Thursday, September 27, 2007

The winner in the lost backpack category is:

Middle is in kindergarten. She has afternoon kindy, so I have to take Oldielocks in the am, and then mid morning I take Middle. Today was the same as any other day, getting ready to go, and she was supposed to be putting on her shoes and socks, and getting all her shidunkadunk together. I call her name once or twenty times. I go upstairs because we really need to leave, and this big, sad, gulping mess greets me with a wail.

"I can't *gulp* find *sniffle, gulp* my backpacccccccccccccck."

I go through my detective motions, do a quick scan and don't see it. I mean it's a bright aqua blue and green thing, it's not like it's a chameleon that blends in the the blue carpet or anything. Natural consequences are that we go to school without it, and find it later. I feel a mean mommy award coming on. I'll go get my speech ready. She VERY reluctantly gets her shoes on, grabs her lunchbox and folder, all the while wailing like McDonald's is going out of business or something. The entire bike ride to school, she is sobbing, rubbing her eyes. Abalone is looking at her like she has lost her dang mind, half trying to cry herself. I guess I will have a talk with the littlest about being a follower.

"I *wail* can't take this *gulp, wail, eye rub* anymoreeeeeeeeee!"

"What? Losing the backpack?" (I tried really hard not to laugh, because at this point, it is borderline laughable. The first 10 minutes, I felt sorry for the kid. Now I'm debating on putting her in a support group for backpack tragedies.)

"Yes, it's gone.... it's never gonna be there againnnnnnn, and I need a new oneeeeee." *sniffle, wail, gulp cry*

Seriously, I think this child needs a name change.. to perhaps... Drama QUEEN. She can take that name to a whole new level. I mentioned how it wasn't a big deal. Big Mistake!

"It is a BIG DEAL!! It's my backpackkkkkk! *sob* You don't have one, you don't know about backpacksssss. (Insert older sister's name) doesn't want me to have oneeeee. *Cry, cry, cry*"

I told her that her sister would help find it, since supposedly that's how it's missing, that she wouldn't los it on purpose, etc. We would find it, she could bring it tomorrow.

"It's missing! *gulp* "I want it today. *cry*"

I explained how she needed to stop crying, we were almost at school.

"I can't *sob* stop! My eyes won't let meeeeeeeeeeeeeeee."

This boo hooing continued as we walked up to the teacher, who is genuinely concerned about the sadness of my child. She asks if she's okay, and for a fleeting moment I thought it would be funny to respond with "Heck no she's not okay. Any kid who goes into self combustion over a backpack, and is having a meltdown of mammoth proportions is certainly not entitled to the label of "okay." I just smiled and explained about the backpack, and that she's taking it kind of rough. The teacher was very sweet and hugged Middle, and as I'm walking away, I hear Middle say "It's sad because it's *slight gulp* blue and lost." I watch her as she wipes her nose on her princess shirt and walks away.

Don't worry, seeing the Oscar on her mantle when she's ten will all be worth it... I think.

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

To the lady breastfeeding her child

We were both at the same public, function, intended for kids. Kids and babies alike get hungry. I get that. I have 3 kids. They are all well-fed, and have been since the beginning. I mean, there are nights that they won't eat the filth we call chicken and rice or tacos, or the nights that we have the audacity to place a new pile of shlop on their plates, but for the most part, their basic needs are met.

Obviously your Little Tyke needed to eat. He was about 2, so one could assume you would bring a bag full of snacks. Not you, you brought out the breast. And while I sit here and point this out, let me reassure you that I have NOTHING against breastfeeding. Nothing against bottle feeding, whatever it takes to get the job done. However we could have totally done away with the huge wall of uncomfortable had you not let Little Tyke nurse, turn around, play, walk away, all with your chest bared in all it's natural glory. Just letting it hang there, like it was an accessory on your chest. I really felt bad for you, wondering if you had forgot about the lone ranger, out of it's holster. I even contemplated saying something, but your glances down and around, and picking him back up to "eat", cast a spell of awkward that I just couldn't break. Point blank it was gross. And while my chest might be a stunt double for a documentary about Aborigines, yours was twice as much. It wasn't pretty. And it's hard to keep an eye on my kids, with you sitting around with Flopsy hanging out. We had to leave, because I'm certain pretty soon it was going to be Mopsy's turn and my eyes had seen enough... for a really long time.

