Wednesday, April 29, 2009

WTF wed # 39570235

This is a continuous WTF. The groundhog day of WTF-ness. In fact, it happens so often, it really shouldn't be a WTF, but just a fact of life.

My kids love the bath. They don't take one every day, more in the summer because they are walking dirt pits then, but often. Oldielocks is super old at nine, and prefers showers, but every now and then will jump in the tub for good ol' playtime. Middle stays in until she's a prune, the water's freezing, and she is turning blue. Baloney lands more water on our floor than Shamu, it's true.

We have the same ritual when they get out: towels, lotion, pj's. And since they are all girls, we then do detangler/hair serum/ bacon grease whatever it takes to get the tangles out. Otherwise they will wake up looking like a rat convention took place on the back of their hair. I even braid Baloney's because despite the careful combing, she manages to turn into a dread head, every time.

I have them pick up their towels, clothes, put the toys away. In theory this sounds great, but it fails me every time. Then my bathroom looks spotless. Like not a bath was had. And that's a bad thing? Oh yes, yes it is.

You see, I'll walk in, drop my Victoria's Secret undergarments, sit down, and realize I am on a slip n slide to Hades. My booty will slide like a Honda in an ice storm. I land cheek side up between the toilet and the tub, just about every time. I look like an outlandish fool from a cartoon, my face frozen in terror as I realize that if I had a small butt crack before.... I don't now. Arms thrown out like I'm an umpire calling someone safe at home, and my drawers are all potato sacked race at my feet. I'm a hot mess going nowhere fast.

Every mother WTF time.

Why? Why do they wait until they get in the time to realize they have to pee? I can tell them beforehand, watch them go pee, have them sign legal papers that they will, yet someone has to climb out of the tub, sopping wet, and pee. I always get stuck with the storm surge.

WTF... in my bathroom, all the time.

Monday, April 27, 2009

results are in

I mentioned early on in March, how I was on this crusade to be fit, and I was going to do the 30 day shred. I did it, every day, faithfully. I didn't follow a diet plan, I just ate healthy, and lowered my calories. Some days I did the shred, some I did shred and elliptical. Some days I shook my jello and just danced around the house. I can't find before pics...but my weight was... drum roll......147. 147 for a 5'3" chick is not fabulous. That meant size 10 pants, large tops. My gut... oh my great grandma... was my belly just nasty. Having 3 kids donated to the pile o' flab, but really, I had jelly rolls, cinnamon rolls, if it rolled, it was there.

So I sweated. I had swamp ass for 30 days straight. I was so mad at that damn Jillian and her two little itty bitty trainer friends. She kept saying "don't phone it in." Like all fat people sit around phoning it in. Like it was a damn pizza. Some of us go out and get the pizza.

I squatted like an Indian giving birth in a corn field. I lunged like I was a really chunky jaguar. I crunched like I was a bag of cheetos. I drew the line at high jumps. I am not a dolphin performing tricks. I don't do high jumps. It was bad enough I was kicking my own ass and doing jump squats. And jumping jacks. And jump rope. And plank rows. And on top of all that it sounded like a dirty phone perp was living up in here. The heavy breathing, panting, grunting.. not fabulous.. at all.

so..... 6 weeks later.... I lost 14 pounds. And tons of inches. I still ate pizza every friday, had a birthday weekend in between. I wanted skinny, and I'm getting skinny. Everyone get your shred on... seriously it works.

Here's a pic. In the sliding door.

Sunday, April 26, 2009

More bambino lovin'

So yet again, I have been craftin'. Making baby junk for all the babies being born. Tho could someone have a girl? Pretty please? I love all the boy stuff, but I need to make some pink cuddly goodness.

This is the latest, for my nephew Quentyn, eta in May.

I stitched around the letters so they wouldn't come off, and sewed them on a carter's recieving blanket. I then sewed some green minky on the back. I hate sewing minky, it's nothing but a slippery nightmare.

Here's some burp cloths, because after all baby puke looks way cuter on pretty fabric.

Quilt made out of Carter's elephant blanket and other matchy fabrics. I have tons left over, need some ideas for using it up.

Here is the back. It is not see through unless you hold it up in front of a bay window in sunny San Diego in the afternoon. I cut out little elephants from this website. They have a super adorable quilt on there.

here is the front.

While I dig the blue, green, white, chocolate combo... I need to switch it up....

