaw in my plan.

Tucson isn't exactly bush-land. Anyone in a ghillie suit covered with leaves and moss and branches and wearing camo paint on their faces is not likely to blend into an urban environment. They would just look sorta loony. I had thought about that briefly. But not seriously enough, I guess.

Damn.

"Well, what the fuck do we do, now? We can't exactly expect our friends to blend in with light polls and palm trees?!" I asked. He laughed.

I suppose I had my answer. This plan needs a little revising. But I've got at least another 7 years before I have to get it right. But the basic principle remains the same; friends follow, punish infractions, public embarrassment= repentance and proper behavior in the future.

How funny do you think it would be to see a 14 year old girl, all gussied up for a night on the town drinking Jamba Juice and watching PG-13 movies about vampires with her friends, standing with her nose in the corner of a crowded mall?

Pretty fucking funny, I think. But I may just be a sick, sick person. When it comes to unaccompanied minors, however, I stand my ground.

They should have to pass some kind of "acceptable behavior" test before they're unleashed unto the public alone. Much in the way they go about getting driver's licenses. They should go to an etiquette class (don't talk in movie theatre's, don't jump on bed displays in department stores when the clearly placed sign says to stay off the bed, and don't horse around on escalators- especially when other people are riding them). They would then get a permit, and finally take and pass a test before they can go anywhere without a parent or guardian.

Why hasn't anyone thought of that, already?

BTW, good movie, although very different from the book (dh read it a month ago when I am Legend began showing previews and filled me in throughout the weeks we waited for the movie to come out). Still, it was enjoyable and had a great message about the dangers of (even good) science and humanity. I highly recommend it.

All in all, a pleasant night for all of us.

Car Service Update

2007-12-15T17:05:00.001-07:00

The "service engine" light that came on Wednesday morning went off yesterday morning.

I started the car, began driving with that damned orange "service engine soon" light staring me down. I blinked and then suddenly, it was gone! Poof! Like magic, it disappeared. And hasn't returned.

I guess it was a good thing we didn't drop a few thousand bucks to replace the transmission that now seems to be ok.

What A Day

2007-12-13T22:42:00.001-07:00

Have you ever taken your car into a shop or dealership to be serviced, and then decided that you didn't want them touching your car without a second opinion?

Well, as of today, I can safely say that I have. And you know what? Adopting a kid from China may be easier than having the dealership release your own car to you before any work has been done.

Here's the scenario. The service engine light came on in our SUV yesterday morning. I called dh and told him I was going to have the car looked at and asked if there was a good time so he could meet us at the dealership and take us home. We arranged to meet, I took the car in, explained the problem and headed home.

They called last night to tell me that my transmission- the transmission that is barely a year old- was faulty. They were getting two different codes and it was going to cost a shit ton of money to fix. For a factory refurbished model. I told the tech that I'd talk to my husband and let them know. We decided to get the car today, and take it somewhere else for a second opinion. Here's where it started to just chafe my ass.

We came in this morning around 8 am to pick up the car. To be fair, I hadn't told them yet I didn't want them touching our car and that we would be picking it up the next day. So there was a little confusion at first about lost paperwork and incomplete work orders (duh- cuz I didn't ok them to do anything).

Finally, the cashier gets a hold of a manager, who tracks down my paper work. The cashier eventually tells me I'm good to go, they're bringing my car around. Because I'm an honest person (usually), I reminded her that I may owe a diagnostic fee.

Oh.

Manager comes around again. This time he speaks to me:

Manager: did they explain to you what was going on with your vehicle?

Me: yes. Faulty transmission and around $3000 to replace with a factory refurbished transmission.

Manager: Is that with the discount?

(should he be asking me about their discount policies?!!!)

Me: That's what the technician said.

He looks down at some sticky note and nods.

Manager: yeah, that sounds about right. Did she explain to you the warranty that comes with the transmission?

Me: (becoming very agitated) Yes. She did. But I don't want my car serviced.

Manager: (looking confused) So, are you going to have the transmission fixed?

Uh, did he really ask me that question?!

Me: yes. Just. Not. Here.

He gives the cashier the work order or something and walks away. The cashier begins ringing me up.

Cashier: Was it just too expensive?

Did she really just ask me that, too?!!

Why yes. Yes, she did.