And natural or not, so is a birthday suit and doing the hippity dippity dance... I just don't want to see it. Not in public, not at a table, not yours.

And maybe, next time, brings some goldfish crackers.. or even the animal cracker crumbs in the bottom of your purse would suffice. And if that's too least corral the pony when he's done. Thanks.

Have a nice day,
Lady with bleached out eyeballs.

Thursday, September 13, 2007

Crappy Mommy Award

Here is my acceptance speech:

"Thank you, thank you. Hold the applause. Thank you Britney Spears, for being tonight's special speaker at the Crappy Mother's banquet. You know you've made it to the top when you don't have to submit qualifications any more, the mere mention of your name and they send the award your way.

I know I won it last week for laughing when one of my children lost it over not being able to sing Hannah Montana in the car at the top of her lungs. I then said it was not the end of the world. That was insensitive of me. I apologize.
On Monday, I swung one too high on the swings and she freaked. Her face is still frozen in pure terror. I should have asked if she wanted to swing high. That was rude. I apologize.
I made the other rewrite her journal, since it was not following the directions. I then misplaced the journal. She needs it back at school. I need to remember where I put things. I apologize.
One was playing the armpit tuba at dinner last night. It was obnoxious. One started messing with her food. I showed my extreme displeasure and threatened a dinner time shutdown. Then realized the one messing with her food was actually gagging. She had nectarine skin stuck in her throat. An eye watering, gaggy mess. I apologize.

Today, I got one to school. They get out early on Thursdays. I was walking out the door with the second, when it hit me, like a big, fat ton of ugly, broken bricks. She was late for school. She is supposed to be at school at 10:30 on Thursdays...and it was 10:45. And by the time I got there, she would be a half hour late for school. Who does that!?!?! Oh, yeah that's right, me. I felt like such the incompetent mother, walking my kid into the building, 28 minutes late. I smiled timidly and told the desk lady, "I'm sorry, I forgot it was Thursday, she's in kindergarten and we're late." Her judging eyes bore through my head and she said "Oh......well you do know you have to pick them up early, right?" I wanted to say

Yes lady, despite my amazing ability of incompetency this morning, on most days I do get it right. It may not be perfect, and I have momentary lapse in judgement, (most of the time regarding food and tv shows, not always my children), but I will be back to pick them up on time. At least before nightfall when the coyotes come out.

But I smiled and said "yes." And trotted my tardy child to class.

So I stand here accepting my crappy mother award. It is not my first, nor my last. At least my kids can rely on knowing that Mommy gets it wrong too.

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Back To School Night

We just had BTS night. Of course with 2 kids in school, we had to split up. I chose the 2nd grade class and sent Hubbilicious to the kindergarten classroom. I picked up the gigundo stack of papers and attempted to sit down in those itty bitty chairs. I just prayed my butt wouldn't be stuck as I tried to leave. The novel "2nd Grade Expectations" was my favorite. I didn't even crack it open. It was about 37 pages, but then when I started glancing through, I noticed that some pages were numbered out of order. How am I supposed to read about 2nd grade expectations when a series of ADULTS can't number the pages? I'll save it for a late night bath read, complete with candles.

The teacher had a little slide show with what takes place, behavior, curriculum, etc. It was nice and informative. A little on the boring side, but it's not like he was submitting it to the Golden Globes or anything. Things were going well, except for I had just wolfed down some steak before trotting over to the school. I started to feel a little tickle, down in the darkest depths of my throat. Panic struck and I pleaded with the Steak Seasoning God.... "please don't make me have a cough attack.... peppercorn, peppercorn go away....I have no water.... what will I do..."

I made it through. I couldn't tell you half of what was said. I noticed my kid has a very neat desk....which if she could bring that knowledge of the word "neat" and apply it to the pit that is her room, I would be happy.

I meet up with Hubbilicious.He has a few papers, and he told me about Kindergarten.

"The one teacher is a scrapper. Not Middle's, but the other one."
"Middle's teacher is very organized."
"They want money. Lots of money."
"Sell some coupons. Because they really want money"
"The chairs hurt my butt."
"They talked a lot."
"That's about it"

I guess I shouldn't be surprised that he doesn't work for a research lab. Or the CIA is not using him as an informant.

