On day 31... of 2009...
I:
took my kids to the humane society, to visit the dogs, make them feel special.
Baloney looks the front desk person in the eye and holds up her 2 fingers and says "We want 2 dogs." as if she was ordering a happy meal in a drive thru. I should be so proud.
went and looked at ellipticals.Not because my fat needs something to do or anything - like leave- but because I can dream.
stopped at the grocery store and bought bread and milk. Only because I don't have a cow and am too lazy to make bread. But I do plan on making pretzels later, from scratch, I'm such a hypocrite.
drank at least half of a 52oz slurpee.
cleaned out the garage and complained it was too hot.
and I blogged. For an entire month. every.frickety.frackety.day.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Friday, January 30, 2009
Times it's hard to be a friend
1. when asked to tell friend what is wrong with them and "psychotic hose beast" is the wrong term to use.
2. when friend cries a thousand times a day about their relationship, as if the past 15 minutes had changed it all.
3. when friend asks if the flowery sweater makes them look fat, and it doesn't... it's just ugly... but they love it.
4. When they want to know the baby name they chose is adorable, and you want to say "yes... if you are a going to be a stripper when you grow up." but you don't.
5. When they want to gab for hours about political turmoil in Amsterdam and you just want to know about what Britney Spears is doin' now.
6. When friend thinks Patrick Dempsey is McDreamy.. and you think he is McPukey.
7. When friend acts like they know everything, including the price of tea in China, yet they don't know what the price of gas is down the street.
8. when friend is the only one who likes cabbage rolls, but you eat it every time, while gagging, because well... you're friends.
And the hardest is when you have to take all your toys and go home. Including all your Garbage Pail Kids
2. when friend cries a thousand times a day about their relationship, as if the past 15 minutes had changed it all.
3. when friend asks if the flowery sweater makes them look fat, and it doesn't... it's just ugly... but they love it.
4. When they want to know the baby name they chose is adorable, and you want to say "yes... if you are a going to be a stripper when you grow up." but you don't.
5. When they want to gab for hours about political turmoil in Amsterdam and you just want to know about what Britney Spears is doin' now.
6. When friend thinks Patrick Dempsey is McDreamy.. and you think he is McPukey.
7. When friend acts like they know everything, including the price of tea in China, yet they don't know what the price of gas is down the street.
8. when friend is the only one who likes cabbage rolls, but you eat it every time, while gagging, because well... you're friends.
And the hardest is when you have to take all your toys and go home. Including all your Garbage Pail Kids
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Old houses
I stayed here once. I have a very rocky love affair with old homes. I think I am destined to live in one, or at least one that looks old. The charm makes my heart go pitter patter but the thoughts of ghosts gives me the trots. Spiders too. Those give me the eebie jeebies more than the ghosts. Because my luck would be that I'd find an amazing house that's old and fabulous, and all of a sudden the oldest living tarantula know to mankind would be living in my attic......with the ghost from 1872 and the moonshine from 1925.....
I need to lay off the trail mix, my imagination goes crazy.
But really I stayed there. It was beautiful and you could feel the history....when it woke you in the middle of the night. 'Nuff said.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
WTF Wed. #20
I had an appendectomy at 24, about 5 weeks after having Middle. I didn't feel good, almost like when you start to get the flu, and was just uncomfortable. The pain was very dull, annoying and all I wanted to do was cut whatever it was out with a butter knife. Why a butter knife, I have no clue, probably because I am freakishly medical like that.
I end up pleading with the husband to take me to the hospital. It was a few hours of craziness, and several huge WTF's, including the line "We'll just go in and take a look, and if it's your appendix, we'll take it out." You mean you are just gonna start hacking away and hope you find something good to take out? Frickin Cannibals. Trying to sell my liver on the black market or something.
After my surgery, I end up in recovery and awake to some grandma asking me if I want chap stick. Here I am, high as a kite, moving like an elephant on downers, have no clue where I am at, could have been in Guatemala for all I knew, and Grandma Nurse is wondering if I want chap stick? Give a girl some MAC lip glass, and a pedicure while you're offering. I guess my lips were super chapped. Whatever.
A few hours later, I'm all cozy in my bed, the husband is holding the baby and I remember I had been filleted like a fish. My brother had a huge scar on his lower abs, from his appendectomy as a teenager, so I was getting ready to check mine out. I shuffle my ugly hospital gown wearing self over to the bathroom door, and get ready to check. I open up the blue and pink sack I was wearing and look down.....
I see a set of bandages on the top of my belly button, which I think is weird, because last I checked the appendix isn't in the middle of one's abdomen, but then I notice another set of bandages to the left of my belly button.
WTF!
They just started slicing, hit or miss style all over my stomach? And then, to add insult to injury, the husband says, "there's one underneath your belly button."
Are you for WTF reals?
I am a walking science experiment, if I drink water I am gonna leak like a sieve, I look like I was jumped by a bunch of knife swallowers from the dang circus. In modern day medicine and after having a balloon wand shoved up my hind end, yes they absolutely did, and a cat scan, you're telling me they had to dissect me like a fermented frog to find my appendix.
I started to cry, probably the anesthesia and drugs talking. Three scars. Not one battle scar. but THREE? Someone, somewhere hates me. Bye bye bikini, hello hunchback of Notre dame belly.
When the doctor came in later, the first thing I did was throw back the covers, open my gown and said "WHAT is this?" He laughed, because he though he was Dr. Comedian. He then tells me how they stick a camera in one section and the tools in the other, chop up the appendix like it is beef stroganoff and suck it out. Absolutely disgusting. And create a geometric pattern on my stomach. I was cheated out of a cool 3 inch scar and was given 3 one inch scars. That's not funny.
I have a scar for no other purpose but a camera. They could have at least given me pictures. Life's not fair.
I end up pleading with the husband to take me to the hospital. It was a few hours of craziness, and several huge WTF's, including the line "We'll just go in and take a look, and if it's your appendix, we'll take it out." You mean you are just gonna start hacking away and hope you find something good to take out? Frickin Cannibals. Trying to sell my liver on the black market or something.
After my surgery, I end up in recovery and awake to some grandma asking me if I want chap stick. Here I am, high as a kite, moving like an elephant on downers, have no clue where I am at, could have been in Guatemala for all I knew, and Grandma Nurse is wondering if I want chap stick? Give a girl some MAC lip glass, and a pedicure while you're offering. I guess my lips were super chapped. Whatever.
A few hours later, I'm all cozy in my bed, the husband is holding the baby and I remember I had been filleted like a fish. My brother had a huge scar on his lower abs, from his appendectomy as a teenager, so I was getting ready to check mine out. I shuffle my ugly hospital gown wearing self over to the bathroom door, and get ready to check. I open up the blue and pink sack I was wearing and look down.....
I see a set of bandages on the top of my belly button, which I think is weird, because last I checked the appendix isn't in the middle of one's abdomen, but then I notice another set of bandages to the left of my belly button.
WTF!