Me: No. I'm just not convinced that our practically new transmission is the problem.

I may have been a little bitchy but, damn! I had been there fifteen minutes to pick up my car. And they were giving me the third degree, as if I were asking to take their car out for a spin. WTF?!!

Cashier raises her eyebrows, makes an "oh" with her mouth and tears the receipt off the machine for me to sign. By then I was too pissed to even act civilized. I just wanted my fucking keys to my car.

So, that was that.

And THEN I went to the bx to pick up some things. I stopped there because there is also a Starbucks in the mall and I'm a shameless addict who saves change left out and about by dh to cash in to buy more coffee. One stop shopping. This would be great!

First, an item I wanted to buy needed a price check. Ok. Someone comes back to tell me it's not for sale.

Me: but it was on the shelf…

Lady: it's just display.

Me: do you sell refills or ones that aren't just display?

Lady: no. We don't carry this item. It comes with the shampooer (I was trying to buy upholstery cleaner. The product was for Bissell. I have a Bissell…)

Me: but you don't sell refills?

Lady: no. this is just for display.

Since this encounter was pretty much riding on the heels of my exchange with the dealership, I was already aggravated. I may have been a little short with the cashier, who had absolutely nothing to do with the whole thing. But I was mad.

I take my shit and head out, hitting Starbucks on the way.

Barista: Welcome to yada yada, yada yada your order?

Me: I'll have a grande non-fat peppermint white chocolate mocha, please.

See, I wasn't so pissed yet that I forgot my manners completely.

Barista: I'm sorry but we're out of that right now.

Me: (trying to direct daggers from my eyes away from her heart) Are you serious?

Barista: I'm sorry. But we have regular mocha. Would you like to try that?

In my head: Are you fucking kidding me? A mocha is NOT the same thing as a peppermint white chocolate mocha. At all. They just have one word in common. They don't taste anything alike. Not to me, anyways.

Me: (shuffling the girls out the door) No. No, I don't.

I may have added, "have a good day." But everything at that point became hazy.

So, to recap:

Dealership sucks donkey balls

Bx sucks donkey balls

And How dare anyone compare a PWCM to a regular mocha?

Balls.

The Battle of Wills

2007-12-12T19:40:00.001-07:00

An entire afternoon lost due to me fighting a war of wills on two fronts. And I won. At least, I tell myself I won.

The girls were supposed to clean their room today. I offered each of them a piece of candy and a quarter once the job was complete. Excited about the prospect of getting some yummy candy, they scurried to their room. I'm not entirely sure they started cleaning right away, although A. did come out within the first half hour to tell me that "cleaning is boring". Well, no shit kid, but ya gotta do it. Well, I didn't tell her that. It was something more along the lines of, "I know. But if you do it you'll have your candy and quarter". She returned to her room where rustling was heard for awhile. Eventually (maybe an hour later) they both resurfaced with the request to look at their room for approval so they could get their promised reward. It was better, not to say that it still wasn't messy. There were loose pieces of paper scattered here and there, socks and clothes and toys peeking out from under S.'s bed. On all sides. Random toys lay hither and yonder, and even more clothes were in a mixed heap on A.'s side of the closet. I didn't know what was clean and what wasn't, so it all had to go into the laundry room. I told them to pick up the rest of the stuff. A. asked, "what stuff? I don't see anything else on the floor." Seriously, kid. I take the time to point it out, again and leave them to the rest. S. kept popping in and out of the room, followed by, "mom! S. isn't helping me clean!" I told her to just do it and she'll get candy and money and S. won't. So, since S. didn't want to help clean, I put her in the corner and told her she had a choice. She could stand in the corner or she could help A. clean. In the beginning, she would repent and then head back to the bedroom, where I would hear A. call out again about how S. wasn't helping. So for the next hour (yes, hour) it was, "get in the corner, S. Stay in the corner! STAY IN THAT CORNER!" It got to the point where she spent an hour in and out of the corner because she wouldn't help clean, yet wouldn't stay put.

