I Forgot

Friday I picked Big up from school. As usual. He mumbles something about being happy he's not a girl b/c he has enough scars. I'm not really sure what he's jabbering about- they had field day that day and assumed he was just muttering about something that happened to a girl in his class.

Me- "What does being a girl have to do with having scars?

Big- "Well don't you have a scar like this?" (Pointing to his open heart scar)

Me- "No, mommy didn't have heart surgery like you did, why would I have a scar like that?"

Big- "I thought all mommies had them. Didn't you get one when they cut you open to get the babies out"

Me- shit shit shit. . . "No, mommy didn't have surgery to have her babies."

Big- "Well, how did they get out of your belly?"

Me- I make some sort of not coheisive ramble about a hole a mommy pees from and a hole that babies come from. It doesn't make a ton of sense to me, so I'm not sure how much sense it made to him.

This is where I really wish that I had a camera on me at all times. His face as he tried to digest this was a mixture of the "I just smelled something nasty" face and the "What planet am I on" face with lots of head shaking in between (to get the images out of his head no doubt).

I am too tired to deal with this, so when we get home, I ask him if there is anything else he would like to ask me and he says no (surely he's gotten his TMI quota for the day) and I lamely tell him that it's a hard thing for a little boy to understand. He'll understand it more when he is older.

I hate 7.

His Birthday

My husband has been celebrating his birthday for a week now. As penitence for forgetting (*gasp*) his birthday (in my defense, I only forgot that morning- he gave me like an hour and a half to remember that it was his birthday, plus we have about 4,937 big family events each May and his is the last one, so I am always frazzled near his birthday) my presence was required at dinner last night with his friends. His "BFF" is also his boss and an idiot. The idiocy does not stop there, his gf follows suit. Also in attendance were dh's new gay friends.

The evening starts off late anyway and Bff's idiot gf decides she's ditching us, bff hates that b/c that means there is no one to distract me from talking to dh so that the two of them can spend the evening talking about soccer (of which dh knows nothing) and South Park. Early into the dinner we are exchanging what I assumed was friendly banter and I suggested that his subdued demeanor was that I have a sobering effect on him. He shot back that we have only been together twice, how would I know. I said, it was enough apparently. (as in enough time for me to make things boring- I am just kidding as I obviously don't think I'm boring) He replied "At least we agree on something".

Ummm. . . ok.

So he leaves pouting and saying he will go out and have fun with dh tomorrow night- as in the night that I will not be there b/c that is the only time there can be fun. Well, I am fun. So much fun in fact that I let dh and Thelma and Louise over there drag us to a gay bar. I am dd which automatically makes me less exciting to drunk people, but I also don't know these people which makes me quiet.

Long story short, we are in a "local" gay bar, they are playing pool, I'm quite obviously the only straight (non drag queen) female in the joint and a fight breaks out between queens. I'm going to stop here to say that I try to steer clear of bar fights in general. Bars are not my scene and I hate fights between drunks, but fights between a "redneck" gay man and his refined sugar daddy against a motorcycle riding, tattoo sporting, gay guy and the most butch looking female I've ever seen is comedy gold. For those who haven't been privy to such a sight, there is quite a bit of pointing and hand waving accompanied by raised voices, an ample amount of huffing and scoffing. Then there are unwavering "stink eyes" until it finally ends in a barrage of shrill "whatever!!!!!!!'s".

The next game against dh and Thelma is taken up by a "woman" who looks like Jim Morrison and a voice like Nathan Lane in The Birdcage. His nails are better than mine though he looks like he (she, whatever) hasn't eaten in about 6 months. This game ends when Jimmy Lane shoots the cue off the table and looses it. Darn. It's 3 am. I'm done and dh is more than done. Happy Birthday to him.

Dammit Juno

It's Big's birthday today. 7 years ago @ 10:20am, he came into this world to two people who had no idea what on Earth they were doing. We've been celebrating his birthday for over a week now, and I suspect today we'll just have a nice quiet dinner- something he loves- but not chicken nuggets, I can't take anymore chicken nuggets right now. Hopefully we'll have some nice dinner conversation (at least as nice a conversation as you an have with a 7 year old boy while a 2 year old pelts you with bits of food from behind). I'm hoping to keep it a little lighter of a conversation that last nights which went something like this:

We're watching a show on Sci-Fi about the "Crystal Skulls" which are part of the new Indiana Jones movie. A commercial comes on for the movie Juno. Big looks up from his gourmet fish sticks and asks me

"She was pregnant when she was still a teenager?"

"Yes" I reply hoping it's the end of the discussion.

Big- "That happens sometimes doesn't it"

Me- "Yes, yes it does"

Big "But it didn't happen to you. . . did it?"

**I should interject here that while Big is an unrecognized genius, there is no way he could do the math on his and my ages to lead to this line of questioning. This is, as they say, straight "from the mouth of babes"**

Me- "Well, actually it did happen to me. Mommy was 16 when she was pregnant with you."