They just started slicing, hit or miss style all over my stomach? And then, to add insult to injury, the husband says, "there's one underneath your belly button."
Are you for WTF reals?
I am a walking science experiment, if I drink water I am gonna leak like a sieve, I look like I was jumped by a bunch of knife swallowers from the dang circus. In modern day medicine and after having a balloon wand shoved up my hind end, yes they absolutely did, and a cat scan, you're telling me they had to dissect me like a fermented frog to find my appendix.
I started to cry, probably the anesthesia and drugs talking. Three scars. Not one battle scar. but THREE? Someone, somewhere hates me. Bye bye bikini, hello hunchback of Notre dame belly.
When the doctor came in later, the first thing I did was throw back the covers, open my gown and said "WHAT is this?" He laughed, because he though he was Dr. Comedian. He then tells me how they stick a camera in one section and the tools in the other, chop up the appendix like it is beef stroganoff and suck it out. Absolutely disgusting. And create a geometric pattern on my stomach. I was cheated out of a cool 3 inch scar and was given 3 one inch scars. That's not funny.
I have a scar for no other purpose but a camera. They could have at least given me pictures. Life's not fair.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
What remains.....
The key turned in the lock, as it had a million times before. The curtains were closed, blocking out some of the humid July heat. I quickly opened them all, as they should be. The warm light filtered across the living room, through the small dining room. An area rug, a white cottage style entertainment center greeted us, the last little bits of our belongings remained. It was closing day, the day we would hand over our home, keys and leave with only memories of what used to be.
I wasn't sad, oddly enough. After all, it had been several months since we had actually lived in that house, and that state. It felt familiar, the mocha colored walls, honey colored floor, blue and cream colored curtains framing the window the way they always had. I was feeling rushed, we had only a few hours to remove the few things we had left behind, and get to our appointment.
The baby was with us, the older two back in California. It was weird to watch her toddle around in a house she'll never remember. She was 4 months old when we moved, too little to know or care. We sat down and ate our philly cheese steak sandwiches, a craving that took me back to the days of Saturday college football, in a college town. We would spend the morning dressed in our scarlet and grey, grab our subs and sit right in that very spot and watch the Buckeyes win, and they did, often.
I walked through the empty rooms, surprised at how very small they seemed. Middle's yellow and white room, the room we painted for her when she was 2 weeks old. Empty hangers filled the closet, and I laughed to myself. "Hookers" she likes to call them. My cream colored kitchen, that had seen many changes- from red, yellow, green, to neutral cream. The counters we had put in, my ugly brown oven that never cooked anything quite right. The mustard walls in our room stood out, a bright spot in the back of the house. I spent a few minutes wondering if the curtain rod could fit in my suitcase.... then dismissed the notion as quickly as it had arose.
I stepped into Oldielocks room, and realized we needed to hurry up. I glanced at her purple room and the border of hand painted flowers and fairies, speculating at how quickly the couple with no kids would cover them up. The shimmery, iridescent fabric that served as a fairytale valance would end up in the trash, after spending 5 years casting a magical ambiance for a little girl. I squelched the negative thoughts. It all had served it's purpose, and we had moved on.
I was wasting too much time, reminiscing and looking around. We had a deadline and it needed to be met. I shut Oldielock's closet door, and something caught my eye.
It was this.
A happy face drawn on the faceplate in her room.
I walked back to the living room and stood there. "I can't do this," I said, tears streaming down my face. The husband jumped up and silently with no words I walked him back to the room that our very own princess used to dance in, and showed him the light switch. His eyes welled up and we both stood there. Listening to echoes that only we could hear. Sounds of laughter, doggy toenails clicking down the hall, kids coloring and painting, late night talks. Sounds of heart aches and tears, little girls playing dress up and chasing fireflies. It all came back, like in a movie, of all that we had done, all that we had known.
We both blew out deep breaths of air, and composed ourselves. We gathered what remained, tossed what we needed too, and quickly finished the task of saying goodbye to what used to be our first home. I don't care that my kids took their first steps there, or it was the first home they knew. It didn't matter that it was the first of this or that. That seems so cliche to me. What mattered was that happy face on the switch plate. Because it was when we turned the key in the lock one last time, there was a remaining piece of us.... a happy face scrawled in childish crayon showing that absolutely, love had lived there.
I wasn't sad, oddly enough. After all, it had been several months since we had actually lived in that house, and that state. It felt familiar, the mocha colored walls, honey colored floor, blue and cream colored curtains framing the window the way they always had. I was feeling rushed, we had only a few hours to remove the few things we had left behind, and get to our appointment.
The baby was with us, the older two back in California. It was weird to watch her toddle around in a house she'll never remember. She was 4 months old when we moved, too little to know or care. We sat down and ate our philly cheese steak sandwiches, a craving that took me back to the days of Saturday college football, in a college town. We would spend the morning dressed in our scarlet and grey, grab our subs and sit right in that very spot and watch the Buckeyes win, and they did, often.
I walked through the empty rooms, surprised at how very small they seemed. Middle's yellow and white room, the room we painted for her when she was 2 weeks old. Empty hangers filled the closet, and I laughed to myself. "Hookers" she likes to call them. My cream colored kitchen, that had seen many changes- from red, yellow, green, to neutral cream. The counters we had put in, my ugly brown oven that never cooked anything quite right. The mustard walls in our room stood out, a bright spot in the back of the house. I spent a few minutes wondering if the curtain rod could fit in my suitcase.... then dismissed the notion as quickly as it had arose.
I stepped into Oldielocks room, and realized we needed to hurry up. I glanced at her purple room and the border of hand painted flowers and fairies, speculating at how quickly the couple with no kids would cover them up. The shimmery, iridescent fabric that served as a fairytale valance would end up in the trash, after spending 5 years casting a magical ambiance for a little girl. I squelched the negative thoughts. It all had served it's purpose, and we had moved on.
I was wasting too much time, reminiscing and looking around. We had a deadline and it needed to be met. I shut Oldielock's closet door, and something caught my eye.
It was this.
A happy face drawn on the faceplate in her room.
I walked back to the living room and stood there. "I can't do this," I said, tears streaming down my face. The husband jumped up and silently with no words I walked him back to the room that our very own princess used to dance in, and showed him the light switch. His eyes welled up and we both stood there. Listening to echoes that only we could hear. Sounds of laughter, doggy toenails clicking down the hall, kids coloring and painting, late night talks. Sounds of heart aches and tears, little girls playing dress up and chasing fireflies. It all came back, like in a movie, of all that we had done, all that we had known.
We both blew out deep breaths of air, and composed ourselves. We gathered what remained, tossed what we needed too, and quickly finished the task of saying goodbye to what used to be our first home. I don't care that my kids took their first steps there, or it was the first home they knew. It didn't matter that it was the first of this or that. That seems so cliche to me. What mattered was that happy face on the switch plate. Because it was when we turned the key in the lock one last time, there was a remaining piece of us.... a happy face scrawled in childish crayon showing that absolutely, love had lived there.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Bathroom Lingo
I asked Baloney if she went potty.
