Wednesday, July 23, 2008

Deli Counter

Standing behind the short haired, small statured lady, I was contemplating the bomb diggety dinner I would be serving that night. Is bomb diggety a cool term to use? Or do I sound like the dorky pants-pulled-over-my-pooch mom, trying to be cool? Oh well.

Anyways, I had some turkey and cheese to get. She glanced back at me, and she inched closer to the glass, as if I was gonna squeeze my size 0 body between her and the case. (Size 0 +6, ok)

This is the convo:

"What can I get for you today?"

"Is that turkey right there on sale?" (the turkey has a big ol sign on it)


"how much is it?"

"4.99 a pound"

"well, how much is that?"

-insert pause from deli lady-

"about 4.99 a pound, mam"

"It says it's a 1.50 off, so how much was it?"

"Not on sale, 6.49"

"So, then how much is off the sale price?"

-insert pause again from deli lady-

"It's uh, a $1.50 off, so that makes it 4.99"

"For how much?"

"a pound"

"Is it turkey breast?"


"Because I don't want it if it's not turkey breast."

"It's turkey breast. How much would you like?"

"4.99 worth"

"Anything else?"

"is all the turkey breast on sale, because if that turkey breast isn't on sale..."

This convo went on for about 3 more minutes.

If I wasn't the sweet peach from Atlanta like I am (or not) I would have taken the damn turkey boob out of the case and just told her to run.

I can't imagine who she is going to talk to about her toilet paper decision in aisle 8.

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Kidnapper Van

Kidnapper van.

My childhood fear. In my little 80's mind, as I played freely blocks away and in open fields, I had a sense of security. I know I would scream and kick the nuts of anyone who would ever try to steal me. Though once Kidnapper Ken and his gang realized the loudmouth they were dealing with, I would have been quickly dumped on the side of the road like a watered down slurpee.

I had the scenario in my head, and that was that I could spot a kidnapper a mile away. After all, they would be driving the Kidnapper Van. A van from the seventies, with rust spots and no windows. If it happened to be luxurious, it would have windows, but tinted ones. It would be white, or blue, maybe with P. Piper Plumbing on the side as a decoy, but smart kids like me would Go-Go Gadget inspect it and know it was a false business. It would creak up and down the street, and leak oil, while a leathery man with rat nasty facial hair would stare out the window at us neighborhood kidlets, like he was picking out a fancy watch. Lucky for me, no such van ever made it's way on my street, but by golly, I knew a kidnapper mobile when I saw one.

One time, my friend and I were about 15, walking from the store to her house. We were talking about boys, school, boys and food. and boys. I heard the sound that made my innards cringe, and turned around to see.... THE KIDNAPPER VAN. The one that has haunted my childhood, the one that for sure was going to take me away. It was white, long, old, no windows and dirty as a mud wrestler working on a railroad, which is, of course, extremely dirty. I told her run, and we ran, as fast as we could, up the hill, adrenalin pumping, sweating and puffing away. The van followed us and we slid around the corner and a few houses down to her house. The van parked up at the neighbors and they got out. They probably wondered just what kind of swarm of bees stung us on the butt, we ran that fast. All because of the Kidnapper Van. True story.

Today, on a walk, I pointed out to the hubby, "Oh, that is a total kidnapper van." It met all the criteria: pale blue, seventies, the brokest looking car ever, tinted windows.
He agreed.

At least I know I am not the only kid who feared the Kidnapper Van.

Monday, July 21, 2008

I *heart* Maya Angelou

If you have only one smile in you, give it to the people you love. Don't be surly at home, then go out in the street and start grinning 'Good morning' at total strangers.

I had a dream....

Baloney is 2, and doing 2 type things. Her nap was all messed up yesterday, and while my kids are not on some robotic schedule, sometimes that just screws up the evening. Middle thought Baloney was sad for about a million creative, imaginative Middle-like reasons.She has no idea that missing nap is like a screw loose on a submarine with a little kiddo, but that's okay.

