Taming The Wind

This Little Piggy

2012-01-26T10:00:00.004-05:00

I remember a time when I was just a pig – well, a pile ofcleverly disguised stuffing, really. Ilived on a shelf in a busy, busy place where a million eyes passed over me, andnobody stopped to see me. I sat, and waitedthere for a long time… It was OK, though, I had plenty of time.

Those days are so far behind me now that they are like anecho from another world. I am no longera pig, you see. True, I am still a pileof cleverly disguised stuffing, but I am not a pig. A million pieces of my new world fill myfibers, and have made me into something entirely different.

Once I was made of cloth and stuffing, and thread… now I ammade of tears (many, many tears), of sweat, of dirt, of imperfections anduneven stitches made by the hand of a little girl ‘fixing’ me after anaccident, or when my pieces started to wear out. I remember every tear, and I remember everystitch.

I came from a shelf and a box, but I grew into something somuch bigger. I was a comforter andcounselor to a little girl who lost her brother. I held her the best I could when she couldn’tstop crying because she missed him so badly. I comforted her when she had a bad dream, or was nervous alone atcamp. Oh yes, I remember camp… itsmelled funny, and the bed was uncomfortable. I had to stay there in the cabin all day.

I moved a few times, too. Once I went with the girl, far away, to a place where it snowed all thetime. It was different and scary, but wedid it together.

I remember a time when my girl just couldn’t stopcrying. We’d been together for a longtime by then, and I knew something very bad had happened. It was then that I thought I might fallapart, because I wasn’t used to having so many tears fall on me. She lost her first love and I worried for her,but I let her know she would always have me.

I’m still with my girl after many years. Losses and tears still come. Perhaps someday Iwill fall apart… but my girl will stitch me back together again just as I've done for her.

(This post is the result of a writing prompt. The dictionary defines personification as “the attribution of a personal nature or human characteristics to something nonhuman, or the representation of an abstract quality in human form.”

Now it’s your turn to tell a piece of your story from the point of view of an object who bore witness in 400 words or less.)

Dream A Little Dream (aka: My Subconscious Is An Asshole)

2012-01-18T08:30:00.000-05:00

I love how everything can be going along beautifully and then suddenly your subconscious rouses, yawns, and says to itself "I'm bored. What can I stir up?"

Dreams... and not of the MLK variety, either. No, when it's bored, these dreams that the subconscious so thoughtfully gifts you aren't dreams of a better tomorrow, dreams of peace and harmony, or dreams of equality... these dreams are evil, soul-destroying dreams, usually featuring someone you've loved and lost.

Lost.
Gone.
Never again.

Only, your subconscious makes you forget that, and replays lovely scenarios from the past, or creates new, wonderful ones based on your most heartfelt desires. Desires, in fact, that you sometimes didn't even know you had, because you've spent so long bandaging the wounds that you don't even admit to yourself that they are there.

These are the ones that make tears spring to your eyes when you wake up and find yourself in your bed, and current reality comes crashing in.

Yep, thanks for that, subconscious. This morning sucks, because last night was great. It's like drinking your weight in tequila... SO not worth it.

Now, to get back to patching up this mess.

Distressing Things From A Pampered First-World Girl

2012-01-12T09:53:00.001-05:00

A random list of (trivial) distressing things:

I wish I'd ordered the grande instead of the tall coffee this morning when I HAD to stop by Target for a few things. (The fact that Starbucks is located there was just a happy coincidence... I swear.)

My kitchen and living room smell like Fruity Pebbles... and I cannot figure out why.

I am the only person currently living in this house who knows that trash goes IN the trash can. Everyone else seems to be of the mindset that as long as the garbage is in the general vicinity of the can, it's all good. No. No, no, NO.

Toothpaste smears. Need I say more?

Clutter. The effing clutter is going to drive me batshit insane one of these days. I put it away, someone brings it back out. I donate stuff to Goodwill, the next day 6 boxes arrive from Amazon.com bearing more crap. (Yes P, I'm talking to YOU.) Sometimes I think we are one bout of flu (and me not being able to clean for a week) from an episode of Hoarders.

Sad songs. Sometimes a sad song (or at least it's sad to ME) is on every single station. It's like the radio Gods are saying "Psst. Hey, Dawn... yeah, you. Got a little something for you... it's called 'The Song That Reminds You Of A Bad/Painful Time'. Enjoy! Oh, and PS... you can't get away, so don't even try."

Jeggings. Jeggings are ugly and evil, and should be banned for anyone over the age of 10.

The 'mystery stain' on the living room carpet that nobody (not even the dog) will admit to having caused.

Toilet paper. More accurately, the speed at which it disappears in a household with three girls/women. I am constantly putting more TP out, replacing rolls, and making emergency runs to the bathroom with a new roll.

School reading logs. Dude, I read to my kids almost every day, and have been since they were too young to even care. I resent being asked to write down everything I read my kids, and being treated like a slacker criminal who never reads to her kids when I forget to mark it down. Sheesh!

What Do I Do?!

2011-12-09T15:21:00.001-05:00

I'm sitting here listening to my daughter scream. Again. She screams and cries more these days than she did as a newborn. Funny, I look back on those years as 'the quiet time' when things were easy.

The slightest thing sets her off.
My days are a constant battle, and my stomach is always in knots.
I think she hates me.
My hands and feet are riddled with awful, itchy 'stress eczema'.
My sleep is shot to hell - I am always tired.
I even have diarrhea from the stress... the physical symptoms combined with everything else are just wearing me down so much.

Right now as I'm typing this, I'm listening to her try to beat down her bedroom wall... it's amazing how strong she is, and how determined she can be when she gets going. What kills me is that it's nothing... it's always nothing. You'd think she'd been grievously wronged the way she is carrying on. The most hideous injustice has been done to her, obviously.

The truth:
On the way home from school her sister got upset and started crying because Dad ate the last chocolate chip cookie. Anna thought that was the perfect time to say "My teacher looked up 'Ella J' on the computer, and it said that she doesn't eat enough vegetables and her writing is chicken scratch. She's very close to being on Santa's 'bad list'." Of course, Ella cried much, much harder and started wailing about being on 'the bad list'.

I asked Anna WHY she felt compelled to say that, and said it wasn't true, that Ella was not on the bad list. She argued with me about it, said her teacher DID do it, and she WAS close to the 'bad list'. She screamed. Then she claimed she didn't say that and I misunderstood. Then she continued to scream the rest of the way home... she screamed, thrashed, called me stupid, blew raspberries at me in the rearview mirror.

When I sent her to her room when we got home she wanted to know WHY... said she didn't do anything. So she's been screaming for the last 45 minutes and trying to beat down her door because she's been WRONGED.

This wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't pretty much an everyday occurrence.
I don't know what to do anymore.

To top it off, I feel like it's all my fault. She must have gotten it from me. I remember behaving similarly as a child, and thinking that nobody understood me, and that the whole world was against me. My childhood SUCKED. It truly sucked. I feel like I'm being paid back for it... like God is punishing me. And also, my heart is breaking... I want to be a good parent. I try my damnest to be a good parent, and my kid is probably going to feel the same way - that her childhood SUCKED.

I must be a bad parent, because I don't know what to do. I am at a loss... I have tried everything at my disposal, and I'm just not sure how much more I have to give.

Life is a constant stream of stress and unhappiness, it seems... especially lately.

Failure Is The Path Of Least Resistance

2011-12-08T15:33:00.001-05:00

Some days, and weeks, just suck.
They chew you up and spit you out.

I think there are times when everyone feels like a failure, but I have to tell you: it's really an awful feeling thinking you're failing your child(ren). I mean, I know everyone feels badly when they don't think they are doing a good job... but it really, really gets to me.

I tried explaining this to my husband, and he didn't really seem to get it... until I said to him "How would you feel if your life's work seemed to be spinning out of control? If you had no idea how to handle it, and everyone judged you and thought it (even the worst of it) was just supposed to 'come naturally' to you? Would you be upset?"

The answer? Of course. Especially if he were doing his level best.

My kids are my life's work. I didn't go back to work in order to raise them. I never used my degree, and any skills I might have had once upon a time are outdated and useless. THIS is my life's work... and I feel like I must be doing it all wrong because there are always so many problems.

I guess I had the idea that things would be a bit nicer, a bit easier....
I didn't know it would be so lonely.
I didn't know I would have a child who didn't respond to virtually anything like the other children I know.
I didn't know that the endless cycles of picking up junk, doing laundry, and just trying to keep up would fill most of my waking thoughts so completely.
I didn't know that love isn't enough to be a good parent.
I didn't realize just how demanding parenthood could be, and how much everyone expected of you.

So yes, I feel like a failure. But according to Sir James Matthew Barrie, I guess maybe I'm not. He says "Failure is the path of least resistance."

I certainly don't feel like this is the path of least resistance, so perhaps I'm not failing at all....
We shall see.

It's All Good (A Good Things/Gratitude List)

2011-11-30T08:41:00.001-05:00

Things I love right now:

* Looking into my living room and seeing the Christmas tree lit up, and the fireplace blazing.
* Hot, delicious coffee.
* The heated seats in my minivan.
* Kids singing Christmas songs. :)
* Frost on the grass in the morning... it makes our yard look vaguely magical.
* A Charlie Brown Christmas.
* Two comforters on the bed, with the window cracked open - best sleep ever.
* Hair long enough to keep my neck toasty warm (for the first time in years).
* McAdenville lights. :)
* My cute new closed-toe shoes (though I do miss my flip-flops).
* Buying presents for people I love, and the anticipation of hoping they'll like what I've chosen.
* Winter clothing that hides a multitude of sins. :D

Pavlov's Dog

2011-11-08T16:18:00.002-05:00

My daughter has a bad habit of putting her pet on people's heads... just sneaking up behind you, putting on your head, and walking away. She did it to her Grandma a few months back, got a lot of laughs from her Dad, and so of course she keeps on doing it. Everyone loves a laugh, right?

It might not be so bad if her pet was a puppy, a bunny, or maybe a furry little hamster... but my daughter's pet is a Madagascar Hissing Cockroach. She loves the darned thing, walks around with it on her shoulder, does her homework with it on her arm, and tries to let it eat at the kitchen table with her. (I put my foot down on that one! Though, she does keep trying to sneak 'Girl' (that's her name) by me.)

Anyway, so yeah... she's got this annoying habit of putting Girl on people's heads. Including mine.

The first time she did it I wasn't expecting it, and I freaked out... I jumped up, shook my head, and shrieked. BAD MOVE. (That just made it even more hilarious, apparently, and when something's hilarious she keeps on doing it.)

She's done it to me repeatedly, and it's gotten so bad now that if she simply comes up behind me and touches the back of my head, I jump a mile. Sad. Very sad. I squeal like a little girl.

She's stated a few times lately that when Girl dies, she wants a tarantula... yeah, like THAT'S going to happen!

You may think it's funny to make me into one of Pavlov's dogs with your 'bug on the head' experiment, but you're shooting yourself in the foot here, chickadee.

Note to self: remove 'giant bugs that might eat your face off' from the approved pet list.

"Pour yourself a drink, put on some lipstick, and pull yourself together." - Elizabeth Taylor

2011-11-04T12:48:00.002-04:00

Pull yourself together.

It doesn't matter if you are undervalued, it doesn't diminish your purpose.

It doesn't matter if love fails you, there are endless opportunities to find happiness in other things.

Hurt happens to everyone, but only you can choose not to let it define you.

People let you down, but for every one that does, there is another that won't. Find them, and keep them.

The past belongs to you, but you don't need to keep revisiting it just because it's there. Put it away.

Don't worry about what you aren't - focus on what you are.

If someone wants to change the core of you, they don't love you. Believe that.

If someone loves you, they will let you know. Believe that, too.

If someone is interested in staying in your life, they will make an effort to.

Life is too short to be bored. If you are bored, move on.

Don't waste your time building and sustaining a relationship with someone who doesn't make you a better person for knowing them.

The Past

2011-11-03T21:25:00.001-04:00

I don't talk about the past much... at least not in concrete terms. I know I allude to it at times, but rarely do I discuss it frankly; especially not here.

But tonight I am. I just feel like it, and it's my blog, so there.

I have Daddy issues. There. I said it. Daddy issues.
It seems like a psychological buzz-word, doesn't it? Something celebrities and whiners talk about, but it doesn't really mean much, am I right? Some entitled, lazy, Prima Donna trying to blame everyone but herself for her problems, no? That's what it calls to mind.

I'm a normal woman, for the most part. I'm not lazy, or self-centered, and even though I majored in Psychology (and know a pretty decent amount about it), I have always been loathe to talk about this kind of stuff for fear of seeming like a 'whiner' and a 'blamer'. I don't like chronic whiners, and I don't respect people who blame everyone else for their issues. That's why this is hard for me to admit, and to write.

That being said, I'm going to do this anyway, so here goes.

My Dad walked out of my life when I was 4 years old. He never looked back, and it fucked me up good and proper. (Sorry if you don't like the language, but I can't think of a better way to put it.) He left, and then he went off and made a whole new family for himself. Oh, but that's not the best part... he pretended we didn't exist. That's right, he never mentioned us... it wasn't until MANY years later that his most recent family (there were three altogether) found out that my brother and I existed. Lovely, no?

Every little girl's first love is her Dad. How are you supposed to feel, knowing that you were interchangeable? Well, it's not a good feeling, I can tell you that. Knowing that someone you loved so dearly can walk away without a second thought is a shitty, SHITTY feeling. You spend most of your childhood fearful that your Mom will walk away, too.

After that, you don't trust. You just don't. You feel like everything is temporary, and can be gone in the blink of an eye. But someday you have to date... someday you are bound to fall in love. What happens then?

You date a little... some of us make a lot of BAD decisions along the way... but eventually you find someone to trust. It feels like a whole new world, being able to trust a man... loving someone and feeling like they love you in return. I never thought it would happen, really. In reality, I was shocked when it did, and was shocked to realize that I really trusted him.

Most teenagers/young adults go from relationship to relationship without much thought. They 'love' but it's never that involved, really. Well, for someone with 'Daddy issues' it's a little different. We don't use the words 'love' or 'trust' arbitrarily, because we trust few. To really LOVE is even rarer, because it requires a great deal of trust and abandon that just isn't at all normal for us. We've been burned, badly... and when we trust you, it's serious. We mean it. And it's a great responsibility not only for us, but for the one we trust and love... because we take it very seriously.

For any men or boys who might stumble upon this: when we love and trust you, it's a giant leap of faith and hope... please don't destroy that. We've already been destroyed by one man... please treat us gently. And don't ever say "I love you" unless you mean it... because we will believe you. Throwing our love away hurts more than you could ever imagine.

ADHD

2011-09-28T13:02:00.001-04:00

My daughter has always been different, from birth on.

As in infant, she slept only in 30 minute increments... at night sometimes we'd get up to two hours, but rarely more than that. She didn't sleep through the night at all until she was 2.5 years old. I nursed, but it was tiring... she only ate for a few minutes at a time before she'd get fussy and want to stop. I thought it was me, until she got older and I realized that she wouldn't eat because she wanted to look around. She would repeatedly latch and unlatch, latch and unlatch to look around... feeding her took forever. I had little time to do much else, so at 5 months I started giving her bottles so I could have a break from the endless feeding.

When she became mobile, she never sat still again. I would read her books, and she would be all over the place... running, playing, examining something, hanging upside-down. I got often got frustrated and put the book down, only to be subjected to a hissy fit because she wanted me to keep reading. She wasn't verbal, though, so she couldn't tell me. My daughter barely spoke until she was 3.5 years old. Once she really started talking, though, she would tell me "I want to read! READ!" I accused her of not listening, but she would recite back to me everything I just read. She was listening, but simply could NOT sit still for it. It was as though she had a desperate NEED to move. Even watching TV she never sat still... she would jump, run, play, hang off the back of the couch, twirl, do somersaults... anything.

As she got older, I started to notice that she took no notice of social cues. She was (and still is) very friendly and outgoing, but she just didn't get it when people were shy, or standoffish, or even downright mean to her. She just plowed ahead, kept talking to them, and invading their personal space. She has no concept of personal space whatsoever. I've had other kids run away and hide behind their Moms to get away from her, because her lack of boundaries upset them so much. She will talk to anyone, anytime, and is seemingly impervious to 'looks', snickers, or rudeness... she just doesn't seem to notice at all.

We still, at age seven, have potty training issues - something I always assumed would be long over by now. She gets engrossed in what she's doing sometimes and will not switch gears, even to use the bathroom. Or she starts to go to the bathroom and notices a bug... and never makes it there.

Even the most simple instructions have to be repeated over and over again, because she gets sidetracked so often. I even have to remind her constantly throughout mealtimes to EAT. She forgets what she's at the table for, even with the food in front of her. She is messy and disorganized because her mind jumps from one thing to another so quickly that things end up all over the place.

She cannot stand to be wrong, and will argue sometimes until she loses it. Her temper can be downright scary, and she can be incredibly rigid, stubborn and belligerent. She's even broken her bedroom door during one such episode....

I know that some people see it when she talks back, or melts down in public, and they think that she's a misbehaving little brat who doesn't listen and won't sit still. I know they think that, because before I had kids, I immediately jumped to that conclusion too, when a kid was melting down in public.

She's always been different, and I admit, she presents me with challenges that I sometimes have no idea how to deal with.

But oh, how I love this child.

You know what those people see? They see the ADHD symptoms. They don't see my little girl. They don't see the child who has a mind like a steel trap... she never forgets a fact, an experience, a story. They don't see the child who collects bugs, looks them up on Wikipedia, and lovingly names them all before setting them free a few days later. They don't see the little girl who, in times of quiet clarity (that her meds afford her), reads her little sister 8 books in a row at bedtime. They don't see the child that is so infectiously friendly that she delights adults and makes everyone feel special and worth talking to.