As we leave, we are checking out some art the kids have displayed. They all have these happy faces that they cut out hanging from the ceiling. Saying things like "Green grass makes me happy." All the cutesy little kid things that they say. I can't find my Middle's circle.. All I'm thinking is that she said something inappropriate like "Toots make me happy" or something. Then I see a circle, half the size of the others, that she cut out. Hers said, "My baby sister makes me happy." Awwwwww, she said something cute! All the while, being true to her journey off the beaten path, with her tiny, little circle.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007


6 years ago. It forever changed a nation, and forever changed lives. So many lost, each with their own story to tell. This is a video, about a little girl who lost her dad on 9/11. My heart goes out to those that lost, and those left behind. Let us not forget.

Monday, September 10, 2007

Food Blogs

My new favorite thing to do is look at food blogs. Other people use the Internet for it's intended use, such as emailing friends, shopping their little hearts out, researching world peace- and then there's me. I am chomping on a cheese stick, staring pictures of mouth watering goodness, and wasting many useless taste buds.

I like to cook. Which translates into :Can follow a recipe but edible is not guaranteed. I know what a paring knife is, I know how to zest a lemon, and how to "fold" in an ingredient. Everyone has their signature dish, and the bottom line for my 29 years is, I know I make some hot diggety salsa and my kids dig my banana and chocolate chip pancakes.

So, I thought I would expand my horizons and check out some food blogs. Some are way too gourmet for me..cuz making salmon mousse is like telling your dog to clean up it's own poo- not gonna happen. There are some baking ones, but I doubt after a bite of my mediocre, but delightfully decorated cupcakes, that I'm going to be the next big thing. Betty Crocker, your job is safe. You and Duncan Hines can wipe the sweat off your brow.

There some FATastically, down home cooking ones, but my arteries started shutting down while looking at the pictures of the pounds of butter some of these chicks were using, I quickly x'ed out of those pages. And the ones that involve saffron from India and imported mushrooms from France... uh yeah. If I can't get it at Albertson's with one kid crying in the cart, one with it's head in the chocolate covered raisin bin and the other singing me the jingle for Trix... then it can't be done. A girl's got her limits.

So, back to me and my cheese stick chomping self, I sit here and lust after the fresh out of the oven cinnamon rolls, the crispy doughnuts and the fried chicken that would make Paula Deen cry, and enjoy my virtual picnic.

Friday, September 07, 2007

Bike rides

So..... I ride my bike and throw the 2 kids in the bike trailer to get my Middle to school in the morning. Why is it I always hear the theme music of the witch riding her bike in the Wizard of Oz? Duntdaduntdaduntda, duntdaduntdaduntda dadddddaaaaa.
In my head, while I ride my bike. If I start wearing striped socks, and a pointy hat.... uh, yeah.

Wednesday, September 05, 2007

I google myself regularly

This was fun. I got this from a friend. "Go to, put in your first name and the word "needs" after it. Share what you found!"

Hahahaha, this is what I found:

NEA needs Eliot Spitzer (Uh, who is he and I need nothing with the word "spit" in it)

NEA needs your help on this issue. (Yes, that issue and many others. She has many, many issues)

NEA needs to go back to school! (Eye kan spel, their justt typoes)

NEA needs a vacation. (sho thang!)

NEA needs a new PR person, that's for sure. (Why, I do all my own stunts.)

NEA needs to do image building. (Is this a polite way of saying I fell out of the ugly tree? I think it's the politically correct version.)

NEA needs to be banned.

Enough said.

Tuesday, September 04, 2007

Flies, electricity.....

Yesterday was Labor day. A day to set aside to rest from all the hard work we do all year round. Not the labor that sent tiny humans flying out of my loins. There is no holiday for that. No medal, no trophy, no cookie, no sticker, but maybe a pat on the back for that kind of "labor".

We were all hanging around, doing the stereotypical BBQ, except for the whole "108 degrees outside" messing it up. We just sent a sucker out to the grill to cook the food, while the rest of us basked in the cool air conditioning. Nobody is doing much, just staying cool, and some flies get let in. We have the fly zapper, not to be confused with fly swatter, since ours looks like a flimsy tennis racket with an electric chair conductor box attached. You press the red button, it becomes electrified and smokes the flies. The best 6 dollars can buy at a local tool shop. My dad decides to test out the voltage, AFTER it got dropped. He yelled and shot back in his chair. Wild eyed. Quite funny actually, with my mom laughing her head off, saying, "Is this the big one, Martha?" Lots of laughs. Middle brother decided he needs to test it. He says it's just a little zap. This is the same boy who growing up, got stitches and laughed. Insanely high pain tolerance. So if he says something doesn't hurt, never take his word for it.