A. gave a much more exciting performance when she decided she didn't want to clean anymore. Not even for candy and money (whose kid is this, anyways?). So, she too went into a corner. Where she wailed. And wailed. "I'm going to be good!" she promised, "I'm going to be good!" I finally let her out, where she loudly informed me that she wasn't going to clean anymore. Okay, back to the corner for a bit. So there was more wailing and gnashing of teeth before she decided she would again promise to finish her room. But by then my promise of reward became null and void. On account of having to ride their ass when they kept coming in and out to tell me they were bored of cleaning and/or weren't going to do it anymore. When she realized she woulnd't be getting her goodies after that, the no-shit-I'm-outta-my-fucking-mind hysterics began. But this time, her flair for the dramatic began to take over, which was quite entertaining, I must say.

First there was, "but I'll clean my room! I want my candy!" Then the classic line, "it's just not fair!" showed up. She ran from the kitchen to her room the first time screaming that the whole time. I came in with a trash bag to start getting rid of all the junk as she sat on the floor beside me. Hot tears were streaming down her face. I was tossing clothes and toys out of the closet to be sorted and put in the laundry room. That broke her even more. "You want me to clean my room and you're making a mess!"

"Yes, so we can clean it up." I told her. But you can't reason with a hysterical child. More wailing, less cleaning. More time in the corner. At one point she told me that I had "broken (her) heart" (yes, she really said that to me) and she was going to make me pay. So then came the flurry of, "if you don't give me my candy I won't love you anymore!" To which I respond, "that's very sad but you're still not getting candy, sorry. Those are very mean words, so why don't you go back into the corner for a little while?"

"No, I love you ! I love you!" she repeated. I shook my head. "Sorry." And on and on. I'll spare you the entire act, but I have to tell you that at one point, she was so filled with frustration and rage that when she got sent back to the corner again, she ran, almost tripped over her own feet and stumbled half-way there. Her arms flailing around her head the whole time. It makes me giggle just thinking about it right now. I'm so bad.

They were told to clean their room at 2:45. This went on until about 5:15. A. did eventually calm down, change her mind and clean up some more after I told her she could try again for some candy after dinner. S. stayed in the corner until dh came home at about 5. Nevertheless, the room is now clean. A. got the crayon and marker off of her closet door, dresser drawers and half of the crayon marks that had been scribbled in various places on her ladder (gotta love Mr. Clean Magic Eraser! She was totally impressed when I showed her how it worked and then turned it over to her to clean up. "It is like magic!")

The entire afternoon was a series of battles of wills between the girls and I. But the room is finally looking habitable with A.'s help, and S.- well, S. just wasn't willing to bend. Seriously, when given the option between cleaning for prizes or standing in the corner, she headed straight to the corner. Every time. Not that she would stay there, she wandered out occassionally, earning her more time in the corner (the clock starts over when they leave the corner. I'm a bitch. I know.) but that was her decision. What do you think that is all about?!!!

So, as I said, I like to think I won.

I Have A Confession

2007-12-08T21:49:00.001-07:00

I have a confession to make.

I hate teen-agers (in general. I'm sure there are a few good ones out there). HATE, HATE, HATE! I hate the drama (I know, it's the hormones, but it doesn't make it more tolerable), I hate the "I know better than everyone else" & "the world revolves around ME" attitudes. I hate it all. I hate them all. Particularly when they're out in public. Without adult supervision. I really hate them then.

I know, I know. "My kids will be teen-agers one day". I am well aware of this fact, and I had a plan. I was going to send them to my parent's when they turn 13. I'll send letters and care packages and money every month and in exchange, my parents will keep them until they turn 18. At which point they must a) go to college b) join the military or c) get a full-time job and move the fuck out of my house. I am NOT living with grown ass children who should be capable of supporting their basic needs: shelter and food. Just ain't happening for me or dh. Anyways, that was my plan. But due to recent events I have come to realize that I may have to just suck it up and endure their teen years myself (well, with dh also, of course). I am not fond of this fact. I love my kids. But I hate teen-agers, remember? Conflict.

I remember being a teen-ager once. I didn't like myself much then, either. Could be all that teen-age angst that all teen-agers go through. It doesn't matter. It's still aggravating as fuck, that "Oh, woe is me! Why does everyone hate me? Am I pretty/popular enough? Who will be my friend?" bullshit. Not that that was my attitude. It was quite the opposite, actually. Once we moved to NC when I was 15 I pretty much kept to myself. I didn't care about being popular. I just wanted to play soccer and graduate. Which I did. Btw, I know several adults who still didn't like me as a teen-ager. One of my mom's co-workers comes to mind. She used to call me a "pissy little brat". But she was a bitch anyways, so I can't tell you whether or not I was truly a pissy little brat or she just thought that because she was a hateful wench. However, it is possible that she may have been half-right.