People talk. They give me 'looks' and I know what they are thinking - that I can't 'control my kid'. That I'm a bad mother, and that a good swift hand to the backside would solve my problems. I can tell you now, it WON'T. It doesn't. I promise you.

I have one thing to say to those people, and I wish I could print it on a t-shirt: GOOD MOTHERING CAN'T REMOVE A PHYSICAL CONDITION. IT CAN ONLY WORK WITH IT.

My daughter is a little different. But by god, she is fiercely loved. I love everything about her, even if sometimes those very things frustrate the hell out of me. She is this amazing little person, this little pinball ricocheting around in my world.

See the good. Don't be so quick to judge a child... or her parents.

Why Didn't I Think Of That?

2011-09-27T11:26:00.001-04:00

Hi, my name is Dawn, and I'm a sing-aholic.
(And before you ask, no. I cannot sing worth a damn, but that doesn't stop me, much to my kids' dismay.)

I'm always singing or humming, because there is ALWAYS a song stuck in my head. The other day it was Bon Jovi (specifically, Never Say Goodbye).

My kid didn't like it, apparently.
(I prefer to think that it's because she has questionable taste in music, rather than that I sound like a cat being tortured....)

Me: "Never say goodbye. Never say goodbye-ee-eyeeeeee...."
Ella: " I can't take it anymore. Sing Lady Gaga songs... that will get it out of your head and you can stop."

Um... thanks for the advice?
(She clearly had no idea what she was getting herself into with that one. If Lady Gaga gets stuck in my head, it doesn't go away easily. By the time I get rid of it, I've found myself considering at-home brain surgery to destroy that particular sector of my brain; THAT'S how desperate I eventually become to be rid of it.)

Yep, seems my kids are FULL of great advice. Like, about how to avoid getting peeved off about a messy office, for instance.

Me: "You girls need to clean this mess up right now. It's a DISASTER in here, and I'm tired of it."
[Silence]
Me: "Did you two hear me? I want this cleaned, now. I am SICK of looking at your mess all over my floor!"
Ella: [sighing patiently] "OK Momma. Just lay down right here. Right here on the floor... relax, and look up. Now all you see is the ceiling, and you won't have to look at the mess on the floor anymore."

Right, chickadee... nice try.
I have to hand it to her for creativity and thinking on her feet, though.

Talk About A Sugar High....

2011-09-22T18:01:00.001-04:00

The other day, the dog found a treat. Oh yes she did, and she enjoyed every second of her secret binge.

Unfortunately I discovered said binge when we came home from a birthday party and found a massive pile of disgusting, curiously-colored puke. BLECH. Only... it looked like melted chocolate.

Yep. We trawled the house and found that one of the kids left some dark chocolate-covered raisins on the floor, and it seems Olive simply couldn't resist. The temptation was just too much to bear, and she ate a good bit of them....

I was so worried. SO very worried.... I love my doggie, and I have warned the kids over and over about the dangers of dogs having chocolate. I hoped she'd be OK, because it looked like she vomited a good bit of what she'd eaten onto my kitchen floor (never thought I'd be HAPPY about dog puke).

As the night wore on, I watched her... she started to shiver violently. I was in tears, thinking she was a goner. (There's nothing the vet can do, apparently, but induce vomiting and hope for the best.) My negative side (that does tend to win a lot) was convinced that my wee furball was dying. :(

Eventually we went to bed, and I tucked Olive in with Ella.

I'm drifting off to sleep when I hear: 'Thump. Thump, thump, thump. BANG!'

I had no idea what was happening so I'm lying there, frozen with fear, listening... It's the dog. The dog apparently has a caffeine/sugar high, and has decided she wants in my room. NOW. She is repeatedly throwing herself against my bedroom door.

I scold her, and put her back in Ella's room.

Twenty minutes later, I wake with a start. 'Bark. Bark, bark, bark, BARK!'

Yep. Her again. This time barking at the baby gate to be let into the living room. I obliged and went back to sleep.

A bit later... 'Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.' I get up and let her out where she proceeds to run around the yard like a madman. Then, back in. She wants to play.... Um, no. It's 10:30, and I want to sleep thankyouverymuch.

I try letting her in my room to sleep. Ten minutes later... 'Thump, Thump, thump, thump. BANG!' Seems she wanted back into Ella's room. FINE.

Finally at about midnight I was able to fall asleep to the sound of little feet pitter-pattering up and down the hallway and around the house. The darned dog was HYPER.

No chocolate, ever again. If it doesn't kill her, I just might!

I Wish

2011-09-16T16:58:00.000-04:00

Sometimes I wish I was:

A heartless bitch.
Someone who does only what's best for herself and uses people for her amusement and pleasure. Maybe if I could master this, what people say and think wouldn't matter to me. Because if you don't care about people, what they say and do are of no consequence.

A true cynic.
If I were a true cynic, I wouldn't believe in fairy tales... then I wouldn't be hurt/disillusioned/defeated when the path to 'happily ever after' is strewn with obstacles.

Unforgiving.
If I were unforgiving, I would never have to deal with people disappointing me more than once, and making me wonder if I'm just a really shitty judge of character. For unforgiving people there is no 'three strikes' rule... you piss them off once, and you're out of there!

Sheltered.
If I had no experience, I wouldn't know any other way. I wouldn't have longings, past hurts, or dreams to haunt me. Perhaps true contentment is afforded only to those who are sheltered from any other sort of life than the one they live, with people they've known their entire life.

Self-Centered.
If I cared mostly for myself, people would be mere accessories rather than thinking, feeling beings. If I were self-centered, I wouldn't feel devastated when someone I love hurts me with careless words. I wouldn't feel like a failure when I can't help someone, or be who they expected me to be.

Beautiful.
If you are beautiful, at least when someone rejects everything else you have to offer, you have that to fall back on.

The Dog Ate My Homework

2011-09-03T16:30:00.000-04:00

So the wee one started Kindergarten on August 26th. (Hooray, Huzzah, Yippee! OK, I'm done now - I swear.)

Ah, Kindergarten... the land of play centers, ABC's, reading, toys, and homework. Huh? Homework?

Yep. Homework.Not much, mind you, but homework nonetheless. And the teacher gave wee one many great ideas as for her first assignment/masterpiece.

You see, the 'homework' was to decorate a gingerbread man for school, to hang in the hallway. Mrs. S gave them all sorts of clever ideas, including one that E latched onto immediately: decorating with Cheerios.

We decorated that gingerbread man beautifully... she colored, glued buttons on, and even coerced me into sewing a SKIRT for her gingerbread LADY. But that was not enough... she was absolutely fixated on the Cheerios, so I obliged and pulled out the Cheerios. Honey Nut Cheerios, to be exact... and she gleefully glued them down, feeling that her masterpiece was then complete.

E was very proud of her homework, and wanted to show everyone, and so she kept pulling it out to show it off as one might a priceless artifact, or fine jewels. The thing is, though, most people don't leave masterpieces lying on the coffee table after showing them off. This is where E went wrong, and ginger-lady met an unfortunate fate.

When it came time for ginger-lady to return to school (and to her rightful place on the wall outside E's classroom), she couldn't be found. Fabulous. The kiddo's first homework assignment, and it's been misplaced. At least that's what I thought... until I heard a blood-curdling scream from the living room.

I walked in not knowing the carnage I was about to witness... it seems that ginger-lady met with a formidable foe: the dog. Olive the dog apparently has a penchant for Honey Nut Cheerios. Who knew? She smelled those bad boys and went to town, leaving disembodied construction paper limbs and bits and pieces all over the living room rug. The Cheerio eyes and nose, however, were history.

I found it a bit funny, but couldn't laugh, of course.

No, I couldn't laugh, because E was quite upset and it's my job to calm her down. So I did. I calmed her down with hugs, kisses, and promises to re-do ginger-lady even better than before. That is, until this exchange:

E: [sniffle] "And if we don't get done in time, I'll just tell my teacher."
Me: "So let me get this straight: If we don't finish in time, you'll just tell her that your dog ate your homework?"
E: "Yes."

I'm sorry to say that hearing that, I lost it and laughed my head off.

In all my years of excuses as a kid, I never thought I'd see the day when "My dog ate my homework" was actually TRUE.

Who's Afraid of the Big, Bad Wolf?

2011-06-17T18:19:00.004-04:00

Some people are afraid of the boogie man.
Some are afraid of clowns, spiders, snakes, monsters....

As for me, when I was a kid I was afraid of The End of The World, and all the fire and brimstone loveliness that goes on in Revelations. Hey, what can I say? I was raised in a Pentecostal church where readings from Revelations were sermon staples.

Most people eventually grow out of their childhood fears, and no longer look at rain gutters with trepidation (the clown from 'It', anyone?) or squeal when a spider inexplicably ends up on their arm. (Yeah, yeah... some. Not all. I still shriek and run in the opposite direction when a butterfly comes near me, but that's beside the point.)

No, the point I'm driving at is that most people grow out of these things, and that most kids think their parents are invincible and fearless. Including my kids. Or so I thought....

A few weeks ago I hear this from the back of the car:

Ella: "Daddy's not afraid of ANYTHING."
Anna: "UH HUH! He is too!"
Ella: "Is not."
Anna: "Is TOO!"

(I'll spare you the infinite back and forth that went on for a while there... you get the drift.)

Ella: "Then WHAT is Daddy afraid of? Monsters?"
Anna: "Yes. THE IRS!"

Bwahahahaha!

Now, there is nothing untoward going on here with us and the IRS... we generally have a rather bland (if resentful), relationship of give and take (and take, and take, and take). I couldn't help but laugh, though. What adult ISN'T afraid of the IRS and their mighty money-demanding powers?

Oh yeah... people who don't work. I forgot.

At any rate, yeah. I think she's hit on something there... the IRS is some scary stuff.

Kids. They Chew You Up, And They Spit You Out

2011-06-16T16:49:00.005-04:00

I'm in my mid-thirties , I've been married for 10 years, and I've had two children. I'll admit that I'm not exactly super-model material. I mean, really... I usually don't wear make-up, I almost always have my kids in tow, and I drive a minivan. Needless to say, I don't exactly have a long line of guys hitting on me, or people stumbling over themselves to praise my looks.

Despite that, though, sometimes I think I look pretty good. Well, until children get involved, then all bets are off.

A few weeks ago, there was a bridging ceremony for my daughter's Girl Scout troop. Being that it was a special occasion, I got semi-dressed up in a nice dress, and even put on make-up. I thought I looked pretty good! Cue kid to make me want to crawl into a hole:

Girl Scout (walking up to me and fondling my belly): "Ms. Dawn, are you having a baby?"
Me (mortified and mumbling): "No. No baby. That's just a lot of cookies."

I went on Weight Watchers, pronto.

After a few weeks on Weight Watchers, some of my confidence returned, and then I'm confronted with this little scenario:

Ella (looking at me): "That's a beautiful shirt."
Ella (reaches out and tugs said shirt up over my cleavage): "I don't want anyone to see that."

You can't win for losing. If you're not too fat, your cleavage is too prominent. LOL!

Then, there was this gem directed at our good friend and baby sitter, Heather:

Heather: She's a lean, good looking girl.
Ella: Yeah, not at all like you, Miss Heather.

Ouch. I'm secretly glad it's not just me getting the shaft, though.

Crying's For Sissies

2011-06-16T09:51:00.004-04:00

Once upon a time when my feelings were hurt, I was heartbroken, or had a really bad day, I would cry. Maybe it's a girl thing, but as far as I'm concerned there's no better release.

I rarely cry anymore.

The bad days still come... my feelings get hurt, and my heart gets broken, but the tears don't come anymore. I don't have time for tears - I am never alone, and it's a luxury I just don't get. I don't like to break down in front of my kids, so I just don't. Period. Now, instead of tears, anger breaks down the door.

Because I can't cry, anger elbows in and takes the place of tears. Everything gets on my nerves and I lose my patience. I don't like myself very much then.

It feels like a bowling ball sitting on my chest that I just can't get rid of.

I wonder when exactly this happened? When did I suddenly decide that crying is for the weak? I don't know, but I don't like it. I want to throw something and have a nice, big, adult-sized tantrum.

Bet you can't guess my mood today. Better duck before that book hits you in the head....

A Kid That's Crazy (And Isn't Mine)

2011-04-13T19:40:00.005-04:00

Sometimes other people's kids crack me up, too. Yeah, I know... I've said it before; I'm mostly annoyed by any kid that didn't emerge from my own hoo-ha. But, there are exceptions. :)

One of those exceptions is my great-nephew Bryson. He's generally a really laid-back kid, and mostly rolls with the punches... I like that in a kid. AND he cracks me up, to boot.

Today the kids were all playing together when I hear Bryson talking to nobody at all... at least, that's what I thought. Turns out, he was talking to his scooter. A scooter that happens to be named (according to him) 'Uncle Chris'. This is what I hear:

Bryson (looking tenderly at said scooter): "Uncle Chris, are you OK? Are you OK, Uncle Chris? Did you poopy on yourself, Uncle Chris?"

Of course I have to find out just what this is all about, which is when I'm informed that his scooter has been branded with that particular name (I can only guess, in honor of my brother Chris). And Chris The Scooter seems to have an unfortunate tendency to 'poopy' on himself. Who knew?

Oh, but that's not all.

My sister has a perpetually grumpy Jack Russell Terrier named Chester... Chester is not only completely grumpy, but also suffers from Canine Cognitive Dysfunction (Doggie Alzheimer's) and hates pretty much everyone. Well, Chester begins barking, and acting nuts in Bryson's general direction, and this is what he had to say to Chester:

Bryson: "Chester, what's wrong? You mad?" (in a sing-song voice) "You mad? You want to eat my eyeballs out? You want to get me and eat my eyeballs out?"

Then, he starts cracking up and barking right back at the dog.

I swear, sometimes kids are crazy little buggers. I just like it when they direct their crazy at someone (or something) else and I get to laugh at it!

Who Took My Babies?

2011-04-06T14:33:00.005-04:00

Who did it? Who came along and replaced my babies with little people?
I'm not sure when it happened, but I've been noticing more and more lately that these little people have lives, ideas, and knowledge that I know nothing (or very little) about. They have their own 'circles' and day to day lives that are coinciding with mine less and less (their circles on the good old Venn Diagram are really starting to stretch out).

The other day my youngest and I had this conversation:
E: "Mom, I'm going to get you a butterfly for your birthday!"
Me (horrified): "WHY would you do that?!"
E: "Because you love them!"
Me: "Actually, I hate butterflies."
E (thoughtfully): "Oh. Well, then, OxiClean. It gets red mud out of clothes. How 'bout that?"

She's 4. I didn't teach her about OxiClean... so where did she learn about this magical substance and become convinced that it's a fabulous birthday gift (right behind butterflies, of course)? It must have been TV. When she was watching alone, without me, and absorbing whatever crap they deem suitable. (SCARY!)

To further prove my point, last night at Target (shopping with just Anna), I was spotted by a classmate of Ella's. I hear him before I even see him... he's half-shouting "Hey, Dad! DAD! ELLA! THERE'S ELLA!" He comes tearing around the corner to where we stood at the register and a look of profound disappointment registers on his face when he sees only me and A. He looks at me and demands "Where's ELLA!?"

See? There we go again... her own little life, her own friends, her own circle in which I (and her sister) am largely irrelevant.

Several times now, while out and about, my oldest has accosted random strangers with huge bear hugs. I, of course, am frozen with a look of abject horror on my face before being assured that said random person is her school librarian/cafeteria worker/janitor/bus driver. Whew. I mean, I know my kid is friendly, but random strangers is taking it a bit too far.

Thank God that strange looking lady with the hairy mole is the school janitor.

The Kissing Tree

2011-03-17T13:25:00.003-04:00

What is it with kids and one-word answers?

Me: "How was school today, Anna?"
A: "Good!"

*crickets*

Me: "What did you do?"
A: "I played."

Uh oh... two words! Now we're getting somewhere!
Usually I would just let it go, but for some reason that day I kept asking questions.

Me: "Who did you play with?"
A: "Waylan. He's my boyfriend!"
Me: "Waylan is your boyfriend?"
A: "Yep! And every day when we go outside me and Waylan wait until nobody is looking and go behind 'the kissing tree'. He kisses me, and then we go play!"

Uh, WHAT?! *cue Mama Bear* At this point I'm freaking out a little, wondering what in the world is going on in FIRST GRADE these days, and why this little punk is kissing my daughter! *growl*

Me (in a dangerously calm and level voice): "Waylan kisses you? WHERE does he kiss you?"
A (smiling): "Every day we go to the kissing tree and he kisses me right here (holding up her hand and pointing to the back of it) and then we go play together!"

On the back of her hand, like a little gentleman. Every day, Waylan kisses my little girl on the back of her hand, and treats her like a princess. Some day, when she's old enough for a real boyfriend, I hope she finds a nice guy who will treat her exactly the way Waylan treated her in first grade. :)

Rawr. I'm A Dinosaur.

2011-03-10T20:07:00.003-05:00

Do you know how old I was when I got my first computer?
I was sixteen years old... AND there were exactly two things my computer could do (or rather, only two things I could feasibly make it do) - write stuff, and play 'Where In The World Is Carmen Sandiego?'

My first experience with internet access was when I was 20, living with my sister, back in the AOL 'You've got mail!' days. My first computer with real programs and *gasp* internet access came when I was 22... and even then it was only the pop-up happy, connection-challenged freebie access from Net Zero.

So, with all that being what it is, my daughter's proficiency with the computer is a little unnerving to me. I'm minding my own business today when I hear an unfamiliar song coming from the office... so I go to investigate. Turns out my daughter (yes, my SIX YEAR-OLD) was on Google watching a video about how to make a Leprechaun trap.

WTF?!?