She laughed and ignored me.
I told her to tell Daddy she went potty.
She laughed some more and rolled around.
Much like a roly poly, but without the scaly back.
I asked her if she put pee in the potty.
"no" she laughed.
I then said, well then what did you put in the potty?
"TURDS!" she yells and falls in a fit of laughter.
I glance at the husband, and he too is laughing like a hyena.
After all, he is very proud of his 9 year old terminology that he has taught our toddler.
Boys never grow up.
She laughed and ignored me.
I told her to tell Daddy she went potty.
She laughed some more and rolled around.
Much like a roly poly, but without the scaly back.
I asked her if she put pee in the potty.
"no" she laughed.
I then said, well then what did you put in the potty?
"TURDS!" she yells and falls in a fit of laughter.
I glance at the husband, and he too is laughing like a hyena.
After all, he is very proud of his 9 year old terminology that he has taught our toddler.
Boys never grow up.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Then came baby shower....
Remember the ducky baby shower invitations? Yesterday was the ducky baby shower. I'm all ducked out.
This was the beverage station, an inflatable duck with ice and drinks. (I took the pics before all the drinks were there. so don't think we were all stingy on the drinks.)
The entrance table when you walked in....
My other sister in law made this diaper cake.... complete with ducks...
The food spread....
Black and white cupcakes.....
the favors, and 2 games, ducky bingo...
The centerpieces....
The clothesline, complete with ducky attire, burp cloths made by yours truly of course...
The other side of the clothesline...
It was a success, there was an adorable slideshow, a full stage covered with gifts, balloons, and the black and white car seat combo.
It was quacktastic.
This was the beverage station, an inflatable duck with ice and drinks. (I took the pics before all the drinks were there. so don't think we were all stingy on the drinks.)
The entrance table when you walked in....
My other sister in law made this diaper cake.... complete with ducks...
The food spread....
Black and white cupcakes.....
the favors, and 2 games, ducky bingo...
The centerpieces....
The clothesline, complete with ducky attire, burp cloths made by yours truly of course...
The other side of the clothesline...
It was a success, there was an adorable slideshow, a full stage covered with gifts, balloons, and the black and white car seat combo.
It was quacktastic.
First came baby belly,,,,
Took some pictures last week for my sister-in-law, of her baby bump. In about a month I get to meet my niece or nephew!
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Friday, January 23, 2009
thoughts
"...but the biggest mistake I made is the one that most of us make while doing this. I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured only in photographs. There is one picture of the three on them sitting in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of the swing set on a summer day, ages 6, 4, and 1. And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night. I wish I had not been in a hurry to get on to the next things: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less."
Anna Quindlen
Sometimes I think I get so caught up in the homework, the chores, the responsibilities of life that I forget what the importance stuff is. and isn't. Everyone has to be somewhere, doing something. Be Happy. Be smart. Be well. Be witty. Be there. Be better. Be more like her. Be less like them. And really, no one has to be any of that.
This is a great reminder, that the answer really is, to just simply be.
Anna Quindlen
Sometimes I think I get so caught up in the homework, the chores, the responsibilities of life that I forget what the importance stuff is. and isn't. Everyone has to be somewhere, doing something. Be Happy. Be smart. Be well. Be witty. Be there. Be better. Be more like her. Be less like them. And really, no one has to be any of that.
This is a great reminder, that the answer really is, to just simply be.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
I stole my kids DS
and have been playing fashion designer. And what does it say, about me, at 30 that they make me re-do the styling because I didn't do my job well...... I must be a walking fashion trash truck.
But I'm not, because I bought some rockin jeans yesterday and the girl tried to sell me these purple high heels, with laces and mesh. Yes, the same mesh that covers a sweaty football players back mesh. You know I turned down those pieces of fugliness.
So I do have style, really I do.
But I'm not, because I bought some rockin jeans yesterday and the girl tried to sell me these purple high heels, with laces and mesh. Yes, the same mesh that covers a sweaty football players back mesh. You know I turned down those pieces of fugliness.
So I do have style, really I do.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
WTF wednesday #19
She ain't nothin but a gold wearer....
Mustard and Ketchup had a love child on this bed. And named it Nea.
WTF.......
Who does this? A rousing game of Where's the Baby? Or was this pre- Olan Mills studio, where matching your outfit to the background was the hip thing? Which came first, the sleeper or the hat... the pillows or the bed?
Either way, what a seventie's gold lovin train wreck.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Inauguration 2009
Today was inauguration day.
A day that is always important, where we have peaceful change of power with the leaders of our country. I like the ceremonies, the formalities. These are the people that carry our nation. For one day, every 4 years I like to see them all come together.
Today was historic for reasons beyond those. If only for the fact that my children will grow up oblivious to the fact that black people and white people were not equal. They will read about it, but it will be the norm for them. That all men are created equal.
Today was important solely for that reason right there.
A day that is always important, where we have peaceful change of power with the leaders of our country. I like the ceremonies, the formalities. These are the people that carry our nation. For one day, every 4 years I like to see them all come together.
Today was historic for reasons beyond those. If only for the fact that my children will grow up oblivious to the fact that black people and white people were not equal. They will read about it, but it will be the norm for them. That all men are created equal.
Today was important solely for that reason right there.
Monday, January 19, 2009
When you don't want to parent....
I took the kids on a field trip today. Because I wanted a nomination for Parent of the Year. I will and do, totally buy their love.
We went to the hell that is Chuck E cheese. It seems to me that "Chuck" is the name of Satan's other son. Think about it, when we puke, we "up-chuck." A little psycho doll name "Chuckie" ring any bells? Charles Manson, I'm sure was known as "Chuck" as a kid and well, we all know how he turned out. And lastly, we have Chuck E Cheese. The armpit of hell. Moral of the story, when picking names, choose Fred. It's safe.
I waited while the 18 year old girl complained about how many people they had on staff that day. As if the payroll matters to her. She forgot my tokens and acted like I asked her to paint the Sistine Chapel when I asked for them. My children then happily waited for pizza, because if anything I only let them play after they eat. That way all the grubby bacteria that is slathered on every surface will be only slightly ingested. I have standards. They chowed down the cardboard waste on our table and off we went.
I know Chuck E Cheese is fairly safe, but in the end my kids are solely my responsibility. So it amazed the ever lovin snot out of me to see several first steppers on their own, getting ran over and no parents. Barely one, getting smacked by running kids and pinching fingers on jet skis. Insane.
Someone let in the scantily clad 14 year old sister and friend, her shorts shorter than my thong, and shirt higher than her belly button. A little skin never hurt nobody has always been my motto, but when you're 14, your skin is as new as a newborn hiney and should be covered up. For reals. And her friends shoes, 3 inch heels, in Chuck E frickin Cheese. It was a scene out of Chuck E does Las Vegas.