And now these teen-agers have myspace pages. An unregulated forum on which to unleash their ridiculosity on the world. Oh, yay us.

End of rant.

On a lighter note, dh is the king of finding random shit on the web. The benefit is that he often finds really funny random shit, which I now must share with you, because you may be needing a good laugh right about now. I know I did!

First, a little background.

A flashmob is a group of people who arrange to meet in a public place to act out some random wierdness and then disperse to go about their separate ways. There are flashmobs everywhere, Dallas, Boston, Phoenix. You can go to Flashmob.com for more info.

Well, this Swiss flashmob based their act on this Xbox 360 commercial that has been banned. I happen to like this commercial, by the way. Especially the two guys at the end. But the re-enactment is great, too. Because real people, not actors, got together to do this. Doesn't it look like fun?!

How can you have a bad day after that?!

What Was I Thinking?

2007-12-07T22:53:00.001-07:00

Call me ignorant. But I've never seen the Polar Express before. I've caught snippets over the last few years, but not enough to give me the big picture. But it's Christmastime and it's on and I figured it was something the girls would like. I mean, every other kid in the first world seems to enjoy it!

I happened to notice that it was coming on tonight (at 9 pm- wtf was I thinking??!!!) and brought the girls into the living room so we (yes, me, too) could watch it together. Well, it's 10:30 pm right now. And I just want to go to sleep! But we have to finish- I told them they could watch it and so I'll hang in there.

My conclusion so far?

It's really a little fucking creepy and long (especially with commercials. We have one hour left to go). And I don't like it. I'm not sure how this kid even got on the train for the North Pole or what the moral of the story is. And I'll tell you what else. I probably won't find out tonight, seeing as I'm going to lay down in a minute and watch them watch the Polar Express. And I don't care. Not in the least fucking bit.

And, I'm out of all things chocolate. I took care of the chocolates in the girls's halloween stash awhile back and now there's nothing else. And that makes me sad. Must buy brownie mix at store tomorrow.

Oops, I Did It Again

2007-12-06T23:52:00.001-07:00

*sigh*

I did it again. Walked out of a store with more purchases than I meant to buy going in.

Let me explain.

Tonight, Borders had this holiday open house event with crafts and what not for the kiddos. It seemed like the perfect thing- the girls get to craft, I get to browse through books. I had a freshly (well, sort of) printed coupon for 25% off one regular priced item and there was a certain sock knitting book I have had my eye on. So around 6:15, I pack up the girls and kiss dh good bye, leaving him to put another coat of paint on our splotchy, and bleeding-red walls.

There was a craft table with a few things going on and the girls dove in and crafted their little hearts out with glitter glue and buttons while I looked through 3 books I had picked up off of the "buy 1 get 1 half off" table: The Lost Memoirs of Jane Austen, Those Who Save Us and Ines of My Soul. At least two of those books (the last two) I have been wanting to read for some time now. But after I read the first chapter of The Lost Memoirs, I couldn't decide which two of the three to get! Meanwhile, the girls finished crafting and we moved on to look at the knitting books and then take another turn around the "buy 1 yada yada" table. Then I see another book I'd seen awhile back and wanted to read. I had forgotten all about it. Girl Meets God. Well, I definitely had to have that one. By then I had put the Allende book back, but after picking up Girl Meets God, it seemed silly to only buy 3 of the books when I could get a 4^th one half off, too.

Eight pm rolled around. Now, I don't know about you, but when my kids are tired they act anything but like what I imagine tired children should act like. They don't become glassy-eyed and lethargic. They don't become quiet and sullen. Quite the opposite. A.'s timer went off and she totally freaked when I told her it was almost time to go. Screaming and crying right there in the craft book section. I threatened her with a trip to the bathroom before we left, and she simmered down a little bit.