Seriously, I'm kind of a dinosaur. I love my iPhone, but if it weren't for my husband I would probably still be happily chatting on my 7lb flip phone (circa 1996)and using dial-up. And really?? HD, Blu-Ray, plasma screen, 4G... what?

Apparently my daughter got her Dad's genes because she's already mastered the search engine and randomly asks when she can 'get her own Facebook'. Yeah. That's gonna happen.

Time to implement some parental controls, methinks, before she figures out the whole 'hacking' thing. This could get ugly.

In the Nick of Time

2011-03-07T17:13:00.006-05:00

Ever have a moment in your life that feels like that? Like you've made it in the nick of time, like everything has come together to make it possible....

I did. Once upon a time I had a moment like that, one that seemed too good to be true. 100% in the nick of time. The coincidence of the moment seemed too much to ignore... as if it was meant to be.

Now that I'm older and more jaded, I realize that 'in the nick of time' translates roughly to 'on the rebound', 'on the heels of a crisis', or both a and b. Lets face it, normally we don't think of ourselves as being in the nick of time if there wasn't something we were up against.

I was reading a book, and the author used the phrase 'in the nick of time', and I realized without a second thought that I knew exactly how the story would end. I was completely unsurprised.

It never translates in real life the way people think it should. Real life is far more complicated. That 'nick of time' moment may have been just that for someone, but even if it feels right you must always remember that you might not be the beneficiary... the nick of time moment might have been for the other person. YOU might have been sent to THEM in the nick of time... sometimes that's enough.

Dawn and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

2011-03-03T09:21:00.003-05:00

Yeah. It hasn't been a good one.
9:22 am, and I already want a do-over!

Last night I made the cutest Thing 1 and Thing 2 cupcakes for my daughter's class, complete with cotton candy hair. I was quite pleased with myself... I had everything ready to go, and was on top of things for once.

I should have known that signaled trouble. When animals begin acting strangely, you know a natural disaster is coming... well, same here. When I'm on top of things and seem to have it all together, it's a clue that a catastrophe will soon follow.

The morning started off as usual... but then I went to peek at the cupcakes. DISASTER! The cotton candy 'melted' (for lack of a better word) and formed a hard, gross-looking coating on my lovely cupcakes. Emergency repairs needed to be done, and they just didn't look as good after that. *sniff*

Tense. I decide to go relax on Facebook for a minute. Right before I plopped into my desk chair, something caught my eye - cat vomit. The little creep vomited all over my desk chair, and all over the floor surrounding it. I get it cleaned up, and it's about this time that I realize I've lost my phone.

*sigh*

Yeah, I know. Call it! No can do... it needed to be charged. I spent two hours searching and stressing out before I found it.

To top it off, as my oldest daughter was leaving, she reminded me that it is school picture day. Ask me if she's dressed nicely? Yeah. You guessed it.

Then the little one couldn't find her shoes, and her breakfast was a cheese stick in the car on the way to school. Which, by the way, she got all over her lovely outfit. Oh, and before leaving P asks me if I'm going to the gym today (yet again). By this point I'm feeling rather stabby.

Seriously? Do-over?

Oh, My Aching Gobstoppers...

2010-12-19T09:28:00.005-05:00

Well, paint me orange and roll me down a chocolate river!

I've been awake for two hours, and have been asked for candy no less than 94,000 times. The endless refrain has nearly caused me to scream, which hasn't happened before 9am since the infant days when, after pulling an all-nighter with a cranky baby, I was giving the kids breakfast while my husband was curled up snugly in the bed.

But I digress....

Do I LOOK like an Oompa Loompa? Willy Wonka, perhaps?
No? Good answer. Then tell me - why, WHY do these children persist in treating me as though I should be wearing a huge hat and giving tours through my magic factory?

I blame it on Halloween.
The kidlets are getting older now, and collected significantly more candy this year than in times past. It may also be in part the fault of my flawed plan this year. The plan? Get that big bowl of candy out of the way as quickly as possible. Bad idea. They caught on, and now believe that even the smallest accomplishments are worthy of a piece of candy.

"Hey Mom! I sneezed... can I have a piece of candy!"
"But Mooooom... I ate two green beans! Can I have candy?"

This morning they banded together and decided that simply waking up earned them the privilege of stuffing themselves and spending the morning in a sugar coma. Dude, I don't THINK SO. All waking up in the morning earns me is a Diet Coke and a steady diet of whining.

Don't these kids know me but at ALL?
If they slept until 9am, I would SO paint my face orange, slap on some leiderhosen and bring them wheelbarrows full of candy.

We're Not In Kansas Anymore...

2010-08-26T07:56:00.010-04:00

I went on a solo vacation. What a coup! Needless to say, I had an awesome time on said vacation... sleep whenever I wanted it, total freedom, no demands on my time. Ahhhhh. Bliss.

Anyway, I spent part of said vacation in beautiful San Diego. I didn't spend much time there, but what I did see was rather diverse. I stayed two nights, and stayed in different hotels each night - the first in Mission Valley, the second right near the border on San Ysidro. Different. Very different.

I actually didn't realize how close to the border the second hotel was until I saw the signs along the highway proclaiming "LAST U.S. EXIT. TURN BACK NOW!!" Ok, so maybe not... but similar. You get my drift. Anyway, due to an error on my part, my GPS was not finding my hotel, so I got to explore the area a little bit. Once back on the highway, I saw this sign, and nearly ran off the road:

Seriously, that sign is a road hazard. Its very existence in what is arguably the most liberal state in the US caused me to do a very unsafe, mouth gaping double-take. That's not even mentioning the fact that once my shock wore off, I laughed so hard I almost couldn't breathe. (Yes, very un-PC of me, but come on! LOL!) Methinks that doesn't make for very safe driving conditions, especially for unsuspecting tourists like myself who apparently can't contain their glee when happening upon something out of the ordinary.

I obviously don't get out much, because that damned sign was one of the highlights of my trip. I wish I'd had time to grab a t-shirt...

The Things They Say

2010-08-18T09:35:00.006-04:00

Oh, the things they say.
Just when you are starting to feel bogged down, you can always count on a pint-sized person to say something that will either shock you out of your drudgery, or make you laugh until you cry.

Evidence:

Monday - Outside
Anna is playing outside and hurts her knee somehow. Of course, it is a Very Dramatic Event that necessitates her being carried from the yard, onto the deck, and into the house. She can no longer walk... it hurrrrrts. After a few minutes of questions, assessment and rest, my daughter drops this bomb on me: "My knee hurts so bad. I'm pretty sure it's broken... I think I'm going to have to cancel going to first grade." *dramatic sigh*

Think someone is secretly nervous about first grade?

Tuesday - Supermarket parking lot
Ella points to an older lady (probably in her fifties) and says "Mom, I can't WAIT to be big just like her!" Now, bear in mind that the lady is all of two feet away, can hear every word, and is smiling at Ella's cuteness...
I say "Oh, no. I don't want you to get big.">
E: "Why not?"
Me: "I like you small."
E: "Oh. You don't want me to get old like her and go up to heaven?"

Ouch. Needless to say, said woman was no longer smiling.

Tuesday - The Kitchen
Anna is looking at my Nook, and notices the picture on the front. When it is in sleep mode, the Nook has a picture of a famous author displayed. At that particular time, it was a picture of Kurt Vonnegut.

Now, I like Kurt Vonnegut... he was a great writer (if rather liberal). In fact, he's a favorite of mine. That being said, he was not a very handsome man... so imagine my surprise when Anna proclaims "This picture looks just like Daddy!" When pressed to explain, though, she clarified that it was only because he had curly hair and glasses like Daddy.... Whew. Good to know. LOL!

Never Ever

2010-07-18T07:59:00.002-04:00

Yesterday was Anna's birthday party.

The kids bowled, ate their weight in sugar, and we toted home an impressive haul of tiny pieces of plastic. GREAT day for a six year-old.

Then, of course, the bickering begins. Anna has loads of new toys and Ella simply. cannot. take. it. She must get her hands on those oh-so-tempting pieces of plastic or she will just die. Die, I tell you. Lucky for Ella, she has a pretty decent big sister who relegates the 'old' toys to her as the newer, more exciting ones are opened.

Nice, right?
Yeah, but not quite good enough, you see. She waits like a puppy waits for a scratch, a walk, a scrap... giddy, but trying to sit still and be good until she just can't take it anymore.

The last new toy was opened this morning, and E is chomping at the bit.

E: "Anna, can I play with it now?"
A: "Ella, I said LATER!"
E: "Pweeeeeassse?"
A: "Ella. I said later. And when a woman says 'LATER' she means NEVER EVER!"

I had to leave the room to hide my guffaws.

Bolt

2010-07-12T17:10:00.004-04:00

Meet Bolt.

OK, so her name is actually Olive, but had she not come to me already named, I think I would have had to consider the name after getting to know her personality! This little lady came to me last week from the Animal Adoption League, and is a little angel who has already stolen my heart, despite her tendency to scent and attempt escape!

Olive bolts... and she enjoys it tremendously. Hence, the title, and why I would have seriously considered it for her name. To my knowledge she doesn't have any superpowers or a desire to save the world, but I could be wrong - perhaps that's why she's so eager to travel! She's a rascal. A sweet, well-mannered, adventurous little rascal!

She's going to keep my on my toes. The kids tell strangers about her and say "Olive bolts." People look at them like they are crazy... if only they knew! LOL! She is worth it, though, and she more than makes up for her mischief with fun, companionship, and her awesome personality!

Ella Bo-Bella

2010-03-26T15:40:00.002-04:00

My wee monkey, little weasel, cutie pootie.

I just adore my kids, and think that everything they do is the best, the most adorable, the most clever. In fact, perhaps the greatest part of being a parent for me is watching my children figure out the world and get smarter and smarter. (Of course, I fear that they will band together and attempt to overthrow me as leader when they discover (any day now) that they are smarter than me....)

Lately I have been intrigued with Ella and her views on the world and her own circumstances. Several weeks ago, Ella had a little accident at home necessitating an urgent visit to the doctor. When we got there, the conversation went like this:

Dr.: "So, Ella. What happened here?"
E: *mumbles*
Dr.: "What?"
E: "I pokeded a hole in my body."
Dr.: "You poked a hole in your body?"
E: "Yeah. I pokeded a hole in my body with the pitcher, and I bleeded so much. I bleeded right out of the band-aid! And it hurted."

The doctor was trying to keep a straight face, but couldn't stop the grin from emerging. Everyone she saw got treated to her assessment of the situation, and the fact that she 'poked a hole in her body'.

The 'hole' has since healed, although there is a scar. Every once in a while someone will see the purplish scar and ask what happened...

E: "I pokeded a hole in my body. But it healed up! My body made more skin to cover the hole, see?!"

None Of That Baby Business

2010-01-01T17:43:00.005-05:00

Sometimes I have to wonder just where my daughter gets all her ideas.

For instance, we had a very interesting conversation on Wednesday that went a little something like this:

A: Mommy, I'm not EVER going to have a baby.
Me: Why not?
A: Because I don't want to have surgery.
Me: Well, you probably wouldn't have to have surgery. Most women don't need surgery to have a baby.
A: Oh. Well, then, how does the baby get out?

Oh boy. Yes, one of the dreaded questions. (The other being "How did the baby get IN?") I thought about it for a second, and decided to go with frank honesty and gave her the Cliff's Notes version of the miracle of birth.

A: Oh, so the baby just comes down from the tummy and 'plops' out?
Me: Sort of. (IF ONLY!!)
A: And you have to catch it?
Me: No, you go to the hospital, and the doctor catches it.
A: And cleans it up?
Me: Yes, and cleans it up.

At this point she is satisfied and wanders off to play, break something, harrass her sister... whatever. A few minutes later, though, she's back:

A: I still don't think I want to have a baby, Mom.
Me: Oh yeah?
A: Yeah. I decided I'm going to marry a girl and make HER have the baby.

Smart kid.

Dog Days

2009-11-09T20:35:00.004-05:00

Yesterday I returned from spending the weekend in Atlanta with one of my best friends (ME), her Dad, and her two lovely (furry) companions. It was a great trip - I had a chance to catch up with ME, get some rest, and find out firsthand just how engaging and intelligent dogs can be.

I am a skeptic when people talk about just how smart their animals are - I have met very few that live up to their hype, and fewer still have managed to impress me.

Enter Jade.

Somewhere during the weekend, ME mentions to me that Jade (furry friend #1) really is very smart, and that she has a 'system' for reclaiming her favorite chair when Lucy (furry friend #2) takes over her spot. Apparently (according to ME), when Jade wants her chair back, she will run to the door and start barking like crazy. This, of course, makes Lucy curious and she comes to the door barking as well... Jade then takes the opportunity to high-tail it back to 'her' chair, thereby tricking Lucy into vacating the prime napping spot.

Sounds very cute, but I was a bit skeptical.
Maybe it was a one-time deal. Did the dog *really* know what she was doing, or did she get lucky once?

She knew what she was doing. Oh yes....

The last morning I was there ME's Dad, Jade, and myself were sitting in the living room when Jade starts to give D a pleading look. The 'conversation' went a little something like this:

J: [pleading look]
D: "You know I'm not going to take you out until you're both down here - go get Lucy."
J: [exasperated look]
Me: "Go get Lucy, Jade, and you can go out. She's upstairs!"
J: [goes to window and begins to bark]
Me: "No, Jade, Lucy's upstairs!"
J: [looks at me pityingly, and stares out the window barking]
L: [trots downstairs to the window and begins barking]
D: "OK, Lucy's here - we can go out now!"
J: [looks at me as if to say "See? I know what I'm doing."]

I swear I saw that dog smirk at me.

What Happens In Cherokee, Stays In Cherokee.

2009-10-21T12:58:00.004-04:00

Last weekend we visited the NC mountains (Cherokee and Bryson City) and had a nice little mini-vacation with the kidlets and our good friend Matt. Things were mostly under control, but as usual there were some blips and humorous moments that cropped up....

Oconaluftee Village (Cherokee, NC) - The blow gun making station
[Upon spying a Cherokee Indian with a partially shaved head, ponytail in back]:

A - "Oooh, I like his hat!"
Me - "That's not a hat, that's his hair."
A - "BOYS DON'T WEAR PONYTAILS, ONLY GIRLS!"

*Snickers are heard from both the people milling around nearby and the two Cherokee gentlemen working on their blow guns. Luckily the man sporting the 'hat' had a sense of humor and readily agreed to help out when A's Dad suggested that she might like to have a similar 'hat'. LOL!

After our lovely morning touring Oconaluftee and walking the trails, my 3 year-old starts looking decidedly worse for wear. Normally skipping a nap is no big deal, but it looks as if the trails might have done her in. We were due to get on a train in 1.5 hours, though... no time for a siesta.

Being the good parent that I am, I decide that all E needs is a good old-fashioned dose of caffeine, and she'll be good to go!

Back at the hotel:
P - "Here Ella, drink some of this." [hands 3 year-old a 20oz Mtn. Dew]
E - "OK!" [said a touch TOO gleefully]
E - "Gulp. GULP. GULP."

We barely had time to get back to the hotel room before realizing that the entire Mountain Dew is GONE. GONE. I got 3 sips from the bottle.

Well, OK. You might be thinking "Isn't that what you wanted? Surely she was wide awake then!"

Um, no. Not so much.

Less than five minutes after downing the entire bottle of soda, said three year-old looks at me with a wide-eyed, frightened look on her face. That's right, she peed every last drop of that soda right out... on the hotel carpet. It was all over her pants, shirt, and her shoes were SOAKED.

E is now the proud owner of a lovely pair of black suede Minnetonka Moccasins, the only shoes we could manage to procure for her on the reservation after her sneakers (the only shoes we had with us) received their unscheduled 'shower'.

(Annnnd... I just realized that the bolded initials in that last conversation spell PEE. How very fitting. *snicker* Yeah, yeah... I'm 12.)

If there's one lesson we can all learn from Ella, it's this: Don't walk barefoot on hotel carpet. Ever.

A World Without Mommies

2009-09-14T21:41:00.004-04:00

A: "There are no Mommas on this show." [said musingly] "Why not?"
Me: "Well, I really don't know why there are no Mommas."
A: "Who feeds them? Who takes care of them? ...Oh well, I guess they just have to take care of themselves." [weary sad sigh]

Sometimes I wonder if my kids even notice me.
I guess that's normal... especially when you spend your days running errands, cleaning and serving meals. Those days stretch into months, and the months stretch into years, and you think if you serve one more piece of string cheese you just might puke.

Sometimes I don't notice myself, so it's not far-fetched to believe at times that my children see right through me (until they want dessert, a treat, or some injustice rectified) as well.

Conversations like that (had after watching "It's The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown" on the way home from school) talk me down from my ledge. I don't mean that in a desperate, suicidal way... more in the "I'm crazy with monotony and unappreciation" way that Mothers sometimes feel.

Sometimes a five year-old can know just what to say to make you realize that your existence is noticed, noted, and appreciated in a basic primal way that means everything.

To my daughter, a world without Mommies is a sad, weary place.
I have to agree with her.

Classical Liberalism

2009-09-02T08:36:00.003-04:00

This post is about politics, and pretty much completely deviates from the usual bantering tone of my blog. If politics bore you to tears or you just can't live with knowing that this entry contains no references to poop or potty humor, well... you might want to just skip right on past this one, mmmkay? :D

So, yesterday I randomly got into a low-key political discussion with a Facebook friend (and family member) of mine. We don't know each other very well, and aren't familiar with each other's politics, so it was interesting to note our similarities and differences.

Before I go further, I feel that I should point out one thing:
The idea of 'politics' has always overwhelmed me. The political spectrum is so huge, and there are seemingly endless things to consider. It is a struggle to even decide just where you stand sometimes; and that's before adding all the individual issues and candidate stances into the mix. So, I've largely shied away from taking a hardcore stance, feeling that there was no label that quite fit where I stand....