Baloney was in this ferris wheel do hickey, and Little Lucy Snotface decided to try and grab Baloney's seatbealt as she passed by. Telling her she was all done. 5 year olds are no match for me. I took great delight in putting another token in the ride so Baloney could ride some more, and a 3rd time. Yes, I am a playground bully.
During all of this, Middle's tooth was wiggling. It had been loose, and by the end of lunch, it was doing somersaults and back flips. She and Oldielocks went potty, and she came running out with a bloodied paper towel and yelling "Look, Mom!!!" Of course every mother in the place whipped their heads around to be greeted by a a gummy smile with blood dripping down her face. The looks I got- you would have thought my kid had ripped out her heart and eaten it. It was only a tooth and someone will be rich tonight.
Then I hit the mother load. In the middle of this hellhole was a contraption. Someone had brought a walker. A circa 1992 bright green, screaming purple and hot pink Kolcraft walker. The 90's had puked it up and it landed in Chuck E cheese. Inside was a baby rolling around, BAREFOOT on the nasty petri dish they call a floor.
I took them there. Willingly. I am so winning Mother of the Year.
We went to the hell that is Chuck E cheese. It seems to me that "Chuck" is the name of Satan's other son. Think about it, when we puke, we "up-chuck." A little psycho doll name "Chuckie" ring any bells? Charles Manson, I'm sure was known as "Chuck" as a kid and well, we all know how he turned out. And lastly, we have Chuck E Cheese. The armpit of hell. Moral of the story, when picking names, choose Fred. It's safe.
I waited while the 18 year old girl complained about how many people they had on staff that day. As if the payroll matters to her. She forgot my tokens and acted like I asked her to paint the Sistine Chapel when I asked for them. My children then happily waited for pizza, because if anything I only let them play after they eat. That way all the grubby bacteria that is slathered on every surface will be only slightly ingested. I have standards. They chowed down the cardboard waste on our table and off we went.
I know Chuck E Cheese is fairly safe, but in the end my kids are solely my responsibility. So it amazed the ever lovin snot out of me to see several first steppers on their own, getting ran over and no parents. Barely one, getting smacked by running kids and pinching fingers on jet skis. Insane.
Someone let in the scantily clad 14 year old sister and friend, her shorts shorter than my thong, and shirt higher than her belly button. A little skin never hurt nobody has always been my motto, but when you're 14, your skin is as new as a newborn hiney and should be covered up. For reals. And her friends shoes, 3 inch heels, in Chuck E frickin Cheese. It was a scene out of Chuck E does Las Vegas.
Baloney was in this ferris wheel do hickey, and Little Lucy Snotface decided to try and grab Baloney's seatbealt as she passed by. Telling her she was all done. 5 year olds are no match for me. I took great delight in putting another token in the ride so Baloney could ride some more, and a 3rd time. Yes, I am a playground bully.
During all of this, Middle's tooth was wiggling. It had been loose, and by the end of lunch, it was doing somersaults and back flips. She and Oldielocks went potty, and she came running out with a bloodied paper towel and yelling "Look, Mom!!!" Of course every mother in the place whipped their heads around to be greeted by a a gummy smile with blood dripping down her face. The looks I got- you would have thought my kid had ripped out her heart and eaten it. It was only a tooth and someone will be rich tonight.
Then I hit the mother load. In the middle of this hellhole was a contraption. Someone had brought a walker. A circa 1992 bright green, screaming purple and hot pink Kolcraft walker. The 90's had puked it up and it landed in Chuck E cheese. Inside was a baby rolling around, BAREFOOT on the nasty petri dish they call a floor.
I took them there. Willingly. I am so winning Mother of the Year.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
What nap?
Baloney did not take a nap today.
Which means I have spent the last several hours listening to her whine. Cry. Fuss. fall on the floor and kick her feet.
She was in her room for two hours. During which she hosted a dinner party for little people, a playground fight for elmo and his gang, and a reading from "Pinkalicious." She also did laundry, went on several field trips to the bathroom, and in the end, peed on the floor.
And is now proclaiming, that she is tired. Imagine that.
So the point really is, I have 3.2 seconds to blog today. But I will blog.
And then spend the next 2 hours listening to Baloney whine and finally fall asleep.
Which means I have spent the last several hours listening to her whine. Cry. Fuss. fall on the floor and kick her feet.
She was in her room for two hours. During which she hosted a dinner party for little people, a playground fight for elmo and his gang, and a reading from "Pinkalicious." She also did laundry, went on several field trips to the bathroom, and in the end, peed on the floor.
And is now proclaiming, that she is tired. Imagine that.
So the point really is, I have 3.2 seconds to blog today. But I will blog.
And then spend the next 2 hours listening to Baloney whine and finally fall asleep.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Thinking 'bout getting a hair cut
lookin online for hair styles.... and found this...though I think I would put my initials on the side... but that's just me....
Friday, January 16, 2009
Frozen Tundra
The entire nation is freezing.
But me.
Everyone has some sort of negative degrees temperature. Everyone.... but me. It is snowing, freezing, icy, cold. I don't think "cold" is sufficient to describe. It's like if Hell had fraternal twin, where they were so much alike, an unbearable place, and the only difference is....it's frozen.
Instead, I woke up to blue skies, I could see islands today on my drive up the coast. The sun was shining, it was a 78 degree day. I have on short sleeves. I'm not bragging. I'm sharing. Weather is predictable around here. Seventies, seventies, seventies. I like the look of snow. I just don't want to live there. Not today, or the rest of this week. To honor the cold, I made chicken tortilla soup yesterday. It was delicious. And warming... need the recipe?
Anyways, speaking of cold, I am soooo grateful for all the passengers in that US Airways crash yesterday. They survived, the crash, the water, the cold. They survived it all. I hear one many say how they wanted all the women and children off first. It warms my heart to know that such chivalry, and human kindness is still evident in this world today. God bless them all.
But me.
Everyone has some sort of negative degrees temperature. Everyone.... but me. It is snowing, freezing, icy, cold. I don't think "cold" is sufficient to describe. It's like if Hell had fraternal twin, where they were so much alike, an unbearable place, and the only difference is....it's frozen.
Instead, I woke up to blue skies, I could see islands today on my drive up the coast. The sun was shining, it was a 78 degree day. I have on short sleeves. I'm not bragging. I'm sharing. Weather is predictable around here. Seventies, seventies, seventies. I like the look of snow. I just don't want to live there. Not today, or the rest of this week. To honor the cold, I made chicken tortilla soup yesterday. It was delicious. And warming... need the recipe?
Anyways, speaking of cold, I am soooo grateful for all the passengers in that US Airways crash yesterday. They survived, the crash, the water, the cold. They survived it all. I hear one many say how they wanted all the women and children off first. It warms my heart to know that such chivalry, and human kindness is still evident in this world today. God bless them all.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Imitation Crab
WHAT is this? Besides a waste of gold...... It's creepy and ugly, and if you don't want to take out a billboard to say "I got crabs" this is the next best thing. People wear this around their neck. Icky.