I picked up sobbing little Baloney out of bed. She kept saying "broken". Middle sits up and whispers "Mommy, I have a dream." And of course immediately I think of Martin Luther King, and "how one day this nation will rise up and"... I really did, but then again I am super nerdy like that.

I think she meant to say "thought" or "idea", but dream works.

"Mommy, I have a dream that I can tape and fix whatever is broken for Baloney."

Awww. My kids DO love each other.

Saturday, July 19, 2008


Some days are good, some days are great, some days are shitty no matter how great you really want them to be.

Today's the shitty day.

But tomorrow can be the better day, right?

Thursday, July 17, 2008


Made THIS yesterday.


Run, now and make them.

(and I only used half the butter and 1 cup of sugar, because I felt guilty like that.)

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

Mini Merry Maids

I'm not one to clean. Cleaning is for the birds and little old ladies armed with baking soda and bleach. I don't freak out about messes, am very laid back about clutter but every now and then this palace needs a little elbow grease to make it sparkle. I thought I could be all organized with charts and rewards. My kids outsmarted me on that one. I had this vision that my kids would fall in line, clean, and sing "A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down" while they twirled around with their Swiffers and Comet. And then it vaporized as visions do. I decided it was time for drastic measures.

I got a maid.

Not just any maid. I searched high and low, researched qualifications. Cleaning the poopers at a truck stop makes for a highly qualified candidate, in case you're wondering. I wanted someone who was going to clean, polish all the nooks and crannies and give me a floor I could drink off of. I have high standards. If licking the floor is a sign of cleanliness, then by golly, that's the floor I will have. She showed up for her first day last week.

She was a sweet little thing. Matching uniform, well groomed. She listened intently while I told her the tasks I needed her to complete. She was on board, ready to scrub and scrape.

Then I asked her to shine the latrines. (that's fancy talk for toilet)

I can sense she's not really on board with that kind of work. Oh well, time's a wasting.

She dutifully went to work, scrubbing away.

I love a worker who whistles while she works. Happy is the worker who has a clean home, or some other embroidered pillow garbage.
What, she looks like Baloney you say? Hmm, I'll have to look into that.

Monday, July 14, 2008

Baby names

It seems that it is that time, baby season. I know so many people who are gonna be having bambinos in the near future, that I thought I would put in my two cents. I think one of the best parts about having kids, besides all that mooshy -gooshy -snuggly -wuggly -love them forever- bit, is getting to pick their names. I wish it was a job. I would totally excel at it. I would hold classes, and when the parents are getting ready to put the pen to paper on that birth certificate of lil Felonee Albert Smith, I would be there, settin them straight. Let's talk names.

Princess: I see this one a lot. It is a title. In other countries, not so much here. One does not name their kid: Doctor, CEO, Lord, Lady, Commander In Chief, General. Princess should fall into those guidelines

Lucky: And what if the kid turns out not to be so lucky. They spend forever trying to live up to a name better suited for a dog.

Haney, Arpit: These made the list because, at first glance, and in conversation, people will constantly mistake them for Hiney and Armpit. That's no way to start kindergarten, known as Hiney.

Jeweley: Just name the kid Julie. The kid has no chance winning the 8th grade spelling bee with a name like Jeweley.

Nevaeh: Oh, so cute it's Heaven backwards. Puke. Overdone and not cute. Just ask the Natasha whose name backwards is ah satan. I'm sure she is feeling the backwards spellin' lovin'.

Irie: He goes to my kids school. I like to imagine his family. His dad is Bob Marley. And he has a brother named Doobie, and a cat named Bong.

Stetson: Goes to the same school. Could be a product of cowboy lovin, or really stinky cologne.

We all know celebrities name their kids like they are trying to win an award. Horrible Naming Job award. You never hear of them naming their kids Michael, Carrie, Nicole. Only Honor, Sunday, Apple, Kyd, Moxie Crimefighter.

SO, let's set some guidelines:

Don't open up the atlas and use it like it's a baby name book. Paris, Rome, Africa, London. Toyko and Bermuda is next.

Forget where the baby was conceived. Motel 6, Simmons Beautyrest, Dodge Neon, McDonald's Bathroom are obvious. Just don't even think about it.