So, back to the Facebook discussion...
I posted this (in response to the question regarding whether I lean to the right):

"I'm neither liberal nor conservative. I guess the best way to put it is to say that I'm socially liberal & fiscally conservative. I also believe that most of the governing should be left to individual states. The federal gov't has their hands in way too much, IMO."

Another individual responded that this made me sound like a classic libertarian. Hmmm. Interesting... I hadn't thought of that. Of course I had to look into it - it would actually be nice to discover that I 'fit in' somewhere in the political world, rather than being the adrift Independent with no real political comrades.

When looking into it further, I came across this:
http://libertarianwiki.org/Classical_liberalism

Wikipedia has this to say about Classical Liberalism:

"Classical liberals subscribe to a very basic and universal understanding of the world and the rights of all humans. Classical Liberals believe in private property, free markets, economic competition, freedom from coercion, limited government (all economic freedom), the rule of law, and individual rights (natural rights is also used). These principals apply to all people, of all faiths, cultures, societies, ethnicities, and histories, and it is stated that all peoples are capable of achieving liberal government and liberal societies, not just western cultures. (Classical) liberals prefer a laissez-faire style of government with a microeconomic focus and understanding of economic operations.

Classical liberals reject wealth transfers (though admire the goal of helping the needy), tariffs or other trade barriers such as quotas, regulated markets (also known as a mixed economy ), capital controls, and wage and price controls. As a general rule these macroeconomic policies are considered by them as reducing the general welfare of society. Social security and tariffs, for example, are viewed by Milton Friedman as perverse wealth transfers, meaning wealth transfers from poor to rich. Hayek and Friedman also believed that economic freedom would help build and protect political and civil freedoms, while a loss in economic freedom meant a loss in civil and political freedoms. "

Well, wow.
This pretty much describes me to a fine point!

Don't interfere with people's individual/natural rights.
Limit the hand of the federal government.
Don't take my money! (Even though I agree that helping the needy is noble, I don't necessarily want to fund it)

So, hmmm. Perhaps I have a place in the political world after all. :)

Dithering, Dallying, and Demonizing

2009-08-28T12:01:00.003-04:00

"I Don't FEEL good. Because you are MEAN TO ME!"

I'm mean.
The meanest Mommy around, if you take my 3 year-old's word for it.

Ah... our day was going so smoothly and nicely - I should have known better. The saying "If it seems too good to be true, it probably is" is incredibly relevant and very sage advice to the parent of any preschooler.

** If your child is playing quietly, don't rejoice. It is undoubtedly suspect.
** If they are behaving and subdued, they are probably sick and you will either get thrown up on or spend the evening at Urgent Care.
** If your children are playing quietly together, be afraid; one of them is likely now bald or otherwise disfigured.

The same rules apply to when your child(ren) are uncharacteristically lovely and accommodating while running errands. They are saving it up, trust me; before you can say "Linda Blair" you will be mopping up green snot and calling the Pope for a little intervention. Yes, I know this from experience... unfortunately so do many of my fellow neighbors/shoppers and the lovely ladies employed by Tuesday Morning.

Things were going along swimmingly today, and I was actually enjoying a quiet morning of errands, talking, and laughing with E. Oh, silly me! I am such a sucker, I fall for it every time. It was awesome. I was in such a good mood, and having such a grand time that I agreed to a toy purchase. ALL she had to do was pick it out.

Oh boy.
THREE trips down the toy aisle, a look at EVERYTHING, and 20 minutes later, she still hadn't made a decision and was dithering considerably. She WOULD. NOT. CHOOSE.

The time came to leave.
Cue green snotty/pukey stuff and Linda-Blair-esque scene.
Cue blood-curdling screams, hitting, and a range of rather startling preschooler invectives when The Ditherer was forced to vacate the premises sans toy.

I mean seriously... I love me some Tuesday Morning too, but we simply cannot stay there all day.

I have since been informed that:

"I don't FEEL good, because you are MEAN TO ME!"
"I don't WIKE YOU!"
"I NEEEEEEEED somefing, now!"
"I'M TELLING DAD!"

I swear to God, you'd think I was the devil, Hitler, and Saddam Hussein rolled into one because I *gasp* expected her to be semi-expedient while spending my money on crap to shove to the bottom of her toy box.

Nice guys finish last. And so do nice Mommies... remember that.

Sugar and spice and everything... nice? Surely there's some mistake.

2009-08-24T13:18:00.006-04:00

"NO! You're a BUM!"

Ahhh, from the mouths of babes.
Pretty benign insult overall, no? You may even find yourself thinking "Ah, come on kid - you can do better than that!"

Just to clear something up, she wasn't referring to panhandlers when she tossed out the word bum, she was referring to the back end, the exit, the rectal area, or however you want to put it. Yeah. That bum. And that lovely little shouted insult was directed at her Daddy.

(Is it bad that just recounting this story makes me titter to myself?)

At any rate, obviously my three year-old has taken a liking to potty humor, potty mouth, and virtually all things that refer in some way to the posterior. *sigh*
I routinely hear:

"YOU POOPY!"
"You're a POOPY head!"
"You BUM!"
"Poopy, poopy, poopy, POOPY!" (Said in a sing-song voice dancing around her sister)

Everyone told me I'd hear this stuff repeatedly... IF I HAD BOYS. Nobody mentioned that the sweet little pig-tailed cherubs that are little girls (hahahaha!) would be so fond of talking about such un-ladylike things. The psychologist in me is scared shitless (pun intended) to find out what Freud would think about this.

I keep hoping this phase will pass soon, but given our most recent conversation, I don't see that happening.

E: "Mommy, I WIKE Finding Nemo."
M: "Oh yeah? I do too, it's a good movie."
E: "Yeah, you know why I wike it?"
M: "Why's that?"
E: "There's a BUTT in it. He touched the BUTT. Tee hee hee!"

Oy vey.

Living In A Porta-Potty

2009-08-21T19:22:00.006-04:00

It usually takes someone commenting on a blog entry of mine (or otherwise reminding me of its existence) to stir up some motivation to write. Then, and only then, do I start thinking "Hey... I should write about X and Y!" This also explains why my blog entries tend to be grouped together in clumps rather than spread out over the month... but, whatever, right?

At any rate, I was (obviously) reminded today, and a few things started swirling around in this mushy cavern I like to call my head.

For instance, anyone who is among the elite few I call my 'friends' on Facebook is probably well aware that I am absolutely sick to death of dealing with pee. Pee, wee-wee, tee-tee, urine... whatever you want to call it, I am SO freaking over it!

Pee problem #1:
Someone *cough*P*cough* bought a brand new state-of-the-art litter box that self scoops, self-disposes of the waste, and cleans the (plastic) litter all by itself. Great, huh?! Awesome. Except that our neurotic, mentally disabled cat Jupiter flatly refuses to use it. Instead, he has taken to peeing all over my kitchen floor and wall every single night.

Pee problem #2:
My 5 year-old has recently decided that whatever she is doing (whether it be watching Spongebob or pulling the legs off an unsuspecting bug) is far more important than any pesky urge to go to the potty. This, of course, leads to so-called 'accidents' that necessitate my attention.

Pee problem #3:
I have a recently potty-trained 3 year-old who thinks it is super cool to do whatever her big sister does.

So you see, I am sick of it. My house smells like pee, the laundry basket is always full, and it seems that lately we are keeping the good folks that make Nature's Miracle in business.

I am about to start issuing threats with regards to the pee-situation around here. In fact, truth be known, I already have. My kids LOVE going to school, so I thought that by telling one of them (whose identity shall remain a mystery to protect the innocent) that if she continued to pee-pee in her pants, she wouldn't be able to return to school.

Well, that backfired good and proper. Her answer to my threat?
"Tha's OK. I don't fink I wike Mrs. X (her teacher) anyway - she wooks wike a goat."

FABULOUS.

Help.

Looks like the Jr. PGA is a pipe dream...

2009-08-10T13:47:00.005-04:00

Saturday was interesting.
Yes, interesting indeed....

Someone *cough*P*cough* decided that it might be fun to play mini-golf together as a family at one of those big Fun Centers. You know the place - they are all essentially the same.

Mini golf course peppered with algae infested 'rivers' and fountains? Check.
Money-sucking, ticket-stingy games? Check.
A few rides (aka: death traps) out back mostly hidden by weeds? Check.
Crappy pizza that costs nearly the same as a gourmet meal? Check.

The stuff dreams are made of, no?

Don't get me wrong... I actually enjoy a good game of mini-golf, it can be quite fun. But this was one situation that simply was NOT going to work out well, a point that I tried to stress as much as possible before capitulating and setting off for a 'fun' afternoon. You see, there were numerous factors working against us that prompted me to energetically campaign against this particular plan.

We had:
** A 3 year old and a 5 year old, both with NO concept of why one would want to hit a tiny ball into a hole for fun.

** A 3 year old who behaves like the spawn of Satan himself when she is hungry or it gets too close to her naptime. (She eats at 11, sleeps at 1pm. We left the house at 10:30 with no plans to eat until after a rousing game of putt-putt).

** A 5 year-old obsessed with putting tokens in money slots with little concept of the purpose of 95% of the games she is feeding.

** A barely toilet-trained 3 year-old who insists on wearing panties everywhere.

** 95 degree heat.

To say it went poorly would be an understatement. Lets just say that we left the 'Fun Center' after roughly 45 minutes in which time we had been relieved of at least $40, played exactly three holes of mini-golf, listened to relentless complaining about the heat, lost a three year-old, had a potty 'accident', and had a handful of tickets that purchased 4 complete pieces of junk (2 of which were broken by the end of the day). Then we had to listen to whining, fighting, and complaining all the way to the German restaurant where we lunched (that's not to say it stopped when we got there. Ohhhh no).

Sounds fun, no?

Moral of the story? Anyone?
LISTEN TO YOUR WIFE.

The End.

You said WHAT?!

2009-07-30T19:59:00.003-04:00

There are certain conversations that everyone dreads having with their kids.
You know the ones I am referring to, don't make me list them.

I assumed I had a few years yet, but every now and then I am hit with a doozy out of left-field. Like earlier this week....

"Mommy, what's THAT?"

The 'that' in question? A tampon.
Greaaaat. Try explaining tampons to a three year-old!
I was caught like a deer in the headlights, with absolutely no idea what to tell her, frankly. And apparently, that shows.

THIS was the conversation I heard later in the day:

E: "I got some [pretend] food for you, sissy!"
A: "I don't want it!"
E: "C'mon sissy, it's good!"
A: "NO."
E: "Sisssssyyy... I got some yummy tampon food for you!"

EPIC FAIL.
There goes my Mother of the Year trophy. Oy.

Shameless Plug

2009-07-22T14:46:00.002-04:00

This is simply a shameless plug for my family history blog (linked at right). If any family members are reading and you haven't visited, do! I'm adding interesting information regularly now, and you may see something cool!

Of course, non-family are welcome as well, but you probably won't find it nearly as interesting. LOL

The Wedding

2009-07-06T13:53:00.002-04:00

So, we spent the 4th of July in Wilmington this year.

Sounds great, doesn't it? I remember previous Independence Day celebrations on the beach... lounging on beach chairs by the ocean at night, red Solo cups (full of delicious adult beverages) in hand waiting for the fireworks to begin. Ah....

This was nothing like that.

This time, we had two preschoolers in tow. Two preschoolers who really like their routine, their beds, their regular 'play and go wild' time. In short, two kids who don't like being cooped up in the car, and take a few days to acclimate to any change in their sleeping accommodations. You can see where this is going, right?

At any rate, the trip can be summed up fairly well in three categories: The good, The Bad, The Ugly, The Funny.

The Good:

I was able to attend the wedding of the lovely Ms. Marcia (now the lovely Mrs. Skinner - sister of one of my best friends). It was beautiful, touching, and I had a great time at the reception. :)

I got to spend time with one of my best friends whom I haven't seen forever! (It was great to see you, Mary Emily!)

I met someone new at the reception whom I really enjoyed talking to, who lives in my area.

I finally (after many, many years) got to meet my sister Kandy on Saturday! We have been in touch for over a year, and it was awesome to see her. :D

The Bad:

The tantrums. Oh holy heaven above, the tantrums....
E was in rare form, and made the rest of us wish we'd never been born - more than once.

I have a paper due tonight. Because of the trip I didn't get to start working on it until - you guessed it - today. Maybe I'll be in luck and my professor will hit the lottery right before class or something....

The Ugly:
The pull-out couch bed. I had to sleep on it one night with a 3 year-old who repeatedly kicked me in the stomach.

The small hotel room. Lack of personal space can make a person feel downright homicidal.

The lack of sleep. Did I mention our kids don't adjust rapidly to change? *yawn*

The Funny:

Thank goodness there was a bit of comic relief here and there to lighten things up.
Anna learns a new word:
A: "Hey, there's Abeck!"
Me: "What, honey? What's Abeck?"
A: "You know, Abeck. The grown-up drink store. We just passed one."
Me: "Huh?"
A: *exasperated sigh* "YOU KNOW, Mommy. Abeck. A-B-C... that spells Abeck. The grown-up drink store."

But anyway...
So, while it was no walk in the park, the weekend definitely had it's moments! :D

A Little Of This, A Little Of That...

2009-07-02T15:44:00.003-04:00

Random thought #1:

Today has been interesting, for lack of a better word. Earlier, while shopping with the girls I thought to myself "Maybe I should look for work doing voiceover ads." Because I am very good at repeating the same tired lines over and over again until I am hoarse in the attempt to achieve just the right pitch and tone...

"Keep your hands to YOURSELF."
"Keep your HANDS to yourSELF."
"KEEP YOUR HANDS TO YOUR.SELF."

Random thought #2:

I have this 'thing' with anniversaries. I remember the anniversary of just about everything (everything significant to me, that is). Today is a personal anniversary. (And no, I won't be sharing what happened on this date. I'll keep it to myself and let you guess. :D)

Random thought #3:

Sometimes being a grown-up sucks.
It would be really nice to be able to hole up every now and then and wallow in self-pity when I have a bad day. (Ah, who am I kidding? I'd settle for peeing in private most days.)

Random thought #4:

The most grueling and dreaded part of domesticity is the knowledge that every.single.day you have to come up with an answer to the unspoken question that plagues you as soon as your feet hit the floor in the morning.... What's for dinner?

It's been one of those days. You know the ones - those that by the end have you convinced you need therapy. Well, therapy is expensive and impractical right now, so this will have to serve as a temporary measure to decompress. (And no, this does not mean you are now my therapist. I better not be receiving a bill for $100 for this 'session'.)

Am I Living It Right?

2009-07-02T10:42:00.003-04:00

** These are not my words. I owe this post to the talented John Mayer. This song has been running through my head for days, though, so I felt like sharing. :)

Why Georgia

I am driving up 85 in the
Kind of morning that lasts all afternoon
just stuck inside the gloom
4 more exits to my apartment but
I am tempted to keep the car in drive
And leave it all behind

Cause I wonder sometimes
About the outcome
Of a still verdictless life

Am I living it right?
Am I living it right?
Am I living it right?
Why Georgia, why?

I rent a room and I fill the spaces with
Wood in places to make it feel like home
But all I feel's alone
It might be a quarter life crisis
Or just the stirring in my soul

Either way I wonder sometimes
About the outcome
Of a still verdictless life

Am I living it right?
Am I living it right?
Am I living it right?
Why Georgia, why?

So what, so I've got a smile on
But it's hiding the quiet superstitions in my head
Don't believe me
When I say I've got it down

Everybody is just a stranger but
That's the danger in going my own way
I guess it's the price I have to pay
Still "everything happens for a reason"
Is no reason not to ask myself

If I am living it right
Am I living it right?
Am I living it right?
Why Georgia, why?

It's All Relative

2009-06-29T09:15:00.002-04:00

I've never been big on history.
It's just the way it is - I was never able to relate to history, it always seemed like something so far removed from me that I just couldn't muster up much interest.

That has changed since I've been researching my family history.
I never knew before that I was a 'part' of some of the great moments of American and English history until fairly recently....

Through my ancestors I have been a part of The Revolutionary War, The War of 1812, The Civil War, and World War II. Not to mention running a grist mill, farming cotton, riding west in a covered wagon, founding a church, practicing the great art of undertaking, being a postmaster, and serving as a Yeoman guard for Queen Charlotte.

Whew!

It is truly mind-boggling and impressive to think of the lives my ancestors lived - to begin to put their stories together, and see the puzzle pieces of their lives form a snapshot in time.

It's all relative - my ancestors have made history real to me. And I hope that by knowing the tidbits and stories that I've put together, history will always be 'real' to my children.

Thank you, my trailblazing ancestors. You are (even hundreds of years after your time) an inspiration.

The Truth Doesn't Always Set You Free....

2009-05-11T13:20:00.003-04:00

Some days my kids can be really cute - they'll say the funniest things that will make me giggle to myself all day, and eagerly re-tell the story.

Today is not one of those days.

We've all heard the stories about embarrassing things that young children say and do... remarking on strangers' hair, face, skin color, odor, etc. But my eldest is nearly five, and frankly, I thought I'd managed to dodge that bullet. Yes indeed, I was feeling a little smug.

Well, today I learned that if you dare to be smug, it will bite you in the ass. And it bit me - hard - when my five year-old pointed at a man and announced loudly (in a PACKED Wendy's) "MOM! Look at that FATTT man!"

I considered what to do for a moment and (after ruling out pretending not to speak English) sheepishly apologized and informed Little Miss Mouthy that it is not nice to make such comments.

Where is that trap door (ala Scooby Doo) when you need it? Because seriously, I just wanted to disappear. I think my face is still a rather unflattering shade of crimson.