Hubby tries to get the zapper to shock himself, but it's not working. He makes a big spectacle, hitting his hand on the metal frame, exclaiming "look, it doesn't work, it doesn't work." The family crowd has gathered, and we are all intensely watching. (Nothing was on TV.) All of a sudden, a crackle, flash of light and hubby jumps back. I guess it does work. Everyone is rolling with laughter at hubby and his insistence of how it didn't work. As if this wasn't enough fun, middle brother comes up with a great idea that one of them should touch it, and they all should hold hands to see if an electrical current will run through one person to the other. Yeah, he's the smart kid who used to jump off the roof onto mattresses to see if he could fly. Try to blow up a plastic cup in the backyard with lysol and a match. Ride his skateboard on his belly to go faster. Ambitious, that one. So Dumb and Dumber and Dumber and Dumbest are standing in line, holding hands, giggling nervously, waiting for the big zap. Hubby is the leader that is going to touch the zapper. Remember the whole part about the sucker standing in 108 degree heat grilling? Yeah, now he's the fly zapper toucher. There is a sacrificial lamb in every group, I just so happened to marry one. There is nothing funnier than a group of grown men, holding hands, in a line, waiting to get zapped. In the end, it only zapped hubby. Dummies.

Intellectual conversation? Board games? Reading books? Musical performances? Fly Zapper Experiments? Yeah, we rank right up their with Jed Clampett and the rest of the Beverly Hill Billies.

Sunday, September 02, 2007

Bedding Woes

I like to shop. It's no secret, I am a shopper. I don't buy things that are full price, because I will likely slit my wrists with the receipt when I see 2 weeks later it has been marked down. I look forward to mega sales. None of the piddly 25% off crap. That's like finding 50 cents on the washer. It's nothing. I gleefully return home from my adventures, bags in tow, and proudly display my good fortune. I am not one of those "throw it into the closet, hide it from my husband, and swallow the receipt" kind of gals. If there was a shopping badge in girl scouts, I would have earned it. I would have had to been in girl scouts, but that's another story.

Labor Day weekend= sales. The fam and I head out to Macy's because I want new bedding. I have been on a bedding search for years it seems, and just can't find what I want. I want tiffany blue and chocolate bedding. I have had my same comforter and shams since 2004. I loved it. It's a rust orange with orange embroidery, sounds like orange puke, but in reality is gorgeous. But it's tired. I have since added a third kid to the mix to puke, pee, wipe their hands on it, etc. One of my lovely children likes to pull at the embroidery. She's not blind, so it's not like she's practicing braille. I think she does it because it annoys me, and I know my kids lay awake at night thinking of the ways to make my eyes bug out, and that's at the top of her list. The kids jump on the bed, when they think I'm not looking, and don't realize the smoosh, smash and giggle of kid meeting mattress is a dead giveaway. So the poor bedding has been beat up, violated and it's time to retire.

I'm showing the hubby the bedding I *think* I like, and he is not overly thrilled. I ask him to show me what he likes. He goes over to the duvets....yes the plain, white, soft, 8 million degrees of thickness covers and tries to impress me with his (lack of) decorating skills and says, "I like this, and maybe some gray sheets." So in other words, he wants our bedding to blend in with the million little boogers that I'm sure get flicked on it by our adoring children. Gray and white. Gray and white. Like my grandma's hair. Like mold on an onion. Barf.

Needless to say, the search for bedding is still on. And my rusty orange comforter hangs in for another day.

However, I did see a pink Dyson in the Target ad today. How stinkin' cute is that! I thought about running up the stairs, with ad in hand and shoving it in the hubby's face. But then this dialogue ran through my head.

"Look at this pink vacuum. I want one of these!"
"A pink vacuum?
"Isn't it cute!"
"But it's a vacuum, does it matter what color it is?"
"To some no, to me, if it's pink, then yes."
"Does it vacuum better than the yellow one?"
"I'm just going to say yes...."
"Is anyone ever going to see the pink vacuum to know that you have the PINK vacuum?"
" It will sit at the table with us, and sleep in our bed, I'll take it with me everywhere I go...."
"Okay pink vacuum over blue and brown bedding?"

Yeah, my overactive imagination did it for me. I quickly tossed that ad back into the mess of the papers, and continued my quest for the ever elusive brown and blue bedding.