It's almost 500 dollars too.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
WTF#18
dear fat,
I've spent days, thinking about how to break the news to you, but I'm not one who sugar coats things.I'll break it to you like this:
You gots to go.
It's been fun, all our little trips to McDonalds, Del Taco, my fav mexican restaurant. Christmas cookies, egg nog, home style cookin. I've appreciated your company, but you're taking over.
You leave your sloppy mess wherever you are. Have you seen my arse? You just moved right in and started rearranging things. I don't even think we need to mention "french fries' and you start creepin all your junk into my belly. Like you own the joint. We don't have the same goals, or plans. I see that cute bikini, and you try to steer me over to the one piece with fat decorating skirt. Not anymore.
It's been real, but I'm getting a restraining order.
So that's the start of my WTF. Ch Ch Ch CHanges around here. I'm trying to get my fitness on, and bought Jillian Michaels 30 day Shred. She's from the Biggest Loser, and I've seen the winners. She must know something.
I pop that bad boy in, and start doing jumping jacks. I can jump, and I keep jumping, then pretty soon, I'm squatting, and pushing, and lifting, and sweating like a whole harlem in church. The girl is ruthless. There are no breaks, there's no let's discuss this. It's make or break. And I swear my bones are breaking. Crack by crack I can feel it. She then has us do more squats, and lifts, and jumping. Then she had the NERVE, to tell me, right through the Tv, looking at me in my sweat drippin eye, that if 400 pound people can do jumping jacks and jump rope, then so can I.
WTF!!!!
First of all, Miss Jillian slave driver, general boot camp, I can jump. Give me some credit. Second of all, my heart is racing, I am panting, and sweating like a filthy beast. Because fealthy beast sweat is the worst of all. 400 pound people ain't got nothin on me. Trying to say I am a weakling. As if. I'm standing here, literally kicking my own ass - which she has you do like a million times in this video. I so wanted to shove a cupcake in her face.
She continues to make me work out, during which I continue to cuss out her mom, her grandma and her little dog too. Seriously I do. Half the time Jillian is walking around, pointing out her helpers so I'd like to see her do this whole workout without crying.
The cool down was awesome. It involved me, laying on my bed, encouraging them to finish. After all, they got paid. Besides I don't think I could have gotten up if I tried.
Here is what the dvd looks like, in case you like to be tortured. I'll let you know if it was worth it.
I've spent days, thinking about how to break the news to you, but I'm not one who sugar coats things.I'll break it to you like this:
You gots to go.
It's been fun, all our little trips to McDonalds, Del Taco, my fav mexican restaurant. Christmas cookies, egg nog, home style cookin. I've appreciated your company, but you're taking over.
You leave your sloppy mess wherever you are. Have you seen my arse? You just moved right in and started rearranging things. I don't even think we need to mention "french fries' and you start creepin all your junk into my belly. Like you own the joint. We don't have the same goals, or plans. I see that cute bikini, and you try to steer me over to the one piece with fat decorating skirt. Not anymore.
It's been real, but I'm getting a restraining order.
So that's the start of my WTF. Ch Ch Ch CHanges around here. I'm trying to get my fitness on, and bought Jillian Michaels 30 day Shred. She's from the Biggest Loser, and I've seen the winners. She must know something.
I pop that bad boy in, and start doing jumping jacks. I can jump, and I keep jumping, then pretty soon, I'm squatting, and pushing, and lifting, and sweating like a whole harlem in church. The girl is ruthless. There are no breaks, there's no let's discuss this. It's make or break. And I swear my bones are breaking. Crack by crack I can feel it. She then has us do more squats, and lifts, and jumping. Then she had the NERVE, to tell me, right through the Tv, looking at me in my sweat drippin eye, that if 400 pound people can do jumping jacks and jump rope, then so can I.
WTF!!!!
First of all, Miss Jillian slave driver, general boot camp, I can jump. Give me some credit. Second of all, my heart is racing, I am panting, and sweating like a filthy beast. Because fealthy beast sweat is the worst of all. 400 pound people ain't got nothin on me. Trying to say I am a weakling. As if. I'm standing here, literally kicking my own ass - which she has you do like a million times in this video. I so wanted to shove a cupcake in her face.
She continues to make me work out, during which I continue to cuss out her mom, her grandma and her little dog too. Seriously I do. Half the time Jillian is walking around, pointing out her helpers so I'd like to see her do this whole workout without crying.
The cool down was awesome. It involved me, laying on my bed, encouraging them to finish. After all, they got paid. Besides I don't think I could have gotten up if I tried.
Here is what the dvd looks like, in case you like to be tortured. I'll let you know if it was worth it.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Toddlerhood
When you move a two year old to a big girl bed, be sure to include the strait jacket. Or at least a 6 foot metal gate complete with barb wire.
You'll need the metal gate during the night when the little cutie pie wakes up at 3am to go potty. And you take her. We're not denying any rights around here. And then when she asks 20 minutes later, you take her, because you want her to learn that you will take her in the middle of the night because she needs to go. The whole "you can count on me" emotional thing. Around the 6th time,you stop taking her. Because not even a hummingbird, who has a bladder the size of an ant, needs to pee that much. You lay her in bed and go back to sleep. The sweet sound of Mickey Mouse singing "Zippety do dah" at 4:30 in the morning is enough to make a girl want to do a maternity test. Yeah, Maternity. Because she knows, for certain that NO WAY would TWO of her precious offspring would be out of bed, lying on the floor, with books and barbies, feet on the wall, light on, music blaring, Mickey gettin down with his high falsetto self, at yes, 4:30 in the morning. ON A SUNDAY.
That's when the barb wire and straight jackets are handy.
When you decide to do laundry, because being naked is considered illegal, in public anyways, always hire a babysitter. T.V. has low rates and she does a decent job. Never trust the two year old to amuse themselves. Because they will basically give Fisher-Price the finger, and find a much more colorful way to amuse themselves. Don't be shocked when you go into the kitchen, and see blue... not red. That's right. Crayola washable paints, blue and white paint poured in a little whale bowl. And smeared like Picasso himself was there, and your kitchen is the canvas. From the cabinets, to the stool, to the dishwasher, to the island, to the sink, to the floor. It's really bad when you don't know what kills you more, the kitchen looking like someone massacred Cookie Monster, or the BRAND NEW NEVER BEEN WORN GYMBOREE zebra dress that little miss Pebbles has now turned a lovely shade of blue. You'll contemplate becoming a nun. Trust me.
When in doubt, the T.V. can be the best babysitter you ever had.
If, for some reasons, you notice the toilet acting wonky, for awhile, build an outhouse in the backyard. Just in case. The two year old will always deny any potty wrong doings. You can go ahead and snake the toilet. Do it yourself. Buy or rent a snake. It'll work better, until your 6 year old faxes the president (Don't ask, that's what we have always called it in my house growing up, I told you we are weird like that. Other kids fluffed when they farted and pooped, we "heard storms coming cuz listen for the thunder" and "faxed the president". shameless I tell ya)
After said faxing, and screams, you will find overflow. Of the disgusting sort. This will lead you to, on a different day and a bath of bleach later, to take the toilet off. In it, you will find that damn Diego, bottoms up, in the toilet hole. Not only does he and his anoying cousing Dora repeat themselves, but he clogs up your toilet. He has since been sent to a far away land of Landfill.