A fly-by the café was a great distracter, turns out, because they had sample peppermint mocha frapps out on the counter. They looked wonderfully delicious and were loaded down with whip cream and candy cane pieces on top. I handed each of them one, took one for myself and off we went to take another trip around the fiction section (I'm much like a shark in bookstores. I kind of circle around and circle around while I try to make up my mind). They were quiet for a bit (well, except for the slurping coming from their straws) as they trailed me. Until it was really time to go home. "Nooooooooooooooo!" A. wailed. I'm not sure what I did to calm her down that time, but whatever it was it worked long enough for me to pay for my books (all four of them) and get them out of the store without further incident. A. did, however, begin making "vroom vroom" noises as we walked out to the car. And kept going until I told her to cut it out. Which, of course she responded to with, "but why, mama?"

Grrrrrrr.

Quick trip into Best Buy, where I came windshield-to-windshield with some moron who I'm not even sure is of legal driving age (I'll get to that later) and then back into the car for the trek home. And neither of the girls would stop talking or stop moving. Even when we got home. A. stood next to me at the dining table at one point, bouncing bouncing bouncing like the fucking energizer bunny. It was driving me bonkers! Until finally I sent them off to shower (they cannot handle the responsibility of bath time, so they shower now. Also, I have to ration out their soap and shampoo and then put it away after they're received the proper portion. They can't handle the responsibility of being within close proximity to full bottle of body soap, either) where I let them whoop and holler all they want while I tried to figure out why the fuck itunes wasn't burning my playlist to a blank cd.

All this to say, I bought four books I didn't intend on buying tonight and didn't get the one book I did intend on getting with my 25% off coupon. I'm still trying to figure out how that happened. And I'm still not sure. But I can say for sure that it just seemed wrong to walk out of the bookstore without at least Girl Meets God.

Now, this nice, new stack of books is sitting right next to the monitor, where it will stay until I figure out whether or not to take two of them back and get the knitting book I intended to buy going into Border's in the first place. But then again, I now have them. Here, at home, where they can join the other five or so books I've bought throughout this year with the intention to read but not having gotten around to it. In fact, there's becoming a cozy little gathering of the "unread" between my book case and my night stand. I'm afraid if I keep them all, they'll be forgotten when another book comes out that catches my interest when I happen to have spending money. As a result, my ever expanding collection of "books I wanted to read, bought and then never read" will continue to grow even larger. And then one day all those unread pages will take over my house, my life, my marriage...

Maybe I should just stick to making a wish list in my blackberry and prioritizing so that when I am ready to read, I can buy the book I will actually read. Right then. Until I'm finished.

*sigh*

Oh, bother.

Okay, now onto the moron at Best Buy. I had a diagram all drawn out and everything but it's getting late and I'm getting tired! So here it is in a nutshell:

I turned down the parking lot to find a spot. Some idiot chick in a faded gray van was perpendicular to the parking spaces, blocking the entire throughway. So I stop. She backs up, I wait for her to go around my car (you know, like, on the correct side of the road). She backs up, then pulls forward so we are literally inches away from being bumper to bumper. I can see her perfectly, and she doesn't look as if she intended to move. Ever. Which means I can't go forward to park. After sitting in my car and staring at her for at least 15 seconds, I moved. Backwards. But didn't get very far because cars were coming into the parking lot, too. She was still sitting there, on the WRONG SIDE OF THE ROAD waiting for fuck knows what. Finally, FINALLY- just when I was starting to think that maybe her car didn't go backwards and began taking pity on her, the dumb bitch BACKS UP, pulls around me and then drives away. OH, OH, AND- she looked at me as if I were the fucking moron as she passed my car on her way out. This bitch took up minutes of my evening because she didn't know how to drive in a parking lot! PEOPLE!

Right-o.

Bedtime, mommy-o's.

Wordless Wednesday: Snow Comes To Tucson (sort of)

2007-12-05T10:28:00.001-07:00

Taking this concept from some of my blogosphere buddies, I hereby present you with my very first Wordless Wednesday:

The Christmas Crafting Catastrophe

2007-12-02T22:09:00.001-07:00

I don't often craft with the girls. And I'll tell you why. Because it is a very painful experience for me, that's why. Literally. My soul hurts when I craft with them. I've tried, oh I've tried!