Moral of the story? Don't think it (whatever 'it' is) won't happen to you. It will. Oh, it will....

Who, Me?!

2009-04-27T20:14:00.002-04:00

My Mom always said "When kids are too quiet, you know they are up to no good". Truer words have never been spoken....

Today I attempted to work in my (newly made/planted) garden while the beasts (sorry, kids...) ran around in the yard yelling and randomly hurling things at each other. Of course it took all of ten seconds for them to realize that I was trying to be productive and they immediately set out to thwart my efforts.

You know how it is - the minute they get the slightest inkling that you're busy, they are on you like white on rice.

"I want to HEEELLLP!"
Right....

So I'm working, trying to set the garden up, get things planted... and the rugrats are "helping" me. (If one considers flinging dirt, dumping buckets of water on the soil you are working with, and nibbling on the cilantro "helping", that is.)

At some point I realize that I can hear a bird chirping....
This is not good - it is too quiet in the yard if I can manage to hear a bird over the cacophony.

Uh oh. Where's Ella?
I don't see her anywhere.... So like a good *ahem*redneck*ahem* Mother, I yell "Ella, what are you DOING?"

I know I'm in trouble when I hear a semi-suspicious 2 year-old sing-song voice answer back:
"No. NUFFING!" "NUFFING!"

Right.
And I'm a size 3... something is definitely up.

Said two year-old was discovered with a spray bottle in her possession leaning over an anthill. Future exterminator, or future serial killer? Stay tuned folks....

Who Needs Sleep?!

2009-03-18T15:46:00.002-04:00

My kid is sick.
Yes, again.

I swear, it seems as though she's been sick non-stop for weeks - I'm (literally) cleaning up puke in my sleep. I have to, otherwise I get no sleep. Talk about multi-tasking!

At any rate, I feel like a bug trapped under a jar.
She can't go to school, I can't take her anywhere... I have a serious case of cabin fever that is being made progressively worse by the fact that the weather has decided to get beautiful again just in time for The Sickies, round 2.

*sigh*

And for two days now I've thought she was getting better... at least feeling good enough to go outside and play! And for two days in a row, a half hour before E woke up from her nap - puke city. No going outside, because she's shaking, hacking, and generally being miserable. It's a huge bummer, because I love outside time - especially in this weather. It's my favorite part of the day!

I'm sitting here feeling trapped in the house and wondering if I'll ever sleep again... did I have a baby and someone forgot to clue me in?! Because, seriously... I was told that this would be over and done by now.

I was grievously misled, and demand a retraction!

Even When You're Old, You'll Still Be Little

2009-02-19T08:28:00.007-05:00

You blink and suddenly your 'little' brother is turning 30.
THIRTY.

How did this happen?
I swear to God, just yesterday we were swatting at each other in the backseat of Mom's car. And now? In just two short days we will both be in our 30's....

Frankly I think him turning 30 is hitting me harder than my own 'big' birthday did! Because this is it - he's the 'last man standing', and very shortly we'll all be over that hump and speeding downhill into middle-age and beyond.

If you are reading this Chris, sorry if I bring you down, man.

It's hard to believe we spent all those years fighting and taking our youth for granted... it went by in an instant.

And now we are grown-ups.
Everyone raise your glasses of prune juice and Geritol to my brother Chris. Happy Birthday, baby of the family. Welcome to the dark side.

I Blame Facebook

2009-02-18T23:06:00.002-05:00

That's right - you heard me.
Blame it on Facebook.

I haven't been here in ages because I find myself thinking 'Eh. If it can't fit in a Facebook status update, who needs it?!'

Methinks I have a little problem.

Staying up all hours of the night, checking in for my fix every 20-30 minutes.... I've even found myself thinking that surely I no longer need my phone. I mean really - isn't that what wall posts are for?

Even my iPod is in cahoots with The Facebook to bring me down. Damned iPod touch... the WiFi connections are everywhere to feed my addiction.

But hey, I'm doing good deeds, being a supportive friend, being exposed to new music, new ideas and a crapload of funny stuff, so it can't be all bad. I've already saved a bajillion feet of rainforest, signed numerous official-looking petitions, and had a part in effectively bullying (or bugging the shit out of) Stephenie Meyer already this year - and it's only February!

Not to mention that I greedily lap up the random details of my friends' lives via posted notes. 25 things, 44 things, music, books, etc... I know it all! I could claim information gathering as my motivation, but lets face it - I cannot resist boring all my friends, acquaintances, and fellow Jr. High survivors with the inane details of my life in return. And I LIKE IT.

So, please - If I stop bathing or refuse to acknowledge you unless you first send me a Facebook IM or write on my wall, promise me you'll do me a favor....

Turn me once in a while so I don't get bedsores, mmmkay?

Say Cheese!

2009-01-15T19:05:00.004-05:00

Cheese must be a miracle food.

I mean, OK... obviously I already know that it is manna from heaven in the sense that it is absolutely divinely delicious, but I think it must have some seriously miraculous qualities.

How else would you explain how a four year-old and two year-old manage to grow and thrive while eating only a few handfuls of this substance each week?

My kids love cheese.
LOVE. IT.

Sometimes, it is quite literally all they will eat. They won't even accept clever attempts to hide or 'dress up' the cheese. Quesadillas? Yeah, right, buddy. The cheese gets peeled off and the tortilla hits the floor.

But you know, I'm a grown-up. And grown-ups just never learn. We always seem to think we can sneak something past the little demons. Does it work? Well... you be the judge.

Me: "E, look, quesadilla! Yum! Eat it."
E: (insert skeptical look) "OK."
*E peels the tortilla off her beloved cheese, takes a bite, then spits it out on the table*
Me: "E, what's wrong?"
*E dissects the cheese, and pulls out a lump. It's chicken. I've tried to put one over on her again.*
E: "What is VIS in my CHEESIE?"
Me: "Chicken."
E: "I don't WIKE it! No chicken in my CHEESIE!"

Alrighty then.
Don't mess with the two year-old's cheesie, or somebody gets hurt.

All hail cheese.
Thank God for this miraculous, wonderful food... without it my children would starve and I would be another CPS casualty.

(Of course, I would also be far skinnier and have lower cholesterol. But whatever. I pretty much sacrificed my figure the moment the stick turned pink anyway. So oh well... Viva queso!)

Taste The Rainbow

2008-12-28T08:54:00.004-05:00

I love the movie Juno.

I like it so much, in fact, that I find myself randomly using words/phrases from the movie.
"You're the cheese to my macaroni."
"Thundercats are gooooo!"

And then of course, there's my personal favorite:
"That's one doodle that can't be un-did, homeskittle."

It seems I use the word 'homeskittle' a lot - especially when driving, as an alternative to my favorite *ahem* more colorful expletives.

Hey, there are some things I just don't want my kids saying at school. Especially a Christian preschool.

A few nights ago we took the kidlets to see the Christmas lights at McAdenville (locals will know what I'm talking about). Of course we were in gridlock traffic, so we had all the windows (and moon roof) open so the kids could hear the music.

Bad idea.

It seems a rather sizable recreational vehicle was blocking my four year-old's view of a particular display. I became aware of this when I hear an indignant voice from the backseat yelling "Out of the way, homeskittle! You're blocking my view!" "Go. Move, homeskittle!"

Bear in mind that our windows were wide open, as were the windows of virtually everyone else driving through.

Man, are kids a loud, unabashed mirror view of your actions or what?!

I might have been mortified if I hadn't been too busy trying to regain composure after my mostly silent fit of laughter.

Amendment:
I feel compelled to amend this wonderful, insightful piece of literary genius upon the realization that I'm kind of a dipshit. Apparently the line from Juno goes "This is one doodle that can't be un-did, homeskillet." That is all.
I won't change the story because, well... I like my way better. :D

How To See The Continental US (In Just 10 short days!)

2008-12-15T20:44:00.003-05:00

You too can have a trip around the Continental US for the price of one plane ticket! This is not a joke, nor is it a scam. With just two easy steps, you too can set foot in up to FIVE US states per day!

Sounds pretty cool, right? In fact, you might be wondering just how one might accomplish this.

It is very simple. Fly Continental Airlines... and have a layover in Newark, New Jersey.

Done! Ten days later, you've seen every state possible.

I was taken on this little trip against my will, and escaped after being held hostage for one day. In that one day I visited (and I use that term loosely) Nebraska, Iowa, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and finally back home to North Carolina. Yes folks - 5 states in 12 hours.

The trip from NC to Nebraska (and vice versa) is roughly 3 hours long when traveling with no layovers. Unfortunately, Charlotte doesn't fly directly into Omaha, which is where the fun comes in.

All was going well until our pilot suddenly informed us (after boarding and being seated) that we would be sitting on the plane for over an hour, because Newark had a ground stop in effect, and we wouldn't be able to land when we got there. OOOKK.

Eventually we take off, and all is good. Until our plane was denied landing privileges upon arrival. Supposedly a 30 minute ground stop. Nice. The pilot gets on the intercom and says "Oh hey guys... we have a thirty minute ground stop, but don't worry. We've got enough fuel for 30 minutes, we're just going to circle around." The 30 minutes come and go... pilot says "Oops! Been extended another 15 minutes." (Note that he previously told us we had just enough fuel for 30 minutes.) Finally the pilot says "Bad news. (just what you want to hear when you are many thousands of feet above the ground) The ground stop is still active - we are flying into Allentown, PA so that we don't run out of fuel. We'll keep you posted."

I feel I should mention now that I was flying with my brother.
My brother who is scared shitless of flying.
I look over and he's got his eyes squeezed shut, trying to stave off a panic attack.
Greeeeaaaat.

Anyway, we get fuel in PA, and eventually land in Satan's lair (aka: the Newark New Jersey airport). Unfortunately, we had already missed our connecting flight (obviously!).

No big deal right? Just get the next flight out.
Wrong.

The next two flights on Continental into Charlotte were booked solid. We just missed the one on USAir. Fab. So the ticket agent says "We can put you on standby tomorrow, but I can't guarantee anything."

W.T.F.

OK, if we were some scatterbrained, lazy-ass people who missed our flight because we were screwing around, that's one thing. But it was THEIR FAULT, and oh well... we don't know when we can get you out of here. I don't think so.

Finally we finagle a flight into Greensboro (1.5 hours from our destination) and have to have friends pick us up at 11:30 pm). And what did we get for our trouble? Two $12 'meal vouchers'. Meal vouchers my ass. That $12 paid for one (nasty) ham & swiss on rye, one soda, and one banana. Woo hoo! That more than makes up for having more than FIVE hours added to our total trip time!

Needless to say, I'm not sure who I am most pissed at - Continental Airlines, or Newark, NJ as a whole.

I'll let ya know.

I Had A Dream...

2008-11-11T09:17:00.005-05:00

Yeah. Not that kind of dream.

No, lets just say that my dream was a bit more on the *ahem* interesting side. In fact, (to be honest) I'm a little scarred. *sniff*

Given my obvious state of mental anguish, of course I had to unload my burden on my dear, long-suffering husband this morning. (Yeah, because hearing about your wife's perverted dreams is a HUGE hardship, donchaknow?) Well, it was all good until a little person with a rather BIG set of ears walked in, mid-tale.

See, I have these two friends... lets call them Smeather and Smatty. Well, Smeather and Smatty starred in my dream last night... and while the dream wasn't particularly explicit, and *I* wasn't involved, it was odd enough that I had to get it off my chest (in as vague a way as possible, what with kids being around and all. The full-on descriptives would have to wait).

So as I said, Miss HearAPinDropInAlaska walks in and promptly picks up on a name she knows and asks a very thought-provoking question:

"What DID Ms. Smatty do with Ms. Smeather's clothes, Mommy?"

That's right, I was busted.

As I tried to formulate an appropriate, PC answer, I swear I hear a muffled snicker from across the room.

You wait buddy. Your day is coming.

Al Rescate, You Blockhead!

2008-11-10T09:40:00.010-05:00

I fancy myself a pretty decent parent.

Hey, shut up. I do the 'good parent stuff', and sometimes I even pretend to be excited about it.

You know the drill - limit exposure to trashy TV, violent cartoons, Eminem, play Candy Land, and try to tone down the more 'colorful' words you used to favor. That sort of thing.

But after four years of watching PC kids' shows, I have something to say:

[GRUMBLE]
Kid's TV nowadays is pure crap. Crap, I tell ya!

Whatever happened to anvils and long walks off a short cliff?
Where's the potty humor and gratuitous violence?

This world has gone to hell in a handbasket!
[/GRUMBLE]

Well, I'm done with all the hooey on Nickelodeon these days. Whatever happened to really GOOD shows like You Can't Do That On Television? Now that was a quality kid's show.

It was after that revelation (and the conviction that the likes of Dora, The Backyardigans, and The Wonderpets will be the downfall of Western civilization) that I decided it was time my kids became intimately acquainted with some of the favorites from my childhood.

A parental sanity-saving move, if you will.

Because I was in good-parent mode at the time, I did not choose anything that might put me out of the running for Parent Of The Year, such as Road-Runner cartoons, old-school Scooby Doo, or Ren and Stimpy.
That would be bad, doncha know?

No, instead I opted for a classic, wholesome collection of holiday movies, and unearthed my Charlie Brown DVDs. (All the while feeling smug and confident that not only would I not have to hear "Vamanos! Al rescate!" anymore, but that I would (like a 'good' Mother) be reviving a great Holiday tradition from my generation.)

"You BLOCKHEAD. I am NEVER going back to school!"

Yeah. After a few days of Charlie Brown movies, my 4 year-old hit me with that gem (picked up from A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving and You're Not Elected, Charlie Brown respectively).

Perhaps I'll leave the 'quality programming' to the fine folks at Nickelodeon after all. Anyone know if Double Dare or Clarissa Explains It All still comes on?

Because that? That would be sweet.

The Walk Of Shame

2008-11-05T19:26:00.004-05:00

I recently became re-acquainted with an old friend... a friend I haven't visited in some time, and can't really say that I've missed.

The walk of shame.

Go on, I'll take a quick break for you all to pull your minds out of the gutter. Given that we're not in college anymore it's a pretty safe bet that 'The Walk Of Shame' has taken on a slightly different meaning than what some of us *cough*whores*cough* might be used to.

Yes, these days that humbling walk has a lot less to do with beer goggles, and a lot more to do with all those missing brain cells we wantonly disposed of in our University years.
Well, most of the time anyway....

So anyway, yeah.
The Walk Of Shame is still mortifying, but pretty freaking lame these days if you ask me.

Nowadays I find myself slinking miserably down the aisles of my kid's preschool upon discovering that:

a) I've forgotten my youngest child's snack two days in a row.
b) It's picture day and my oldest is dressed inappropriately.
c) Due to a 'clerical error' (totally not my fault!) I don't have the snack I was supposed to bring for 15 kids.
d) All of the above.

You can guess the answer to that one.
Yeah, all in the same day. Go me!

You know you have lost your last sliver of coolness when this mortifies you more than the time you drunkenly extolled the virtues of vibrators at your Husband's work Christmas party.

The shame was so great that I almost expected to hear someone say "Hey, didn't I see you walking through the quad at about 2am? And weren't you wearing that yesterday?!"

Hey. There's something to be said for a healthy dose of paranoia after all...

All The Little Ants Are Marching...

2008-10-29T20:06:00.006-04:00

So, my sister thought it might be a good idea to get an ant farm for my oldest daughter on her birthday.

Yeah. I know what you are thinking.
HOW could I not have known? What the hell was I thinking? I mean, really... my kids can make a weapon out of a marshmallow, and could sustain head injuries in a rubber room.

But me being the educational toy favoring, biology geek, love-of-learning fostering (*cough*delusional*cough*) parent that I am, I thought this to be a tremendous idea. Score one for sis!

Well... that was until I found out that you have to mail off for the ants. And that they will only ship said ants between approximately 60 and 68 degrees... temperatures we have roughly 2-3 weeks out of the year. So we waited. Then we waited some more. Ho hum.

Finally! 2 months later our ants arrive.

2 hours later, several are dead. Whether this was due to travel shock and upheaval or toddler shaking, we may never know.

We had fun for a few days watching the ants systematically move their (ever increasing) dead into one corner of the farm. Good times! (Especially when said older daughter asks repeatedly "Mommy, what's wrong with those ants?" "Mommy, how come that ant doesn't have a head?")

Then the real fun happened....

A few fateful days later I was minding my own business, cooking a healthful, nutritious meal (all right, all right, shut up) for my lovely family when I was treated to two tandem blood-curdling screams. It seems my younger daughter had the ant farm in her possession... not only that, but she had somehow managed to free the ants from their green-gel prison.

And how did the ants react to their freedom? How did they repay their liberator, you might wonder? Well, they bit her, that's how. Ungrateful little bastards.

Upon discovering this lovely scene, instinct kicked in. That's right - I started stomping on the black buggers.
Hey - it's just what you do. It's practically Pavlovian... see ants = stomp. Personally, I felt that my plan was a pretty good one at the moment. That is, until my husband rushes in with a pair of tweezers shouting "WHAT ARE YOU DOING? STOP! I CAN SAVE THEM!"

True to his word, he managed to get half of them back into captivity, along with what turned out to be a rogue ant.

After all that drama, the rogue ant killed the rest of the colony. Today he still lives, like a big black king among the dead and the ruins of what was (for a few days) a bustling ant city.

The moral of the story?
Save your $14.99. Go kick an anthill - you'll get the same results.

The Apple Got a Running Start

2008-10-09T09:10:00.006-04:00

I grew up socially awkward.

I know, I know... you can't believe it, right?! The chick hiding behind the blog was socially awkward once upon a time - what a concept!

Given that, obviously my big fear was that I would spawn a couple of tiny anti-social creatures. That upon greeting the world, my children would scream blue murder, kick the doctor, and promptly attempt to return to the womb where nobody could bother them.