If you had an outhouse, none of this could happen.
After a weekend of toddler shenanagins, and you start breathing easy, and think the two yearold is cute, open the bathroom door first. And slide right into a entire bottle of dumped out Sweet Pea lotion. Almost breaking your neck never smelled so good.
This was all in a 24 hour time period.
You'll need the metal gate during the night when the little cutie pie wakes up at 3am to go potty. And you take her. We're not denying any rights around here. And then when she asks 20 minutes later, you take her, because you want her to learn that you will take her in the middle of the night because she needs to go. The whole "you can count on me" emotional thing. Around the 6th time,you stop taking her. Because not even a hummingbird, who has a bladder the size of an ant, needs to pee that much. You lay her in bed and go back to sleep. The sweet sound of Mickey Mouse singing "Zippety do dah" at 4:30 in the morning is enough to make a girl want to do a maternity test. Yeah, Maternity. Because she knows, for certain that NO WAY would TWO of her precious offspring would be out of bed, lying on the floor, with books and barbies, feet on the wall, light on, music blaring, Mickey gettin down with his high falsetto self, at yes, 4:30 in the morning. ON A SUNDAY.
That's when the barb wire and straight jackets are handy.
When you decide to do laundry, because being naked is considered illegal, in public anyways, always hire a babysitter. T.V. has low rates and she does a decent job. Never trust the two year old to amuse themselves. Because they will basically give Fisher-Price the finger, and find a much more colorful way to amuse themselves. Don't be shocked when you go into the kitchen, and see blue... not red. That's right. Crayola washable paints, blue and white paint poured in a little whale bowl. And smeared like Picasso himself was there, and your kitchen is the canvas. From the cabinets, to the stool, to the dishwasher, to the island, to the sink, to the floor. It's really bad when you don't know what kills you more, the kitchen looking like someone massacred Cookie Monster, or the BRAND NEW NEVER BEEN WORN GYMBOREE zebra dress that little miss Pebbles has now turned a lovely shade of blue. You'll contemplate becoming a nun. Trust me.
When in doubt, the T.V. can be the best babysitter you ever had.
If, for some reasons, you notice the toilet acting wonky, for awhile, build an outhouse in the backyard. Just in case. The two year old will always deny any potty wrong doings. You can go ahead and snake the toilet. Do it yourself. Buy or rent a snake. It'll work better, until your 6 year old faxes the president (Don't ask, that's what we have always called it in my house growing up, I told you we are weird like that. Other kids fluffed when they farted and pooped, we "heard storms coming cuz listen for the thunder" and "faxed the president". shameless I tell ya)
After said faxing, and screams, you will find overflow. Of the disgusting sort. This will lead you to, on a different day and a bath of bleach later, to take the toilet off. In it, you will find that damn Diego, bottoms up, in the toilet hole. Not only does he and his anoying cousing Dora repeat themselves, but he clogs up your toilet. He has since been sent to a far away land of Landfill.
If you had an outhouse, none of this could happen.
After a weekend of toddler shenanagins, and you start breathing easy, and think the two yearold is cute, open the bathroom door first. And slide right into a entire bottle of dumped out Sweet Pea lotion. Almost breaking your neck never smelled so good.
This was all in a 24 hour time period.
Monday, January 12, 2009
I'm cheating
this is my blog for today so I don't miss my blog a day resolution.
I'm a cheater like that.
I'm a cheater like that.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Cancun take me away
I wanna go here.
To relax. To just float in turquoise waters. Because being a mom to a toddler, and 2 older children can suck the life out of you. More emphasis on the toddler part. That's tomorrow's blog. I can't lift another finger today and I still have 2 1/2 hours until bedtime.
Till I dream of me, the husband and Cancun.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Tag Team back again
I've been tagged.
As in "tag, you're it." Which when you're in 2nd grade, and someone is way faster than you, and then you are constantly it, so you give up and go watch "Kids Incorporated", it can suck. But not today. This is easy tag. Which is why I expect the people I tag to do it.
Here we go:
* Open the 4th picture folder on your computer
* Pick the 4th picture in that folder.
* Post picture
* Explain picture
Tag 4 other bloggers and notify them via a comment on their page.
This Oldielocks, when she was 6, in my hospital room after I had Baloney. Big Sis shirt, since after all, she was the big sister. After my 5 week long stay. Because it was a resort and all. She looks so little!
As in "tag, you're it." Which when you're in 2nd grade, and someone is way faster than you, and then you are constantly it, so you give up and go watch "Kids Incorporated", it can suck. But not today. This is easy tag. Which is why I expect the people I tag to do it.
Here we go:
* Open the 4th picture folder on your computer
* Pick the 4th picture in that folder.
* Post picture
* Explain picture
Tag 4 other bloggers and notify them via a comment on their page.
This Oldielocks, when she was 6, in my hospital room after I had Baloney. Big Sis shirt, since after all, she was the big sister. After my 5 week long stay. Because it was a resort and all. She looks so little!
Friday, January 09, 2009
Copycat
Not overly adult, but just to be on the safe side, watch without the kiddos looking. Cuz I am not about to be responsible for the rash of kids wanting to
a. play with the copy machine and
b. well... yeah explaining this.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=afBWfcFX9Kc
a. play with the copy machine and
b. well... yeah explaining this.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=afBWfcFX9Kc
Thursday, January 08, 2009
WTF Wednesday #17(even though it's thursday)
(yesterday was my brother's birthday so I was busy with all that celebratin' nonsense)
Back to our regularly scheduled wtf-ness.
I'm 18. My friend is 19. She is going to meet this guy, but she wasn't a big dater, and was nervous, blah blah, and asked me to come along. Let me clarify that as much as I like being the center of the universe, I wasn't down with being the third wheel. The driver of the limo. It's awkward, unnatural and I had my own boys to chase. Not that I recommend boy chasing, but hey, it's a rite of passage.
I finally agree, and then as if to sweeten the deal she says, "He's bringing a friend." This could be great, if he's a super hot tall surfer with rockin' skater shoes and dimples. Shallow isn't only for swimming pools. Or this could be bad, if he is shorter than me, with big zits and likes Star Trek. And Dilbert.
We show up at the local miniature golf place. And there is her dude, looking all right, her eyes are shooting hearts out, she's off and running. Leaving me with Juan.
Juan had a very thick accent, despite being from Orange County. Supposedly. The whole "Chu like my hair? Chu like me?" kind of lead me to believe otherwise. He talked about racing, pig racing, his mom, his aunt, his dog, and how he needed a job. And a car. Maybe I could drive up to the OC and see him some time. Errrr yeah. I spent the next hour wondering why I didn't have hair to wash instead of playing putt putt.