Last year I thought scrapbooking with A. would be really fun. I don't paper scrap anymore, but I still had all of my supplies from when I did, and then I bought her this kid's scrapbooking kit and some more really pretty papers from Target. When we got home from Target I took out everything that came with the kit, and gathered the supplies I already owned and spread it all on the dining room table. Then we went into the office and I opened up the photo browser on Photoshop Elements (PSE) so she could pick out a few to scrap. A., being the photographic connoisseur she is, picked out the few most under-exposed photos still remaining on the browser (I have this pack-rat mentality that sort of extends into my photographic organizational skills). I (patiently) tried to talk her into a few of the properly exposed photos elsewhere on the screen but she refused. She wanted those pictures. So, after about two minutes of failed negotiation, I sucked it up and printed them out. My heart began to ache as I grabbed them from the printer and handed them to her.

We got settled at the dining table and I handed her scissors (the pinking shears that make a scalloped type edge) and let her cut away. You know what she did? She cut her terribly under-exposed photo into triangular pieces! Itty bitty triangular pieces. So I gently (really) explained to her that she was just supposed to cut it a little bit and paste it on the paper. She knew that already (of course she did) but just wanted to cut her picture into shreds. Whatever. I gave her another picture, which she immediately pastes onto the album page. I ask her if she wants to make it pretty. Like, with the pretty paper I paid $5 for at Target. No. No, she doesn't. She flips to another page, then cuts up a pretty piece of paper (yay! Progress), puts down a few stickers and then moves to yet another page. I'm watching and watching. My heart hurting a little more with each passing second. She's wasting her album! The pictures she is putting down aren't even discernable figures, and the only thing she's doing with anything is cutting them into shreds or pasting them down whole and laying stickers on top of them! I tried to, uh, guide her (by telling her how it's supposed to be done). She wasn't having any of it. Until I couldn't take it anymore. I closed up shop. "That's enough for today," I told her as I started putting things back into the container. Naturally, she was upset. She hadn't gotten a chance to fill all the blank pages with stickers and glue yet! But I- I was done. I learned my lesson right then. I. Can. Not. Craft. With. My. Kids. They do things all wrong. This- is essential information.

Ok. So, the kids did some really cute crafts at the Christmas party yesterday. One of the crafts they made was a candy cane using red and white beads and pipe cleaners. The whole craft at the Christmas party only took a few minutes and seemed painless enough. They each made a candy cane, and I thought, how cute would it be for them to make several and decorate the tree with them! I blame this departure from reality on the fact that I was sick.

Today, I took them with me to Michael's to buy beads and pipe cleaners so that we could make more of those cute little candy canes for our Christmas tree. We got the goods, went home. Dh was working on painting the kitchen so this was the perfect time to keep them busy with a craft. They wouldn't be underfoot and trying to talk him into letting them help and they wouldn't be driving me bonkers asking me why they can't help daddy. I was going to keep them busy and make cute, colorful (red and white is sooooo boring) candy cane decorations.

It started out pleasant enough. I opened the bucket of beads and got the pipe cleaners ready (bent them in half and folded up one end) for them to string. They have at the beads and start doing their thing. I grabbed a pipe cleaner for myself and began working on my own goodies. We're happily sitting, criss-cross-apple- sauce on the floor sorting through beads when I had a BRILLIANT idea. Wouldn't it be great if we had a way to really personalize the candy canes, so we knew who made which ones? Why, yes. Yes it would! Alphabet beads. I concluded that we needed alphabet beads. Right then. And it couldn't wait, even though the whole trip was going to take me another hour (because I'm impulsive like that).

The girls and I loaded back into the car and headed back to Michael's (which was a MADHOUSE by the way. Both times). We went in, got the beads (not made in China, I might add), got out, went home. A. opened up the (also) colorful, square alphabet beads. I wanted round ones, but they didn't have them at Michael's so I thought I'd give the square ones a try. Turned out quite nicely anyways.

Ok, so A. tore open the pack, and we started picking out letters to spell their names on the candy canes. All is well for about five minutes. After A. finishes her first personalized candy cane, I notice she's stringing random letter beads together on another pipe cleaner. R, Q, Y, N, Z- I don't remember exactly which ones. I just know they were random letters, and right then and there, that feeling I had when A. picked out those photos a year ago returned.

(condensed version)

Me: You can't just string random letters together. They have to spell a word.

A.: But I want letters.

Me: you can have letters, they just have to spell a word. Pig, cow, dog, Santa- I don't care. Just spell a word!