Just because it was great grandma Brunhilda's name, doesn't mean it should be used. Some names aren't meant to be re-used.

If the time comes, and you were unable to find the time (NINE WHOLE MONTHS) to find a name, do not look around the delivery room for inspiration. Way to many Intravenous's, Cesarean's, Epidural's were named that way.

And above all, have fun. The name is the first on a long list of things you will screw up.

This concludes this weeks lesson on baby names.

Thursday, July 10, 2008

Blog hits

I have tons o' fun reading the referrals that send people to my blog. Pretty much what people put into Google, yahoo, whatever search engine of your choice, and they get me. Luck of the draw.

Some things are innocent enough. A few searches for Tiffany blue and chocolate bedding, and they get my rant about not finding any. I guess I should share that I went with aqua and a white comforter. White you can bleach stick it, and it can't hide from me in stores. White is everywhere.

Some are looking for blogger banners. I'm sure I have had several graphic designers scoff at mine. Which is all right, my creativity runs amok at times and fails me at others.

Breastfeeding and Caesar salad gets traffic sent my way. Which I am sure they are horribly disappointed when they get my little blurb about the lady and her headlights blaring at the play area. Really, I am not anti-breastfeeding, just anti -boob staring.

A few have looked for other things. To the person who searched for doggie names, I am sorry. Not the name you were looking for I am sure. However if I ever run into a dog named Anus, I will know whose blog they read.

To the person who got their blog hit from Google, someone searching for "Do people with dreads wash their hair?" It was me. I Google dirty stuff like that. Educating myself to the fullest. And some do, is what I found out. And now I know.

Monday, July 07, 2008

I spoke too soon

Puke-a-hontas is back in town. All over the car seat. I'd so much rather throw it away and gnaw my feet off than clean it. But I'm not rich and famous even though I swear I could party like a rock star given the chance.........and the money. SO for now, it's in the backyard, drying. Like my stomach. My own innards are shriveling up and dying because nothing kills a healthy girls appetite like chunks of toddler vomit and lunch.

*gag* I am over this.

Sunday, July 06, 2008

Happy Flu of July!

The 4th went well, with fireworks, watermelon and all that American tradition jazz. We donned powder wigs and chopped down cherry trees. Or really, the closest thing we came to the patriotic past was eating cherries, but they were good so it works.

And then yesterday, like Paul Revere racing into town, announcing "The Puke is coming!", the summertime flu hit. Baloney got hit first and hard, yakking a million times. Then Middle,and by the grace of Upchuck Charles, Oldielocks did not get it. Which is amazing, because the other two were puking more than enough. It finally subsided last night, and they are on the mend.

So that's the weekend. Back to my regularly scheduled programming.

Thursday, July 03, 2008

She's two!

Baloney is two.

2 years ago, I was being gutted on the 2 inch wide operating table. Complete with doctors talking about golfing, and Chinese food. As if sucking goo out of my stomach was a forethought to won ton crackers. Waiting for my little punk baby that went out of her way to make sure she was calling the shots. After all, who really makes their mom sit through TWO frickin' amnios, still the lungs not high on the lung o' meter, but has a head full of hair and nails? Who kicks the amnio needle OUT of the belly? Should have known then who she would be.

She is a hellion, her own way, her own time, and pretty much is drawn to messes like a tornado to a trailer park.Just yesterday she ruined the mouse for the computer, in between the time I walked downstairs to start dinner and her dad walked upstairs. Her timing is impeccable, that's for sure. Today she woke up at 4:00. Because apparently on your second birthday, sleeping through the night is overrated. Yelling "Mommy, light on, light on." I so wanted to show her what lights out was. BAM! SO kidding, pick up your jaw.

She's 2. She's here. Thank god for naps and margaritas. Margaritas for me. Not her. Tequila wouldn't phase her anyways. I'm not a lush, really, but some days I do see why moms eat their young. I can't even take a picture without her stealing my thunder. I guess a little nose pickin' never hurt anyone, but geesh, could the kid wear some clothes?