It's time to leave, and I did about 90 back flips. Until in the car,she BEGS me to go to the beach with her, so she could hangout with her dude some more. Was she for real? I had just pretty much given her the gift equivalent to giving a kidney, in my opinion, and now she wants me to spend more time? With him? I'd rather stab myself in the ear drum. With a chopstick.
Because I am a saint, and I needed a big fat deposit in my karma bank, I went. We arrive at the beach, and Juan is singing some Mexican polka song. At the top of his lungs. She and her dude walk off. And leave me with Nacho Libre. He tells me all about how he only gets drunk on the weekends, and if I washis girlfriend,he knows of some cute things he would buy me from Wal Mart. Ick. He tries to hold my hand. Telling me that he once proposed to a girl on the beach. She said No, but he's sure it was because he was too much of a man for her, complete with "if you know what I mean."
WTF!?!?!?
I do not know what you mean, I have no intention of knowing what you mean, and I am stringing my friend up by the hair of her arms when she returns and shipping her to Russia. That was my only concern.
I spotted a playground and I was like sweet, I'll just swing until she comes back. And then the jokes started,the really really lame jokes. Like chickens crossing roads jokes. And my head hurt. And I began to wonder why I hadn't gone away to exchange school in Sweden. Or if they needed help in the McDonald's across the way. Maybe they needed the bathrooms plunged. I could plunge bathrooms. Right then, I could do anything else but what I was doing. I start walking to find my friend. He then tried to kiss me. But his B.O. got to me first. And knocked me off my feet. It was HORRID.
I got away, and kept walking. I am now regretting that I am a girl, or that I have any friends, why oh why couldn't I have been born in a forest. Raised by fairies. Been called Tinkerbell. I think he was getting my drift that I was over this, so he then says "Watch this", and unzips his fly and takes a wizz. Right next to me. It splattered, and I was about ten seconds from punching him in his junk. And I am not a junk puncher. But I would have, because the situation almost warranted it. I wished I had mace. Or at least bug repellent.
He was saved by the bell because looky, here comes my "friend."
That was that. I don't think she ever asked me to take one for the team again. Karma bank was full, and I needed to bleach my skin.
Back to our regularly scheduled wtf-ness.
I'm 18. My friend is 19. She is going to meet this guy, but she wasn't a big dater, and was nervous, blah blah, and asked me to come along. Let me clarify that as much as I like being the center of the universe, I wasn't down with being the third wheel. The driver of the limo. It's awkward, unnatural and I had my own boys to chase. Not that I recommend boy chasing, but hey, it's a rite of passage.
I finally agree, and then as if to sweeten the deal she says, "He's bringing a friend." This could be great, if he's a super hot tall surfer with rockin' skater shoes and dimples. Shallow isn't only for swimming pools. Or this could be bad, if he is shorter than me, with big zits and likes Star Trek. And Dilbert.
We show up at the local miniature golf place. And there is her dude, looking all right, her eyes are shooting hearts out, she's off and running. Leaving me with Juan.
Juan had a very thick accent, despite being from Orange County. Supposedly. The whole "Chu like my hair? Chu like me?" kind of lead me to believe otherwise. He talked about racing, pig racing, his mom, his aunt, his dog, and how he needed a job. And a car. Maybe I could drive up to the OC and see him some time. Errrr yeah. I spent the next hour wondering why I didn't have hair to wash instead of playing putt putt.
It's time to leave, and I did about 90 back flips. Until in the car,she BEGS me to go to the beach with her, so she could hangout with her dude some more. Was she for real? I had just pretty much given her the gift equivalent to giving a kidney, in my opinion, and now she wants me to spend more time? With him? I'd rather stab myself in the ear drum. With a chopstick.
Because I am a saint, and I needed a big fat deposit in my karma bank, I went. We arrive at the beach, and Juan is singing some Mexican polka song. At the top of his lungs. She and her dude walk off. And leave me with Nacho Libre. He tells me all about how he only gets drunk on the weekends, and if I washis girlfriend,he knows of some cute things he would buy me from Wal Mart. Ick. He tries to hold my hand. Telling me that he once proposed to a girl on the beach. She said No, but he's sure it was because he was too much of a man for her, complete with "if you know what I mean."
WTF!?!?!?
I do not know what you mean, I have no intention of knowing what you mean, and I am stringing my friend up by the hair of her arms when she returns and shipping her to Russia. That was my only concern.
I spotted a playground and I was like sweet, I'll just swing until she comes back. And then the jokes started,the really really lame jokes. Like chickens crossing roads jokes. And my head hurt. And I began to wonder why I hadn't gone away to exchange school in Sweden. Or if they needed help in the McDonald's across the way. Maybe they needed the bathrooms plunged. I could plunge bathrooms. Right then, I could do anything else but what I was doing. I start walking to find my friend. He then tried to kiss me. But his B.O. got to me first. And knocked me off my feet. It was HORRID.
I got away, and kept walking. I am now regretting that I am a girl, or that I have any friends, why oh why couldn't I have been born in a forest. Raised by fairies. Been called Tinkerbell. I think he was getting my drift that I was over this, so he then says "Watch this", and unzips his fly and takes a wizz. Right next to me. It splattered, and I was about ten seconds from punching him in his junk. And I am not a junk puncher. But I would have, because the situation almost warranted it. I wished I had mace. Or at least bug repellent.
He was saved by the bell because looky, here comes my "friend."
That was that. I don't think she ever asked me to take one for the team again. Karma bank was full, and I needed to bleach my skin.
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
Ducky Baby Shower
Sister in Law is having a baby soon, and we are throwing a baby shower for her. They are not finding out the sex of the baby, so it's kind of hard to throw a cute pink or blue showers. She likes rubber duckies... and her fav color is black and white. Black and white is not a whole lot of fun, creative wise. But I rose to the challenge and said "Take that blah blah ugly black and white."
So here is what I came up with.
It is raised dotted yellow cardstock, and black and white ribbon.
In the inside, is a black background paper, the printed cardstock, and the scalloped black circle is on a pop dot so it sticks out. I also made her registry cards, so they could be all matchy matchy.
So here is what I came up with.
It is raised dotted yellow cardstock, and black and white ribbon.
In the inside, is a black background paper, the printed cardstock, and the scalloped black circle is on a pop dot so it sticks out. I also made her registry cards, so they could be all matchy matchy.
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
sound bytes
(while driving)
"Mommy, U have pinkalicious on you shirt."
"Yes I do Buggy. You have pinkalicious on your pants." (pink is Pinkalicious in our house. As yellow is yellow school bus. don't ask)
"What you say?"
"You have Pinkalicious on your pants"
"Huh... what.... you.. say?" (complete with high decibel on the word say)
"You heard me. You have pink on your pants."
-----quiet-----
(little voice, breaking) " I not hurt you"
"What?"