So she says with a great big grin, "how about pig? I like pigs."

Disbelief swarms my mind.

Me: you can't spell "pig". That doesn't have anything to do with Christmas.

Dh chimes in from the kitchen, "you did tell her that she just had to spell a word, any word."

Thanks, babe. I realize, I am being completely contradictory. I didn't really think she'd want to spell pig! I had to regroup.

Me: Well, you can't spell pig. How about ho ho ho, or Santa or something like that. Spell something else.

It was the best I could do under pressure, alright.

Thankfully, A. was. sufficiently distracted, and I had to turn my attention to S. and pull strings of random letters off of her pipe cleaner, as well. I'm a kill-joy, I know. And I don't care. They had to do this my way right! (cue in smart-ass hubby. Again: "you can only have fun my way, dammit"!)

Control was regained, and crafting went merrily along the way. But it didn't last.

It never lasts. It. Never. Lasts.

A. is a really sweet kid. She really, truly is. She LOVES people, and when she makes new friends she becomes very, very attached. So she began making candy canes for several of her friend's. One of whom she's only played with once. They met at the mall playground, and they hit it off right away. Within an hour they were holding hands as they flitted from foamy climbing toy to foamy climbing toy. Turns out, his mom and I also hit it off! We exchanged numbers and I kept meaning to call, but it just kept getting away from me. For two months. But A. never lets me forget it. And so, I promise, I will call her soon. I have to now. A. made an ornament for her son. She was a Christmas-crafting-candy-cane-personalizing machine. She started rooting through the alpha beads to make an ornament for another friend when I realized that they had not made canes for their grandparents. I recalled there was a moment (a moment) in which I tried but it didn't go over well. I'm not sure they were even paying attention. All I know is that it didn't get done. So I grabbed a few of the canes I had already made and took them apart. I shoved a pipe cleaner at A.. "Here" I told her, and began placing the appropriate letter beads in front of her. "You need to make one for lola and g'pa and granny."

It was then that I noticed we were out of the necessary letters.

SON OF A BITCH!

Maybe I should have let A. use up random letters for the first ones we did. Because then maybe we would have had more of the relevant letters. Or maybe not. But we'll never know now, will we?

So anyways, SON OF A BITCH!

We're out of A, L's, S and F's. Fabulous. Cuz they're the exact letters we need!

I had to dissemble one of the canes meant for a friend. She had put her friend's name (which coincidentally comprised of A's, and S's) along with her name on it (I only took A.'s name off. I left her friend's.). It was just enough for the girls to squeeze out a set for the grandparents, and crafting moved along.

Throughout this, S. got restless (we had used all the pipe cleaners and I was tired of taking apart mine. They were really pretty). She shoved her grubby hands into the bucket of beads and began tossing them out. Then when I asked her to help clean up, she sat on the beads. At the same time I was arguing with A. about those fucking letters!

And yet again, dh, ever the observant one remarks, "isn't this supposed to be fun?"

Me: (scooping up beads from under S.'s ass) It was fun! TWO FUCKING HOURS AGO!

Yes, my friends. We had been at it for over three hours. Who knew they had such stamina?!!!!!

Finally, it was time to eat, then time for bed. Which meant TIME FOR ME!

So, we cleaned up the beads and called it a night.

You'd think I'd learn my lesson from this right? But you know what I'm left thinking at the end of all this?

We should buy more beads and invite friends over to make more candy canes!

Maybe I'll sleep it off. Like a bad hang over.

Things may look very, very different in the morning.

There’s Something About Santa

2007-12-01T16:35:00.001-07:00

I have felt a cold coming on for days now. So I wasn't at all surprised to find myself hacking all over myself, with another sore throat and a head ache when I woke up this morning. I felt TERRIBLE! And this cold couldn't have touched down at a worse time. Today was dh's squadron children's Christmas party and Santa would be making his grand appearance on a helicopter. Which I thought was pretty cool. So I thought the girls would think it was pretty cool. A. was a hard sell. Because Santa does not ride helicopters, she firmly informed me. He rides sleighs. Of course I told her she was correct, but that Santa also rides helicopters here in Tucson because of the base. Once she got over that, she was all about it. S. was easy, as usual. So then I had two kids who had been looking forward to seeing Santa's unorthod0x entrance to the party.