Luckily, my nightmare was not realized. The girls cared only about three things: eating, sleeping, and pooping. Life was good.

Then came preschool.

The anxiety, the worry, the twist in my gut. Terrified that somehow both my girls were destined to be socially awkward, and star in a tiny fruit-snack fueled version of "Mean Girls"....

I'm not saying that I'm not still heart-stoppingly terrified of this, but man did yesterday relieve some of my anxiety! I observed my oldest in the mall play area rounding up kids for a game of chase, taking control, greeting new kids, and holding her own with (aka, pinning down) the boys.

There's hope yet!
Apparently my kid is confident, as well as strong. (woo!) I wonder if I could track down my old bullies? I'll sic my kid on their asses.

Apparently every once in a while apples DO fall far from the tree. On this end I hope they've both fallen into a completely different orchard. Hell, maybe they can teach me to come out of my cave more. :D

Through The Looking Glass... Or Something Like That.

2008-09-17T19:46:00.017-04:00

This is why I love having girls - sometimes life takes on a Fairy Tale quality.

Just when you think you know exactly what the cheeky munchkins are up to, they surprise you with a little make-believe magic. You walk in ready to lay the smack down, and you find this:

And this is precisely the scene I happened upon yesterday.

Instead of a preschool reenactment of the Ultimate Fighting Championship, I find something completely unexpected and mind-boggling.
There was a Birthday celebration in progress. (And I was not invited... as is evidenced by the lack of essential party materials. I mean, where's the cheesecake? Where are the 'spirits'? Yeah. I rest my case.)

Just whose birthday was it, you might wonder? (And who could blame you, what with the conspicuous absence of a Birthday hat and all?)
Well, I'm disappointed to report that this is still a mystery.

(Although I suspect that Sammy (grey striped cat) is the lucky recipient of this show of goodwill. I say this because she looks as though she's passed out drunk in the Birthday cake. Now that's a good time.)

Some days I feel like Alice falling down the rabbit hole... everything seems a bit new and bizarre, and what you find when you arrive is surprising and fun. (Well, if I were INVITED, that is. Humph.) There are tea parties, stories, games, illogical questions, and topsy-turvy living in my life - much like Alice's trip through Wonderland.

Wonderland is generally amusing, but if that mean-ass Queen of Hearts shows up here, I will split the scene and leave her to referee my kids for a few days. She could stand to learn a trick or two from the Masters.
Bwaaahahhaaha!

You'll know she's arrived when you hear "OFF WITH THEIR HEADS!" echoing across the country.

Words To Live By...

2008-09-15T19:39:00.006-04:00

I think most of us used to be normal once upon a time, and might have possibly had normal conversations. The memory is dim, but I think I once fit into that category....

Since I became a parent, though, the transcripts of my daily conversations (if you can call them that) read like a Mad Libs page. Honestly. I couldn't come up with more bizarre statements if I tried.

** The potty seat is not a hat!
** We do NOT eat kitty food.
** Mommy's lipstick is not candy!
** We don't put panties on our heads... they are for bums.
** NO! The kitty does NOT want to go on the Sit 'n' Spin!

And of course, there's my personal favorite.
"NO! Put that back right now! We do NOT steal money from the kids with Leukemia!"

Yes, I actually said that.

We were just finishing a leisurely dinner with family at a local Chinese buffet (some of you will know what I'm talking about - the Golden Dragon near Target) when 'the incident' occurred. I looked up and found my little one up on a chair, pilfering a quarter from the Leukemia Foundation Card in the lobby. (You know, the nifty ones where you insert a quarter into the little carved out slots.)

I said the first thing that came out of my mouth... and said it fairly loudly. The busboy was cracking up, my kid was looking shell-shocked, and I just wanted to disappear.

Of course, now the sheer absurdity of my statement amuses me.

Like, OK... steal from the kids with Down Syndrome, steal from the ones with Spina Bifida, who cares? But steal from the kids with Leukemia and you're going DOWN.

Wait.. Which Way to Hair and Make-up?

2008-09-09T12:37:00.007-04:00

Bows, bags, designer clothes, matching ensembles, pristine hair... all were present and accounted for yesterday.

Oh no, not on me.
No, I didn't skip off to Milan for a fashion show either.

You see, yesterday was the first day of preschool for my kids.

The group hanging out by the front doors looked relatively normal from far away... but as we got closer I started noticing things. High-end boutique outfits matched with pricey, dainty shoes, custom hair accessories, and monogrammed everything. And that was just the children.

My kids arrived dressed in stuff from the Gymboree outlet, and Target.

Go me!

I almost felt as though I should apologize to my children for my horrendous misjudgment of the situation. You see, *I* was under the impression that kids played rough, painted, used playdoh and markers, and messed around with glue in preschool.

Today my suspicions were confirmed when upon picking up my oldest daughter, I noticed a large amount of dried glue on her forearm.

So apparently I did not completely misjudge the activities one might expect to occur at a preschool. For a second there I thought I had accidentally enrolled my girls in finishing school, or the Barbizon Modeling school. (I'm still suspicious of the latter, and will be keeping an eye opened for any Jon-Benet Ramsey look-alikes on campus.)

Given that my personal vision of preschool seems to fall into line with the actual curriculum, I am left with the following conclusions from which to choose:

a) These people must have some super-duper secret stain remover in their arsenal, making it feasible to send their kids off to paint/play in the sandbox/make 'art' in designer duds.

b) They are all excellent seamstresses, and can whip up a handmade designer replica in 5 minutes when there's a bit of 'slippage' with the old tempera paint.

c) They can afford to replace designer outfits at a staggering frequency.

d) They have gone clinically insane.

I won't tell you which option I suspect, but I will say this: it rhymes with 'bee'.

If I get my kids' shoe laces or socks monogrammed, somebody call for help. It means they've gotten to me... and I don't want to be taken to their leader.

Irreverence

2008-09-05T13:55:00.003-04:00

The Ten Commandments are pretty nifty, right? I mean, where else is someone going to give you an exact list of Dos and Don'ts by which to live your life?

Oh yeah. Your parents, that's where.

We're given these hedonistic little buggers we refer to as children, and a nifty list of things to program OUT of them. (Oh yes. It is my belief (based on personal experience) that the OPPOSITE of almost all of the Ten Commandments is present from birth.)

You shall have no other gods before me
Unless by 'God' this means fruit snacks or M&Ms (both of which they'll fight to the death for), then we're actually probably good here.

You shall not make for yourself an idol
Barney. Spongebob. The Wiggles. Need I go on? Any parent who has been subjected to a Spongebob marathon, or The Backyardigans Live! will tell you that these pint-sized peeps definitely have idols.

You shall not make wrongful use of the name of your God
Is CAUSING wrongful use of the name of God the same thing? Because if so, guilty as charged! "Oh GOD!" or "Jesus Christ!" (followed by a groan) is a common refrain in this household.

Remember the Sabbath and keep it holy
There is NOTHING holy about getting up at 6am on the Sabbath (or any other day for that matter).

Honor your father and mother
Excuse me while I pick myself up on the floor and attempt to stop laughing. I don't think the words kick, terrorize, and otherwise drive insane were featured in God's definition of 'honor'.

You shall not murder
Uh oh. I knew it was a bad idea to let the little one near those ladybugs. *gulp*

You shall not commit adultery
Dear God, I hope this one doesn't come up anytime soon, or else I'm really screwed.

You shall not steal
Riiiight. See 'She's a Rogue' for more information on this lovely commandment, and how certain folks snub it.

You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor
Puh-lease. "It was SISSY!" (when she's napping) "Dad said YES!" (when he's in the shower)... you get where I'm going with this.

You shall not covet your neighbor's house
If playhouses count, we've got that covered.

You shall not covet your neighbor's wife
I don't know many 2-4 year-olds that have wives (at least not of the living/breathing variety), but if they did I assure you, it'd be an issue.

Given that most of these are offended against at least once a day by one (or more) of my children, it's safe to say that this is going to be a looong road.

Christ. (Gah, now I've done it - and I can't even blame the kids) I hope their 'issues' don't count against my eternal rewards. If they do, when you add in my own contributions, I'm screwed.

I guess I'll have to live in the afterlife's ghetto... down where the roads degrade into brass.

Frijoles Estúpidos

2008-09-02T20:33:00.002-04:00

Mexican Jumping Beans.
I think they must be a rite of passage of sorts. I mean, who among us has not owned and marveled at the little plastic box of inexplicably hopping bean fragments?

I had them as a child. I lost them as a child.

Logic dictates then that I should have seen what was coming when my brother handed Anna her very first tiny plastic box of Mexican Jumping Beans. Of course, she was immediately madly in love with the little mysterious critters, and insisted on taking them everywhere with her.

Therein lies our problem.

Apparently Mexican Jumping Beans are great cuddly bedtime companions too, did you know? Yeah. Me either. But apparently somewhere in the mind of a four year-old they are the ultimate in bedtime companions.

(I just hope I can convince her of this when she's a teenager. Who needs boys!?)

And... who needs sleep?
Apparently not me. Said four year-old thought nothing of waking me at 4am screaming "MINE BEANS! MINE JUMPING BEANS ARE LOST, MOMMY!"

*Groan*

Luckily the little buggers are rather loud and obnoxious for such little beasts. *Click Click Click Click*

Thankfully they were only under her pillow. With my two year-old's habit of ingesting virtually anything in her path, it's a wonder she's not *Clicking* as we speak.

Lullaby and Goodnight...

2008-08-28T06:57:00.003-04:00

"It's the middle of the dark!"

Yes, you cheeky monkey. Yes it is.
So tell me... why in the holy hell are you awake? It's 5 *freaking* 30 in the morning!

5:30 am is not my best time of day by far.
I like sleeping. If I had my way alarm clocks would be banned, and there would be a mandatory naptime from 12-2 every day. Given this irrefutable fact, of course it stands to reason that I would birth an early riser.

Go me!

*YAWN*
It's gonna be a loooong 18 years.

At Least I Look Good In Brown

2008-08-25T13:07:00.006-04:00

I should have seen it coming.
After all, there were signs.

The African Violet that shriveled up and died after a week on my windowsill as a child.
The calla lilies that survived only a few months in my home.
The lavender plants and canna lilies that failed to thrive.
My husband's plant that he'd had since puberty (that incidentally hung in for a record 7 years with me) finally capitulating, succumbing to a grim fate as compost.

And the biggest sign of all - the fact that (despite a valiant effort) I just could not hack Botany class in college.
Could. Not. Do it.

I am lacking any real understanding of why I imagined this little scenario (one involving more blind hope than skill) playing out any differently. Although most people that know me wouldn't exactly peg me as an optimist, I must be to have imagined a lush thriving plant dripping with juicy tomatoes. (Well, that, or maybe I'm just really dense.)

Alas, as any logical person would suspect, my track record remains unblemished. I officially have a brown thumb. Lest you doubt me, I present to you my latest attempt at nurturing a small part of nature's bounty:

You will note that one stoic little tomato has held on tenuously, even as the stem of the plant withers away and bugs gnaw at its flesh. Now that's dedication.

Transitions

2008-08-24T07:42:00.002-04:00

"To live is so startling it leaves little time for anything else."
~ Emily Dickinson

That's one of my favorite quotes, you know. It's currently my email signature, because it reflects my own thoughts on life so completely.

Living is so startling - so fraught with changes, transitions, experiences, that an introspective and self-examining person has little time for be anything else. Just living is all-consuming.

This is my curse.
I categorize, I examine, and define life by transitions.

I imagine that others do it too... at least some, anyway.
If I stop to think about it, I realize that most people can (pretty much immediately) rattle off events that categorize their lives. Things such as:

When you truly felt autonomous - like you had a life outside your family. (1995-1996. Yeah. I was a late bloomer.)

When you had your heart crushed so fully you thought you would never recover. (1989, when I lost my brother Tony.)

Your first experience with non-familial love. (See #1)

The 'College Years' or experimental years. (1998-2001) Fun times... what I can remember of them anyway. :D

Your first experience living away from home. (1998-1999)

When you first feel like a 'real' grown-up. (2000)

Marriage. (2001)

When it hits you that you really *are* a parent. (2004)

I must admit though, after that things start to get a bit fuzzy and blended together. Kids have a tendency to stop you in your tracks, to make you so consumed with them that your own life takes a back seat. At least it does with Mothers. I wouldn't know about Fathers, given that I'm missing one key part preventing me from ever experiencing that side of things. (tee hee)

I mean, obviously there have been transitions since I became a Mother, but I can't really think of them right now. (Sleep deprivation tends to do that to a person.) It's as though parents define their lives in two large parts: Before Kids and After Kids.

So OK... I suppose I'm right on track after all, huh?
Because those are definitely the BIG categories everything gets put into.... And yes, sometimes I mourn the part of life I've left behind... but I have so much to look forward to. This time, like all others, is fleeting. I can't wait to see what lies ahead. :)

Google Image Game

2008-08-22T20:17:00.003-04:00

So, I'm bored and killing time and I'm going to make you all suffer with me. Ya know those chain emails and 'games' that are supposed to be fun, but are really just an excuse to be completely self-absorbed and talk about yourself incessantly without really talking? Well, I like those. I was bored, I saw one, and so here you have it.

(OK, so I left out a couple of things that either weren't relevant, or that I didn't want to include. I have faith that my millions of readers will eventually get over this.)

Here's how it works:
For each thing listed below, type YOUR answer into Google image search, then choose your favorite image from the first three pages. Don't worry if the image is not really what you meant in your answer. The stranger the better!

First name:
(Let me preface this by saying that all the Google Image results for 'Jennifer' were either skeevy, or downright weird. I eventually chose this one because I like John Mayer. And yes - Jennifer Aniston's headlights are totally on.)

Middle name:
(Not weird, but pretty.)

Last name:

Age:

Place you'd like to visit:

Favorite place to be:

Your college degree:
(How many Psychologists does it take to change a light bulb?)

Grandmother's name:

Where you grew up:

Name of childhood pet:

Your first job:
(Yes, that's right folks. It's not just a hokey movie title - Winn Dixie was a way of life for those of us in the South. At least half of everyone I knew growing up had their first job there.)

Favorite food:

Favorite color:

What you are doing right now:
(OK, so I was just playing Wordscraper on Facebook. You got me.)

One of your bad habits:

A Good Day For Duct Tape...

2008-08-20T13:30:00.005-04:00

One down, one to go. (Preschool home-visits, that is.)

Ella's home visit was today, so I got to play hostess to the two lovely women who will be corralling my unruly 2 year-old two days a week for the next (blissful) 9 months.

Our visit with these lovely ladies was... well, interesting to say the least.

Every two minutes I wanted to apologize and swear on a stack of bibles that I don't have the most horrendously misbehaved children on the planet and that sometimes they can be downright enjoyable!
I fought back the urge, though, due to the likelihood of my protestations being met with hysterical laughter.

They were so freaking wild.
In fact, to say that is actually an insult to wild animals.

The teachers probably went straight home for a few hundred Hail Marys (or whatever the Presbyterian equivalent is) and a double shot of vodka.

Thankfully, though, Grammy (aka: Mom) was around to help. She offered her services again to me as she was leaving - for another time. My reply? "That's nice, thank you. But what I could really dig is a Valium. I don't suppose you have any hard drugs upon your person?"

Eh, well. Wine will just have to do.

She's A Rogue...

2008-08-14T12:24:00.004-04:00

My child is an outlaw.
A criminal.
A petty thief.

That's right folks. At the ripe old age of four, my child has committed her first misdemeanor. (I'm so proud. *sniff*)

Just yesterday we were driving away from the Evil Empire (aka: Wal Mart) having had an uncharacteristically lovely shopping trip, when I spotted the contraband upon her person. It took a moment for the reality of what I was seeing to hit me - my daughter was happily clutching a tacky, hideous postcard extolling the virtues of our great state. A postcard that I did not shell out any cash to procure. And given that the four year-old in question is broke as a joke (and doesn't know how to use the self-scanner register), I can only assume that she shoplifted it.

Of course, like any good Mother I gave a 'talk' about why stealing tacky postcards is wrong, and why we don't do such things.

I mean, damn. If you're going to steal, get something nice and shiny for Mama. :D We're going to have to work on the poor child's taste if she ever hopes to make a lucrative career of this - after all, I hope to have her hotwiring Beemers before her sixth birthday. We're off to an abysmal start, methinks.

The contraband - Exhibit A: (Details of tacky postcard changed to protect the innocent (and not-so-innocent)).

Love Hurts, Love Scars, Love Wounds, and Marks....

2008-07-26T19:18:00.003-04:00

Remember when the productivity and/or difficulty of your day was once measured with raises, pink slips, and late nights? (Oh yeah - some of you are still there.)

Oh, I remember. *wistful sigh*

When you become a parent, (especially if you are the SAHP) your day is measured in an entirely different way. At the end of the day you take stock of your maladies to determine whether one glass of wine will do, or if you'll need the whole bottle.

For instance, tonight:

Whining leading to massive headache? Check.
Yelling (me) leading to sore throat? Check.
Chasing mischievous two-year old, leading to exhaustion? Check.
Rotten, trouble-making children leading to discovery of actual GRAY hair? Check.

** I think I deserve bonus points for the bruised shin I suffered earlier. Sure, it wasn't out of malice, but rather the casualty of some good-natured roughousing... but still.

Anyway. Obviously today was an interesting day (there are several other words I could insert there that would be more accurate, but they're a bit 'colorful', so we'll let interesting stand, mmmkay?)

And really, the details aren't important.
What's important is the message: Parenthood is not for the weak.

If you faint at the sight of blood, or tear up over a splinter, head down to CVS right now. You'll be wanting to spend a lot of time perusing the 'Family Planning' aisle.

Like Pavlov's Dogs...

2008-06-21T08:44:00.002-04:00

Kids are so trainable.