Tears in eyes, voice cracking " I not hurt you mommy, I sorry"
" Of course you didn't hurt me, why are you crying? You silly girl."
and then I realize she doesn't understand "heard" and is mistaking it for "hurt." I try to explain, but explaining anything to a 2 year old is like reasoning with a dog in a fire hydrant factory. pointless.
Convo #2
(In the car, Middle salivating over Oldielocks shoulder)
"Middle, you should ask for a DS for your birthday." says the not so selfless child that was gifted a DS by Santa recently."
"Those are really expensive, Oldielocks. Like almost $1,000.00 dollars" says the kid clearly has no concept of money.
"No they're not, they're more like $300 dollars." says the kid who needs cliff notes on the value of a dollar.
"No, Oldielocks, the Wii is like 300 dollars, and that's why Daddy got so angry about the Wii, because it's really expensive." (Daddy about blew a gasket when someone knocked over water next to the Wii)
"Well the DS is free."
"NO IT"S NOT."
"Yes it is, if Santa gives you one. The Elves make it.... duhhhhhh!" (Fo reals... it is?... Santa gonna bring free samples of salad dressing next year if we're doing the free thing and all)
"Well, it's $1000.00 and $300.00 dollars, so I'll never get one."
And here promptly ends the story because I then gave them each a penny for every minute of silence they had. They are up to five cents. Financial planning seminar is next.
"Mommy, U have pinkalicious on you shirt."
"Yes I do Buggy. You have pinkalicious on your pants." (pink is Pinkalicious in our house. As yellow is yellow school bus. don't ask)
"What you say?"
"You have Pinkalicious on your pants"
"Huh... what.... you.. say?" (complete with high decibel on the word say)
"You heard me. You have pink on your pants."
-----quiet-----
(little voice, breaking) " I not hurt you"
"What?"
Tears in eyes, voice cracking " I not hurt you mommy, I sorry"
" Of course you didn't hurt me, why are you crying? You silly girl."
and then I realize she doesn't understand "heard" and is mistaking it for "hurt." I try to explain, but explaining anything to a 2 year old is like reasoning with a dog in a fire hydrant factory. pointless.
Convo #2
(In the car, Middle salivating over Oldielocks shoulder)
"Middle, you should ask for a DS for your birthday." says the not so selfless child that was gifted a DS by Santa recently."
"Those are really expensive, Oldielocks. Like almost $1,000.00 dollars" says the kid clearly has no concept of money.
"No they're not, they're more like $300 dollars." says the kid who needs cliff notes on the value of a dollar.
"No, Oldielocks, the Wii is like 300 dollars, and that's why Daddy got so angry about the Wii, because it's really expensive." (Daddy about blew a gasket when someone knocked over water next to the Wii)
"Well the DS is free."
"NO IT"S NOT."
"Yes it is, if Santa gives you one. The Elves make it.... duhhhhhh!" (Fo reals... it is?... Santa gonna bring free samples of salad dressing next year if we're doing the free thing and all)
"Well, it's $1000.00 and $300.00 dollars, so I'll never get one."
And here promptly ends the story because I then gave them each a penny for every minute of silence they had. They are up to five cents. Financial planning seminar is next.
Monday, January 05, 2009
Yum-O
These look scrumptious! Healthy eating what?
A little fried food never hurt nobody.
http://dishingupdelights.blogspot.com/2009/01/fried-ravioli.html
A little fried food never hurt nobody.
http://dishingupdelights.blogspot.com/2009/01/fried-ravioli.html
Sunday, January 04, 2009
Scary Pranks
I'm mean. Because I find these hilarious!
Which I can, because when I was 10, I went trick or treating, and was walking by a coffin in someone's yard, and they jumped out and grabbed me. I ran. Like my butt was on fire and I was being chased by the devil in a blue dress himself. Okay, so I more than ran. I hauled ass, as fast as my ten year old freaked out self could go. I fell over a brick wall, and landed in a bush. Face first. I snatched my frightened little face up, and threw myself out of that bush so fast. If I had eaten dinner before I for sure would have soiled my pants. Ain't no shame in it, it was THAT scary.
Which I can, because when I was 10, I went trick or treating, and was walking by a coffin in someone's yard, and they jumped out and grabbed me. I ran. Like my butt was on fire and I was being chased by the devil in a blue dress himself. Okay, so I more than ran. I hauled ass, as fast as my ten year old freaked out self could go. I fell over a brick wall, and landed in a bush. Face first. I snatched my frightened little face up, and threw myself out of that bush so fast. If I had eaten dinner before I for sure would have soiled my pants. Ain't no shame in it, it was THAT scary.
Saturday, January 03, 2009
goals....
* to blog once a day (this is just for January, I know Kemosabe Confucius Godzilla Jones once said "he who bites off more than he can chew, chokes and throws up curdled milk." or so I heard)
* to eat healthier, meaning more fiber and less carbs. for me.
*to work out more. whether it's doing laundry to "Pour Some Sugar On Me" or actually really exercising, it's moving, and I'm doin it.
*to write a short story. or at least give an outlet to my active imagination.
*continue taking pictures, because it's important to me
and laugh. always.
because I think a good dose of the world needs to remember this right now.
"Mothering without being smothered means we limit what we are willing to do for our children. It is not in a child's best interests to have a mature, capable adult at his beck and call twenty-four hours a day, waiting to feed him his favorite foods, then clean up his messes, entertain him when he's bored and pacify him when he's cranky. We're mothers, not handmaidens to royalty."
* to eat healthier, meaning more fiber and less carbs. for me.
*to work out more. whether it's doing laundry to "Pour Some Sugar On Me" or actually really exercising, it's moving, and I'm doin it.
*to write a short story. or at least give an outlet to my active imagination.
*continue taking pictures, because it's important to me
and laugh. always.
because I think a good dose of the world needs to remember this right now.
"Mothering without being smothered means we limit what we are willing to do for our children. It is not in a child's best interests to have a mature, capable adult at his beck and call twenty-four hours a day, waiting to feed him his favorite foods, then clean up his messes, entertain him when he's bored and pacify him when he's cranky. We're mothers, not handmaidens to royalty."
~Annie Chapman
Friday, January 02, 2009
confession
*whispers*
Is it bad, that I get super giddy and happy when college football season is over?
being a football widow sucks.
Is it bad, that I get super giddy and happy when college football season is over?
being a football widow sucks.
Thursday, January 01, 2009
I spent my holiday
making quilts.
Like a happy Sallie Mae homemaker.
Here's Baloney's. The back is turquoise. She loves her snowmen.
Here's Middle's. The back is pink and white gingham. Super girly.
Here's Oldielocks:
The back is hot pink. Like the lip gloss lovin' rock star she is.
Like a happy Sallie Mae homemaker.
Here's Baloney's. The back is turquoise. She loves her snowmen.
Here's Middle's. The back is pink and white gingham. Super girly.
Here's Oldielocks:
The back is hot pink. Like the lip gloss lovin' rock star she is.
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