Friday, April 24, 2009

Lost her mind

I know they say that when kids learn something new, or are focusing on one area of their lives, they can regress in another.

Meet Oldielocks, my then nine year old, my now two year old. She has been busy in softball playoffs, swimming play dates with her BFF, completing her multiplication facts, and learning the words to cheers.

SO much learning and busy busy busy busy going on that today, officially she lost her damn mind.
Her room was filthy. The closet exploded and so did every toy container. The husband decided that more fun was being had than responsibility and canceled batting practice at a friends house. He then told Oldielocks it was clean up time. She clearly had five bags of cotton stuffed in her ears, since she acted like he had said not a word. She would not listen. AT ALL.

And then it started.

The whining. The falling to the floor on top of clothes. The "idon'tknowwhat youwantmetodobutican'tcleanbecauseiamwhinylittlepunk." It's bad when it sounds like a rat dog whining. And then you realize you don't have a dog. But you do have a nine year old. A nine year old that sounds like a rat dog. That's not something to brag about.

Finally when I was about to stab myself in the eardrums, I sent her to time out. I let her know that if she wanted to act like a 2 year old, she will be treated like one. I made her sit in the little chair, her 4'7" self all hunched a few inches off the floor. She in turn whimpered, whined, scratched on the wall, fell to the floor, picked at a branch, harassed the bird, stomped her feet.
I ignored every minute of it. Middle was staring and piped open her little mouth like she was the Princess of Perfect, until I shot her a look that reminded her that she has gone a few rounds on the crazy carousel before so she wasn't going to be judging anybody.

Then my gigantic two nine year old started throwing toys. I then threatened her with writing sentences and a videotaping her and showing it to her class. A little blackmail goes a long way. Her crazy outbursts went on for about 45 minutes. In the little chair... wailing away. It was disturbing... yet hysterical all at the same time.

She has been kissing ass ever since.

Thursday, April 16, 2009

Up on the hill

We wont touch on why I haven't blogged, besides the fact that I was abducted by Mongolian skunks and sold to a worm trader in East L.A. True story.

Oldielocks games take up our evenings a lot of the time. I've been dying to do a WTF Wednesday, but I'm changing it up. It's Thursday and we are gonna WTF it.

At these games, you have 6-9 year old girls playing softball. Not one of them is headed for MLB any time soon, but some of the parents, oh my sweet jalapeno jelly, they think they are.
There's this dad who is nothing but a walking WTF. He looks like this guy, from Project Runway.

But bigger, with his ipod constantly in his ears, and girly hat on head. He is loud, and likes to crouch behind the catchers fence when his daughter pitches. When I said crouch, I meant plop his knee down, and then his waistband has some form of elastic malfunction and pretty soon the Grand Canyon in all it's crevice glory is staring at you and you turn away before you get the stink eye creepin out. It's bad. He's about 275 by the way. Which in turn provides a lot of landscape. it doesn't matter that a bazillion people are directly behind him, and after a while your brain takes over and blocks the image from memory. Or at least I wish.

he draws so much attention to himself, between the moon baring squat and the shouting. he calls his whole family when she throws strikes. every time. I kid u not. And this is nothing compared to the first game.

The first game, we are sitting on the hillside. My children, myself. All is quiet except for sweat drippin off the pitcher and chants from the catcher. I am snuggled in my chair, when they earth shook. Well, it sounded like it was shaking. The loudest " BRRRRFFFTHHHTPPP" from behind me, and then to keen sense of hearing, a release of sound. "Ahhhh."

WTF? Did someone just rip ass and then sigh? Straight out of the movies, dirty dirty farting and sighing. And it happened again. My jaw was dropped in disbelief, but closed quickly in case any fart vapors wanted to waft my way. I turned my head slightly, to be sly, but I was really really interested in who the foul farter was. I needed to know names and location to stay far far away in the future.

Ol Project Runway, fartin, crack baring dad is sitting on the hill. But it doesn't end there. The most horrific part of all is he was sitting with his legs up, like whoo hoo hee labor, heads coming position. No way. No nasty way. He then does it again. You know,brings the legs back, gives birth to a 6lb, 7 ounce disgusting fart. Complete with afterbirth. I'm surprised he didn't ask anyone to hold a lighter and see if they would ignite. And all I can think is that is some one's dad. Which means someone, somewhere finds that... attractive. I might puke.

Softball season is almost over. And so is my sense of all that is right in the world.