No no no... stop laughing. It's true, I swear.
There's just one slight problem - they never 'train' in quite the right way.
They generally 'train' in a way that will
a) embarrass you
b) mortify you
c) crack you up.

You all know what I'm talking about.
They are like Pavlov's dogs... only in a perverse backwards way, specifically designed for maximum humorous/embarrassing impact.

Case in point:
Several weeks ago, we had to have some electrical work done.
At 9am, the doorbell rings, and my oldest daughter (just shy of 4 years old) rushes to answer the door. I round the corner just in time to hear her say to the electrician "Hey, man! You got a pizza for us?"

Yeah. She did.
I think we eat too much takeout. Just a hunch.

Like a cuter version of Pavlov's dogs, she assumes that any time the doorbell rings and there's a stranger on the doorstep, they will have pizza for us.

All that was missing was a collar and a string of saliva grazing the floor.

Can You Smell That Smell? The Smell That Surrounds You....

2008-06-01T19:58:00.002-04:00

Sometimes having an (almost) two year-old can be a mortifying experience. (Can something be both mortifying and hilarious? Because that is truly how I would describe the following...)

My girls and I were perusing the racks at one of our favorite places to bargain-hunt on Friday... all was well until we decided to hit the Women's Clothing department.
There, as luck would have it, we walked in right as a woman in our path committed a heinous indiscretion.

That's right, she farted. Let one rip.
And not just that, but it was deadly... truly heinous.

And right as we walk into the heinous cloud of stench, my two year-old decides to have a moment of perfect clarity....
She looks directly at the stink-machine in question, grins widely and says "HELLO, STINKY! HELLO, STINKY! HELLO, STINKY!" at least 5 times in a row.

Have you ever seen a person nearly die from simultaneously trying to sink into the floor and contain paroxysms of laughter at the same time? No? Well, it's not pretty.

It got even worse when we passed the same woman some 20 minutes later, and said two year-old looks right at her again, smiles, and says "HEY STINKY!".

I'm going to croak.
I'll either die of embarrassment or laughter.

DeadAndy Strikes Again!

2008-05-22T19:53:00.006-04:00

I freaking hate GERD. I hate it, I hate it, I HATE IT!

There. I feel better.
OK, so not really. If it were that easy I wouldn't have been downing (nasty) Carafate four freaking times a day for the last 11 days, alongside my double doses of Nexium.
Yummy.

Seriously though, this is quickly becoming my DeadAndy.

What's a DeadAndy, you ask?
Let me go ahead and put you out of your misery with a nifty little definition from UrbanDictionary.com:

DeadAndy
1) To use a {nonexistent person/person you don't actually know who suffered misfortune/dead person you don't actually know} to seek attention from others.

2) creating non-existent drama/misfortune in your own life to seek attention.

3) bringing up the same personal topic over and over again throughout daily conversations.

Examples of use:
1) "Don't go getting all deadandy on me now."

2) "Jill is such a DeadAndy with her fake illnesses."

3) "Talking about my boyfriend is my deadandy."

So there you have it.
My DeadAndy. And now that everyone knows it, I'm taking it as license to bitch about it as much as I want! (evil laugh)

This GERD crapola has been ongoing for about a month now. Constant nagging heartburn, punctuated by stomach pain and shortness of breath (at least if feels that way, but apparently it's just because my esophagus is massively inflamed). I can't eat ANYfreakingTHING. Everything gives me heartburn.

My Doctor thinks I may have an ulcer contributing. Asked me if I've had an unusual amount of stress lately.

Are you kidding me?! (lol)
Well... no. I'm a stay at home mom, so what could possibly be wrong? After all, I sit on my ass all day watching Jerry Springer and eating bonbons.

Yeah. Think again.
Stress... hmm. I suppose coming into contact with my 27 years absent father could count as stress. As could finding out about 3 siblings I never knew I had. Add that to my general feelings of inadequacy and slight discontent with my current 'job', the fact that my kids seem to have been stolen and replaced with little devils, and yeah... there's stress.

I mean, sheesh. I've always had physical manifestations of emotion/stress, but this is ridiculous. I've had to give up WINE for chrissakes. WINE.
And soda. (sniff) And that's just the tip of the iceberg....

So if you happen to meet me out and about, rest assured - it's not you. I'm incredibly foul due to lack of caffeine and an extreme overload of inane questions from toddlers.

GERD be damned... hand me a Coke before someone gets hurt.

Trail Mix

2008-04-12T12:04:00.009-04:00

It's been a long time...
But I have an excuse, I swear!

What's my excuse, you ask? It's that I'm big stinkin' slacker, that's all.

Now that we've established that I suck, I'll move on with what will likely be a random hodge-podge of things, seeing as how I haven't updated for freaking ages.

So... spring has arrived.

Unfortunately, so has the Poison Ivy. I have recently taken up gardening, and everyone in eyeshot of me knows it.... It would be hard to miss, considering that I look as though I've come down with some particularly messy version of the plague.

People have begun to unconsciously back away from me, all the while shooting me wary looks, as though the rash might jump from my neck and attack them. Well hell... let's face it, nobody wants to look like they've come down with the measles and chickenpox simultaneously.

Excuse me while I scratch myself into oblivion.

In other (non-gross and/or puss-filled) news, the countdown has begun! I (along with many others) are waiting less than patiently for the arrival of a new lump of cuddly flesh.

My best friend's baby, the cutie-pie dubbed Matthew, is now late. The wee bugger was due to arrive on April 10th, and has yet to make his grand entrance.

I see he's taking after his Mommy already. (Don't hit me.)

That was a nice little detour, wasn't it? Now, back to me. :D
A few weeks ago, I got a haircut. I quite like it... but since I've gotten it, I've been getting carded again. Which, of course, makes me wonder if perhaps it's a bit 'young' for me.

I have no desire to be *that* woman.

We've all seen her... the one with the haircut far too young for her, in clothes far too tight and trendy for her age. The one that despite her massive muffin-top, insists on wearing the skin tight fashions of someone 20 years younger.

Anyway, here it is. A picture of the hair, because I'm vain and need validation. (lol) OK, not really, but I never post pictures, so eh... why not?

You Want Fries With That?

2008-03-08T15:01:00.003-05:00

Dear local McDonald's manager,

The drive-thru is a brilliant invention, it's true. I have availed myself of this wonderfully convenient, time-saving perk on many ocassions - I'm all about anything that coddles my lazy ass.

That being said, as a long-time fan of drive-thru services, it pains me to have to give today's experience a huge thumbs down. :( Tsk, tsk. I am so *NOT* lovin' it.

I understand that mechanical issues occur that can sometimes make the speaker system sound completely unintelligable... hey, that could happen to anyone, right? What I do not understand is why (without fail) every time your speaker is wonky, just to compound the problem, you put someone whose only English phrase is "Do you want value size?" at the window.
Oy.

It would be entirely too humorous if *I* wasn't the jackass leaning out my car window, screaming my order over and over again at the speaker, because I cannot understand the unintelligable questions coming from the staff member on the other side of the 'magic box'. In fact, if it had been the guy in the blue Honda in front of me (who had a very simple order, damn him!) I likely would have laughed until I cried.

So... on behalf of the other drive-thru patrons of McD's #578 today, thanks for the entertainment. Nothing like lunch *and* a show while you wait.

If it weren't so funny (in a pathetic way), I'd probably be pretty pissed....

Sincerely,
The sideshow act

Why Am I Staring At This Zebra?!

2008-03-03T13:24:00.004-05:00

I will not act like a love-sick teenager and ask if he's said anything about me.

REPEAT:
I will not act like a lovesick teenager.

What is it about life that even when you don't want someone, you want them to want you?!

Now, don't get your panties in a bunch - I'm a married woman, and I don't swing that way. I am talking, of course, about my 'father' and the emotions I struggle with.

Yes, that again.
Yes, I'm still talking about that.
No, I'm probably not going to stop anytime soon.

Now that we've got that covered....
Even though I don't want a 'relationship' with him, I wish he at least seemed to care. (I know I sound like a petulant child, but I'm OK with that... you see, deep down I AM a petulant child.)

I regularly speak with my half-sister, and sometimes have to pinch myself to keep from asking the dreaded question - "Has he mentioned me?"

It's pathetic. I know it's pathetic, but for some reason I can't help myself.

Eh, it just stings a little.
It hurts to realize the truth... and (to me) it seems the truth is that after all these years, he still doesn't appear to care very much, if at all.

Bah.
Double bah.

Screw it. The sooner I realize that a zebra's stripes don't change, the better off I'll be. Right?

You Know You Love Me...

2008-02-18T16:40:00.002-05:00

Just because I want to post, but don't actually want to 'write' anything. (lol)
So here it is: For everyone who has ever wanted to know everything about me, but was too shy to ask. (Ha!)

My obligatory 2008 'About Me' email forward/survey:

1. What is your occupation? Stay at home Mom.
2. What color are your socks right now? White.
3. What are you listening to right now? Whining
4. What was the last thing that you ate? A cookie. (Chips Ahoy, to be exact)
5. Can you drive a stick shift? Yes.
6. What color would you be, if you were a color? Blue.
7.Last person you spoke to on the phone? My sister Marie.
8. Do you like the person who sent this to you? Yes.
9. How old are you today? 30
10. Favorite drink? Boring drink - Mountain Dew, currently. Alcoholic - wine.
12. Have you ever dyed your hair? God, yes!
13. Pets? 2 cats, a turtle, and numerous fish.
14. Favorite food? Pasta or Mexican food.
15. Last movie you watched? Juno.
16. Favorite Day of the year? The first day it's warm enough to swim!
17. What do you do to vent anger? Cry. Sometimes yell, but mostly cry.
18. What was your favorite toy as a child? Art supplies, Make It and Bake It Oven.
19. What is your favorite, fall or spring? Spring!
21. Cherry or Blueberry? Blueberry. (Allergic to cherries)
22. Do you want your friends to email you back? I don't usually forward these.
23. Who is most likely to respond? See above.
24. Who is least likely to respond? See above.
25. Living arrangements? I live with my husband and two toddler/preschool-age daughters. HELP!
26. When was the last time you cried? A few days ago.
27. Who is the friend you've had the longest that you are sending this to? I've already read two billion of these, so I'm unlikely to pass it on.
28. Who is the friend you have had the shortest that you are sending this to? See above.
29. Favorite smell? Warm chocolate chip cookies.
32. Plain, cheese or spicy hamburgers? Cheese.
33. Favorite Car: I like my car - a Volvo S60 2.5T.
34. Favorite cat breed? Hypoallergenic, hairless ones.
35. Number of keys on your key ring? 4, I think.
36. How many years at your current job? 4
37. Favorite day of the week? Friday - The END!
38. How many states have you lived in? 2

Closing Time

2008-02-11T13:04:00.000-05:00

Perfunctory.

Perfunctory is the perfect word to describe what a conversation is like with someone you haven't seen or spoken to in nearly 27 years.
What on earth do you say?

I didn't know either.
That's how my estranged father and I ended up talking about the weather, carpet... and anything else *but* what has transpired in the last few decades.

Oddly, though, I'm not disappointed, because I wasn't expecting anything.
In all likelihood will not talk to him again - I don't see the point. There's nothing he could say now that would matter, and I don't want a 'relationship' with him.

It was just a very strange experience. Strange, and pretty much a non-event for the most part.

But it's done. I can close up shop, I think.

Onward we go....

Do NOT try this at home.

2008-01-31T12:58:00.000-05:00

Ever seen a skunk with a red stripe?

Yeah. Me either.
Until Monday.

I'm walking through the store on Sunday, when something catches my eye.... YES! That's it. The end to my boring brown 'Mommy-Do' is at hand - I can almost taste it... I'm going to look great!
And with that, into the cart goes an at-home highlighting kit.

I know, I know... if this were a horror movie, now would be the part where the bimbo running in stilettos breaks a heel and gets killed. You want to scream at the TV "Take the &$#% shoes off and RUN, you dumbass!"

But alas... I was alone, save for a three year-old, so there was nobody there to slap me back into reality.

It was bad. Very, very bad.
It looked like a skunk/Ronald McDonald hybrid. Disturbing is one word that comes to mind....

After another dye purchase, and some serious re-processing, I managed to tone it down enough to possibly go back out in public someday.
If I invest in a few good hats, that is.

In The Eye Of The Beholder...

2008-01-18T10:54:00.000-05:00

Awww.

What do you mean, what is that?

It's me. Surely you can tell.

A few days ago my little princess comes running up to me with a picture she drew and exclaims "It's you, Mommy!" I was touched, and so very proud. She loves me enough to draw me... awwww.

Then I showed my husband, and the 'Mommy goggles' came off.

My child has quite the imagination.

I wasn't quite sure what to make of the picture after my initial giddiness over her artwork.

I'm not certain what I should be more concerned about - the fact that I have two sets of eyes? Or maybe that I appear to be trapped in a bubble/stomach/ball with a tiny, scary-looking mini-me....

At any rate, I do dearly hope that my child was taking artistic liberties.

Move over Picasso... there's a new kid in town.

Disappearing Ink

2008-01-14T18:46:00.000-05:00

So lately I've been completely immersed in a new project - documenting my family's history and researching my lineage. Overall it has been an exhilarating experience - like discovering alcohol for the first time (or first discovering sex - you want to do it all the time).

There's a big blip on the horizon, though, that's threatening to rain on my parade - and that would be my freaking 'father' who hit the door headed for splitsville 27 odd years ago.
*sigh*

The man is impossible to find. Impossible.
Nobody knows anything, it seems, and my maiden name was likely an alias.
Niiiiiccce.
He still manages to screw things up, nearly 30 years later. Man... he's good. And here I thought he was a useless hack - apparently he is good at some things. So good that I can't find squat on him.

But if I do ever manage to track the bastard down, I am SO putting a hex on his ass. (insert evil laugh)

Hey, I believe in fair warning, after all.

You Need To Drop A Few....

2008-01-07T19:49:00.000-05:00

I knew it was going to happen.
Even before I made the Big Mistake, I knew it was going to happen.
A little niggling thought in the back of my head said "Don't do it, Dawn! The minute you sit down at the table, the little vultures will be on your pizza like white on rice! Don't do it!"

I did it.
I took my (individual sized) DiGiorno pizza and sat down at the table with the kids, who (until then) were dining happily on hot dogs and macaroni and cheese.

Then all hell broke loose.

I was treated to a non-stop refrain (in stereo) of "I want pizza!" "Pizza, Mommy!" "I want some pizza!"

The kicker? They don't even like pizza.
But since I'm eating it, it must be a wonderful, magical, NEW kind of pizza that they just can't live without.

Riiiight.

True to form, I parted with a slice and split it between the wild-eyed animals on either side of me... they were scaring me. I thought that at any moment they would break out of the chains (or booster belts, but whatever) that bound them and leap for my jugular. They would not be appeased otherwise.

The pizza ended up with half the cheese missing, and it's final resting place was... (*drumroll please*) the garbage can.

*Sigh*

My kids are the best freaking diet program in the world.

Never Trust A Cute Kid

2008-01-03T19:41:00.000-05:00

Moon sand is the devil.

And I don't mean that in a trivial way.
I'm no stranger to a good mess - I've painted walls with a three year-old and finger painted with chocolate pudding... And really, I thought it couldn't get much worse.

Then came the damned Moon Sand.
The happy little kids and the booming, chipper announcer in the commercials make it look like such wholesome, good clean fun. "It's Revolutionary! Hours Of Fun!" So of course, I had to get some for Anna for Christmas. I scoffed at the idea that it might be 'messy'. Messy? Who cares? Show me a person with a toddler who ISN'T used to messes!
*Pfft*

I have no problem saying that I was woefully mistaken.

What the booming announcer doesn't tell you is that you need a freaking snowblower to clean this crap up when the kids are through. It's like inviting the Atlantic Ocean in for a playdate - that's how much sand ends up all over your floor.

Mr. Announcer Man also failed to mention that for two weeks after your first (and unboubtedly last) experience with Moon Sand, you'll still be finding the stuff in completely inexplicable places. (In the cat food bowl, inside of diapers, under the bed, etc.)

Bad.
Very very bad.

I let them play with it for roughly ten minutes at the kitchen table before panicking, taking it away, and banishing it to the art closet where (I hoped) it would stay for all eternity.

Then tonight the kids get a late Christmas present....

You guessed it - Moon Sand. Moon Sand that Anna is already insisting on breaking into first thing in the morning.

Pardon me while I scream.

And to think, my Mom bitched about Play Doh....
Amateur.

Auld Lang Syne

2008-01-02T13:05:00.000-05:00

How can it possibly be 2008 already?!
I swear, it seems like yesterday that I was ringing in the year 2000 with booze and fireworks, and here I am 8 years later wondering what the hell happened! (lol)

Everyone always said that the older you get, the faster the years go by. And damn it - they were right! It's one of the huge indicators to me that I'm definitely NOT quite as young as I feel. (Well , that and the gray hairs I viciously yank out every couple of months.)

Gray hairs. GRAY HAIRS. Can you believe it?!
Before long I'll be yelling at random kids to "Get the hell off my lawn!" and will start hearing things like "Hey old timer, watch it. You wouldn't want to break a hip on that water slide." from smart-ass teenagers.

Kids today. *grumbles*

So yeah. The years are flying by lately, and 2007 was no exception. The rugrats have kept me on my toes and exceptionally busy, and I suspect that won't be changing anytime soon....

So goodbye, 2007 - here's to another year of craziness, another 20 gray hairs, and a box of Clairol (that is undoubtedly in my future).
Hip, hip, HOORAY!

Happy New Year, everyone!

I'm fatter... but so are you.

2007-12-28T17:06:00.000-05:00

Christmas.