When I came out of the room this morning, I headed straight for the Dayquil and remarked to dh about how terrible I felt. My voice, apparently, has been sounding kinda hoarse over the last few days anyways, so he wasn't surprised at all to hear that this cold had finally taken me over, either. He thought it was best that I stayed home today. And he was probably right. But I promised the girls. And so, despite the fact that I also began feeling nauseated by the time we piled into the car two hours later, we went. And you know what? The girls were totally psyched about seeing Santa in the chopper, but not so much on the ground- in an armchair- in the hanger where the party was being held.

We all watched him fly in, taxi, disembark and then finally make his way from the flight line to the hangar. And that was all they wanted. When we asked if they wanted to sit with him and talk to him, S. acted as if we were asking her to chew on some grimy, squiggly worms. A. was less dramatic but much more forceful. "No. I don't want to see Santa. I want to play knock over the blocks."

You know what else she told me about sitting with Santa?

"Santa makes me nervous." (it's her new favorite word)

I dragged my sick ass out here and they don't want to sit with Santa, not even for a second?!!! Because he makes her NERVOUS?! I thought. The things I do (like leave the house with the taste of vomit in my mouth) to make my kids happy… Bah Humbug!

But what could I do? We hadn't been there a half an hour. We were NOT going home yet! So we took the kids around to the different tables set up with crafts and cookie/cupcake decorations. And they had a great time with those.

They didn't even cast a second glance to Santa sitting at the front of the room surrounded by eager kids who did want to see him!

What's weird is that A. is usually all about Santa. At least, the idea of him. She's been drawing him pictures for us to send, and later this weekend dh is going to help her write a letter to him. You can mail them "to Santa" from the post office on base and supposedly you'll get a real letter back from him postmarked from the North Pole or something like that. So she's pretty excited about that. But it appears that she doesn't give much of a damn about the "real thing". I think it's because of the beard. How can you trust a guy with a long beard, after all?

While we're on the Santa topic, this month Johnjay and Rich from 93.7 KRQ is on BRAT PATROL! If you have a wild child (or several of them), shoot Santa a line via email with your kid's name, what (s)he wants for Christmas, what (s)he is doing that is so bad, and the best time to call. Santa will then call and have a little heart to heart talk with your brat child and scare him/her straight! I haven't actually heard any of the broadcasted calls, but a friend of mine did. Her daughter (who, according to my friend, has been nothing short of a handful lately- must be something in the water) was in the car with her, and heard Santa talking to a kid whose mom had written in about him. Santa warned this kid that he wouldn't get (insert toy of his choice here) if he didn't behave. Instead he would get a flaming bag of reindeer poo! Upon hearing that, this kid was immediately repentant, and it was just enough to make my friend's daughter reconsider her very own Christmas wish list. "Mommy, I don't want a bag of reindeer poo!" she said. Hopefully, it sticks (the determination to be good, not the poop) and she stops giving her mom and dad a hard time. At least until Santa has returned to the North Pole, where he will hibernate until next Christmas.

So, if you're harboring a pint-sized terrorist between the ages of 5 and 8, you may want to send Johnjay and Rich an email. It doesn't hurt to try, right?

Crossing the finish line!!

2007-11-30T22:15:00.001-07:00

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

2007-11-29T21:28:00.001-07:00

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

2007-11-28T23:22:00.001-07:00

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

2007-11-28T20:14:00.001-07:00

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

2007-11-27T16:52:00.001-07:00

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!

2007-11-26T19:55:00.000-07:00

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

2007-11-26T19:28:00.001-07:00

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

2007-11-25T21:19:00.001-07:00

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

2007-11-24T21:58:00.001-07:00

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”?!

2007-11-23T19:14:00.001-07:00

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

2007-11-22T10:39:00.001-07:00

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!

2007-11-21T18:44:00.001-07:00

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?!

2007-11-20T18:33:00.001-07:00

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

2007-11-19T21:48:00.001-07:00

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

2007-11-18T23:01:00.000-07:00

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

Gotta love it!!

Gobble, gobble...

Now Presenting Louis C.K.

2007-11-17T18:23:00.001-07:00

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

2007-11-16T20:20:00.000-07:00

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?

2007-11-15T19:46:00.001-07:00

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?

2007-11-14T22:58:00.000-07:00

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.