There is but one word to accurately describe it, and (ironically enough) it is one of the Seven Deadly Sins. Imagine that... we celebrate the birth of Christ (even though his birth was not in the winter at all, but I digress) by indulging most wickedly in one of the most terrible of sins - gluttony.

Oh, that's right folks. GLUTTONY.
And it's goooooood.

Gluttony abounds.
Turkey, ham, sweet potatoes, macaroni & cheese, mashed potatoes, pie, etc. You name it, we eat it. And I will shamelessly admit that I LIKE IT. Christmas just would not be the same without a big heaping serving of gluttony.

And I'll also admit to loving it when my presents are in the gluttonous realm.

There. I said it. I like presents... lots and lots of presents!
And luckily, I have a husband that comes through. :D

My gluttony for this year? A Nikon D80 camera, complete with lens, carrying case, and several books/manuals. I swear to God, I swooned. And here I never thought that something electronic could bring a woman so close to ecstacy. (he he)

So now that I have a good camera, that means I take really good pictures, right? Yeah. I thought so. It's all about the camera. Maybe I should be a professional photographer now... ya know, even though I haven't had a chance to play with anything but the 'Auto' settings yet.

Pity Party, Table For One.

2007-12-18T04:00:00.000-05:00

It's 3am I must be lonely....

*Buzzer sounds*
Incorrect answer. Try again, Matchbox 20.

Not lonely... oh how I WISH that was it. No, something far more sinister and and annoying has me up in the dead of night in the middle of December. A mucous invasion.

Don't get me wrong... as a lifelong allergy sufferer with questionable immune system function, I'm used to snot. But this is no ordinary snot. This is super-powered, radioactive snot from the planet Krypton. (OK, maybe not - but it's bad. Trust me.)

Normally I'm not a big whiner (shut up, Paul) but Christ! I have been sick for a freaking MONTH now! As soon as the first cold was closing up shop and vacating, I get struck with this doozy. And to top it off? Not only am I miserable, achy, snotty, and sleep-deprived, but so are both my kids. Joy. And I get to take care of them all. day. long. tomorrow on very little sleep, with aching lymph nodes. Awesome.

So yeah... I would give both my aching lymph nodes for loneliness to be the problem keeping me awake. *sigh*
It's gonna be a LONG day.

Dandruff

2007-12-07T13:31:00.000-05:00

So, it's gotten rather chilly here lately.
In fact, it's what a lot of Southerners (to the smirking amusement of those used to 'real winters') would call bitterly cold.
Brrrr.

Before I go on, you must understand one thing: Here in North Carolina, we have very little concept of what 'winter' really means.
To us, winter means digging out a sweater or two, and maybe a light coat. The words PARKA and SNOW BOOTS are as foreign to us as grits are to an Indian family living in New Jersey. We simply have no use for them.

Now, knowing a bit about our area, it will come as no surprise that snowfall is a Big Deal. Any snowfall. 1/4 inch of snow is grounds for a Holiday around here. Not only are all schools and workplaces shut down until the last of the evil white stuff melts, but everyone kicks into 'disaster mode' buying up all the bread and milk in a ten-mile radius.

(Hey. We have no snow plows, and to my knowledge nobody here even knows that snow tires exist. )

But that's not really the point. The point is that if anyone admits that it MIGHT be possible to drive in snow flurries, they might stop declaring every little bit of heavenly dandruff a Holiday. So we all play dumb. (Well, OK. Some of us play dumb. The rest... well... fill in the blank.)

So obviously there are some good reasons to hope for a little white stuff on the ground... however, some people are really in need a tranquilizer, a vacation, or something. In the post office Wednesday, I was minding my own business (wishing the slow-as-molasses employees very, very ill) when a lady barges in all red-faced and excited, about to pee her pants.

"IT'S SNOWING! IT'S SNOWING!!"

Uh huh.
Sure enough, a little dandruff was drifting down.

1...2...3...4. Four seconds. Four seconds and it was gone for good, leaving you wondering if you ever even saw it at all.
The first snowfall of the year... blink and you missed it.

I'd bet my ass that Ms. Exciteable had milk and bread in her car.

I love you man!

2007-12-01T21:51:00.000-05:00

Ever notice how everything seems better after half a bottle of wine?

No matter how bad or trying your day, that lovely taste and feel of rotted grapes always makes your insides tingle and your mind go to a mellow fuzzy place. It's a beautiful thing.

I love you man.

God bless the man who first deigned to taste that fermented pile of slush that was once grapes... he changed my life forever.

Now if only I could get a handle on that changing water into wine gig... that would be sweet.

Ho freaking Ho

2007-11-26T20:38:00.000-05:00

So... decorating the Christmas tree.

Pretty straightforward, right?
Yeah... no.

The lights.
The %$#%&!@ lights!

I swear to God, they are conspiring with my kids to drive me absolutely batshit insane. When all is said and done, I may just have to swear off Christmas trees for good. (And people thought I was a Scrooge before – HA!)

Pop Quiz:

What did the lights do to make me so vile-tempered?
a) Work when tested
b) Half stopped working once on the tree
c) A new strand died every time a previously non-working one was fixed
d) All of the above

How were my children and the lights working together against me?
a) Once all the lights were working, a toddler pulled a bulb out, resulting in partial blackout
b) Once all the lights were working, a toddler swung beads over her head, shattering a bulb
c) Once all the lights were working, a toddler touches a bulb, and a partial blackout ensues
d) All of the above

Did you really have to ask?
The answer is d. The answer is always d.

I'm happy to report though, that with the help of my lovely and talented assistant (husband), the lights are now working in the proper fashion.
Unfortunately, now both the kids are fascinated with removing the ornaments and destroying them. As a result, all our decorations are now inhabiting the (approximate) 2.5 ft section at the top of the tree where the kids can't reach.

Charlie Brown's tree had nothing on us.

Because I said so!

2007-11-11T20:43:00.000-05:00

Did you know that it's a doggie?

Yeah.
It's a doggie. Everything is.

Case in point - Elisabeth at the Ren. Faire, in the petting zoo. (She loved it and refused to leave, so we stayed there while Anna & her minion (errr... Daddy) went to do a few different things. )
The ensuing conversation went as follows:

Me: "Look Ella - SHEEP!"
E: "Doggie!"
Me: "No... sheep."
E: "Doggie!"
Me: "No... it's a sheep."
E: "DOGGIE!"
Me: "Honey, those are sheep."
E: "I'S. A. DOGGIE!" (insert furious dirty look)

Ooookkkk. I give up... it's a doggie! Sheesh. (Thought, but not said (lest I anger her further) as I back slowly away, making no sudden moves.)

While unexpected and slightly unsettling, this little exchange sent two couples within hearing range into paroxysms of laughter when they witnessed a 2.5 ft tall individual telling me off and setting me straight.
(This of course is not to say that I wasn't very nearly choking in my own effort not to scream with laughter.)
A good time was had by all.

Lesson learned.
Do not argue with a 17 month old. If they say it's a doggie, then damn it - it's a doggie.

The Pants

2007-11-04T20:01:00.000-05:00

Yes, the pants...
Or lack thereof, as the case may be.

Today we managed to corral the kiddos and head out to the Renaissance Faire.
Have I mentioned that I love the Renaissance Faire? The turkey legs, the music, the jousting, the sword-eating guy... what's not to love?!

So being that we are very free with our love around here, we obviously set about tackling our favorite things with great gusto. And really, all was well with the exception of one tiny hitch.
An unscheduled show.

Tell me... what is proper etiquette for a situation in which your child decides to drop trou in the middle of a Ren Faire and proceed to dance, stomp and sing around the picnic table? (Hypothetically speaking, of course. A 'friend' wants to know.)

Yeah.
I don't know either.
I was rendered positively stupid by the sight. I could do little more at first other than sit there dumbstruck (with a bit of turkey hanging out of my mouth) amazed that I was now officially that parent. You know... the one you look at pityingly while thinking "Poor bastard. What a handful!"

But hey. At least she didn't take a crap in front of the beer stand.
Silver lining, folks. Silver lining.

Do you want fries with that?

2007-10-26T21:16:00.000-04:00

I love fast food.
I don't care WHAT it is - it's better if it comes in a paper bag and someone asks you "Do you want to value-size that?".

It's greasy, it's fatty, it's life-threatening, and I love it so.

Why am I dead-set on making my arteries scream for mercy?
I blame it on my childhood.

(What? I'm not allowed to do that anymore? It's not Politically Correct?)
Well, tough. I don't feel like taking responsibility for the fact that I'll eat crap on a stick as long as it's deep-fried.
So, to hell with it. I'm pulling out the freshman Psych. card and blaming it on my Mother. (*grins*)

After all, isn't that what Mothers are for? Isn't that what I have to look forward to?

(Considering that there are more charges for Chick Fil-A on our debit card statement than there are rednecks at Wal-Mart, you can see that I am doomed to the same fate when my offspring get their first Lipitor prescriptions.)

But eh.
You know, I'm usually so brain-fried by dinner time that on some days it's a wonder that I don't accidentally microwave the cat for dinner... so it could be worse.
The kids should be grateful! I'm actually doing them a favor here.

Chicken soaked in peanut oil is a damn sight better than singed cat hair any day of the week.

A Glimpse Into The Golden Years....

2007-10-23T20:37:00.000-04:00

Ever wonder what life will be like when you grow old?

I used to....

I used to wonder, but now I have my answer - the Senior Citizen years are like being a SAHM, but without the food throwing and snot.

Your work consists of wiping asses (children or spouse - it doesn't matter).
You long for interaction with other adults who still remember you.
The highlight of your day is having a meal out with someone who has all their teeth.
You hang out at the YMCA several times a week - not necessarily to get fit, but for a change of pace.

It admittedly feels rather strange to be in the locker room after my workout surrounded by almost NOBODY who isn't eligible for the Early Bird discount at Golden Corral. But hey... on the bright side, I have the best skin and perkiest bits of anyone in the locker room - a feat I haven't managed for quite some time!

The saddest part?
I think the 90 year-old woman that I regularly run into in the locker room (after her water aerobics class) is in better shape than me. I console myself by thinking that she obviously must have a sweet young thing at home. Nobody who wipes butts and spoon-feeds puree to another human being 24/7 is that light on their feet. No one.

So yeah. The YMCA is pretty good for an ego boost sometimes.
If you can avoid watching your cellulite jiggle in the mirrors of the workout room, that is.

I'll have my usual, please.

2007-10-17T20:47:00.000-04:00

I am such a creature of habit.
A stalker's dream, really.

I do the same things every morning, noon, and night. I order the same dishes at restaurants (over and over and over again), and I even dress the same pretty much all the time (think 12 shirts, exactly the same, but in different colors. Yeah. I'm daring). In short, I am a walking Excel spreadsheet.

Yeah. Anal much?

Now if only I could apply that discipline (cough*obsession*cough) to things that actually matter... like, oh, I don't know... laundry? Cleaning? Filing?
But alas... I fear that I am doomed to be completely anal-retentive only about the supremely inconsequential. And I wonder why my kids won't go to sleep without nightlights, humidifiers, and a bath before bed. (lol) Apple... meet tree. You didn't fall very far.

Before you know it my house will be a condemned structure... but eh... who cares? I've already had a glass of wine, had a bath, and put lotion on for the 27,000th time today. The important stuff is taken care of. Life is good.

Needless to say, if you look up the word 'Flexible' in the dictionary, you will not be seeing my picture.

Straight up, please.

2007-10-14T19:22:00.000-04:00

It's a martini kind of night.

There are fresh juice stains on the floor, and even though the beastly ones are in bed I still hear the vague echo of shouting and tantrum-screams in my head.

Make mine a double.

I need a powerful anesthetic to forget that lately my kids can be so rambunctious that I have become a walking ad for birth control. One look at my brood having a simultaneous tantrum in Wal-Mart is enough to send any blissful young couple high-tailing it to the condom aisle - for the Value Pack.

To put it succinctly, I am freaking beat.
Today was the kind of day that makes boot camp look appealing - I could use a little R&R.

The Winning Streak

2007-10-11T13:48:00.000-04:00

Two good things in one day - I'm on a roll!

I had a Dr. appointment today to get a 'growth' on my neck checked out.

The verdict? It's a sebaceous cyst. The doc reached right out and popped it. Voila - no more lump. I felt pretty damned undignified, obviously. Here I was entertaining visions of lumpectomies, cancer, chemo, hospital bed rest (hey, a girl can dream), the works... and it turns out to be a nasty fluid-filled cyst.

Yum.

I did get a flu shot while I was there though, so at least I didn't completely waste that $20 copay.

But wait, there's more! After that, the really good thing happened! (What, you thought being pronounced cancer-free was the best thing that happened to me today? Ha!)

BOTH of my kids are now taking a nap. Both of them. Lately that happens about as often as Britney Spears washes her hair, so you can see why I am so excited.

The house is so blissfully quiet I could cry... after I look to see if Ed McMahon is here with my check yet, of course. (Hey. It could happen. My kids are both napping - did I mention that?) I think Ed must be coming soon... I'm obviously heading into a winning streak here.

Maybe I should go buy a lottery ticket.

Bring on the Chinese Water Torture... please!

2007-10-10T21:10:00.000-04:00

Gah!
Some days being a SAHM feels like war torture.

Imagine this: Your CD player is malfunctioning, stuck on repeat. You have no choice but to listen to the song "Wannabe" over and over again until you can disconnect it. Now. Imagine that you CANNOT STOP IT, and you have my morning.

"Wan cowwwah? Wan cowwwah? Wan cowwah!" ("Want to color" for those not versed in baby-speak.) Constantly I hear this. Even when the crayons and paper are right in front of her! What does this munchkin want from me? Am I supposed to color FOR her? Or maybe I should use my Mommy-magic to have the crayons perform tricks... or perhaps I should miraculously defecate some new yet-to-be-invented colors for my budding artiste.

Well... eventually the kid has to nap, right?

She finally conks out (no doubt dreaming about the superior nature of Crayola to Prang), and now we get to my afternoon.

The artiste is sleeping, so I'm alone with Anna for a couple of hours. So, being the optimist that I am, I decide to embark on another (different) artistic pursuit with her.

Oh boy.

The artistic pursuit? Priming the laundry room. (The previous homeowners were SEVERELY taste-challenged) I knew I'd have 'help', and boy was I right. She attacked the walls with gusto - a little gummy bear-fueled painting machine. Great, right? Well, yeah... except that the minute I turn my back, she smears the door with her paint (the door she was expressly warned AGAINST painting).

OK, chickie. Paint time over.

So yeah.
My day was long. Long and 'interesting' for lack of a better word. Ask me in the morning, though, and my kids will be angels again. :)
It's the blessing (curse?) of parenthood - your own kids are always angels.

(And even if they aren't, you still have to say it. The doctors make you sign a contract as the head is crowning... they can't have you screwing up that whole 'propagation of the species' thing by telling the truth.)

Clean is overrated

2007-10-09T19:28:00.000-04:00

Given that I'm a 'housewife' I suppose I should be more into this homemaking thing. Ya know, fresh bread, clean floors, clean children, freshly ironed towels... the whole Donna Reed spiel.

Honestly though, I just don't get it when people speak of cleaning products in the loving manner I reserve for a triple-fudge brownie, or a really kick-ass cocktail.

Like the other day - a friend of mine was waxing poetic about Mr. Clean Magic erasers... they took the grime around her sink right off! What miraculous little pieces of heaven!

My thoughts went a little something like "Huh. You're supposed to wipe that stuff off?"

It's a conspiracy.

I've been watching Trading Spaces and Antiques Roadshow for years... and I know that filth is in! You just have to learn how to sell it to others.

*Nosy neighbor makes a comment about your ring-around-the faucet? Fix her with a pitying stare and inform her that it is verdigris, not grime.

*Your husband is skeptical about the cleanliness of the stainless appliances, and remarks about the food crusted on them? Roll your eyes and ask him if he hasn't ever heard of a little something called patina. Then inform him that patina greatly increases the value of antiques... someday he'll be grateful.

Yeah.

I'm proud to say that I am one step ahead of the game. Magic erasers be damned - I am patina-rich thanks to my two wrecking balls I sometimes refer to as children. Hey, they have their uses. Thanks to that spaghetti sauce and fruit leather patina, I'll be a rich woman someday.

King Of The Germ Heap

2007-10-08T13:46:00.000-04:00

My kids are angels.
Why other kids cannot follow suit and be un-annoying angelic creatures, I'll never know. (insert sad headshake)

Take this afternoon for instance:
My girls and I go to Chick-Fil-A for lunch (where we go waaay too much, but I digress) and then they play in the play area for a bit afterwards.
In said play area, I encounter "Annoying kid, type 1" - type 1 being the goody two-shoes RULE ENFORCER.

(Not to be confused with type 2, which is the KNOW-IT-ALL, or type 3, which is THE TATTLER.)

So, apparently I made a big mistake by letting my kids wear their shoes in there - after all, we were leaving in just minutes, and they never climb on the equipment anyway... they just play with the ground level toys. Well, Mr. RULE ENFORCER busy-bodies himself right on up to me and informs me that shoes ARE NOT ALLOWED, and my kids would have to TAKE THEIRS OFF!

Well, who died and made you King of germland?

We left shortly thereafter. I had to get out of there before the urge to pummel that kid with my gallon-sized drink cup took over.

From my experiences at various activities, I am left with but one conclusion: Once they start to talk, I mostly dislike any kid that didn't emerge from my hoo-ha.
The End.

Intro

2007-10-08T08:44:00.000-04:00

People without children have asked me a time or two "What's it like?"

What's it like....
Kids are a force of nature - raw, unfettered, and strong. And raising them is a lot like attempting to tame the wind... the best you can hope to do in either instance is to harness some of it, and redirect it to where you want it to go.

And this is where I am - chronicling my attempts at taming the wind. And I dearly hope that I don't screw it up. :)