Big- "Oh, so you were as old as Nikki (his cousin) when you were having a baby?!"

Me- "Yes"

Big- "Oh, ok"

Thankfully, the conversation did not turn into how I got pregnant when I was as old as Nikki, as he was soon preoccupied with the return of the show. I realize now that it may have been good to sprinkle a little "Yes, that happened to me, but it's always better to wait until you are older to have babies" or something to that effect, you know, being proactive and all that, but I froze. When I get like that, it's all I can do to tell him the truth in a calm and "matter-of-fact" tone.

7 years ago today, I'm sure I thought of how exactly I would handle this conversation when the time came. Then (in my mind) I'm sure I would have made a big drawn out production of it; explaining my side of the story and debunking the stereotypes so unjustly put on all teen mothers. I would have planned on telling him how mommy and daddy never regretted having him and how much we love him. I didn't realize then, that if I was doing everything as well as I could, I wouldn't need to tell him those things.
He would already know.

! HAI ! Grasshopper. . .

I have been waiting to chronicle this just in case it turned out to be "word of the week" for Little. As it turns out, Little is not opposed to speaking and learning new words. He simply feels that his efforts would be most beneficial if he started his bilingual studies early. For those who are not up on their Japanese, "Hai" is Japanese for "Yes" in it's simplest form. It is also Little-ese for yes.

Do you want some Cocoa (juice)?

!! HAI !!

Do you want to go nigh' nigh'?

!! HAI !!

Should we go get Big?

!! HAI !!

The best part about this is that it's never just
"hai. . . *shrug*"
or
mumblemumble.hai.mumblemumble.

It's ALWAYS a staccato

!! HAI !!

shouted in a throaty voice with the force of a Jr. Mr. Miyagi. His muscles tensed throughout his body; hands outstretched with fingers splayed in earnest, hoping that I am capable of understanding him.

I've picked up "Japanese For Dummies" for a bit of light reading. I'll update you when he starts saying Domo Arigato.

Ticks

No, not the cute, make you laugh personality quirks that some people have. I'm talking about the nasty, straight from the devil, blood sucking bastards that are related to my arch-nemesis the spider and are apparently "in season" right now. I may throw up.

About 2 weeks ago, I saw a tick on Hiro. It was right on the inside of his ear, and was still small. We had been to a very wooded area in the park a few days prior, so I managed to keep my cool and called dh to inform him that he would need to do a removal/disposal when he got home. No problemo. Tick is removed , burned mercilessly and disposed of.

Yesterday I was sitting on the couch on the computer until dh got home for lunch. I had been sitting there for about an hour and had seen a small round dot on the carpet about the size of a dime. Our chairs are cheap and have the small round wood pieces that cover where the DIY screws go in the arms and Little keeps pulling them out and leaving them laying around. I naturally assume that is all that this is and leave it laying there. Dh comes home and starts to set his computer up on the floor next to me (I can't be bothered to move) and asks what "this" is tossing it up and down in his hand. I give him the aforementioned information when he suddenly exclaims "It's an Effing TICK!!!!"!

I scream- despite not touching it, being near it or really even looking at it now that I know it is a tick. I keep screaming and tell him to kill it. He does and it's very bloody and revolting. YUCK. I know ticks can live on hosts for a few days, so I tell myself it is probably from the other day when we were in the woods and must have fallen off one of the dogs.

Dh calls me from work today:

dh- guess what

me- what?

dh- I don't want to freak you out or anything.

me- yes because when you start stories like that it really settles me down

dh- well, I just found a tick on my back, right above my belt.


Needless to say this did not go well. I know they are "in season" but DAMN!!! We don't even live in a heavily wooded area and we are freaking crawling with them. Now I am flipping out thinking maybe one of them laid eggs on the dogs or something and we have an infestation- even though their beds are white as is my carpet (well, it was white once. . . many moons ago). I told dh that if I get a tick on me, to just sedate me. Straight up, get some morphine or something in a syringe and shoot my ass with it, then get the tick out. Either that or he will have to call in reinforcements to hold me down. And then pay for therapy when I become a mute from the trauma.

Though, I'm sure in his mind, it would be better to just leave me that way.

Monkey monkey monkey monkey monkey monkey YOU!

It's destined to go down in Izzard history along with "cake or death" and Mrs. Badcrumble. The show was amazing. He was amazing. It's been three days and I'm still giggling to myself over it. Oxen, dinosaurs, hieroglyphics, God and Jesus, Noah, dyslexic scrabble, and of course the "title" of Darwin's book "Monkey Monkey Monkey Monkey Monkey Monkey YOU!"

Dressed to the nines in a fantabulous pair of jeans and a jacket that resembled a circus ring master's, Eddie Izzard gave Cincy a taste of that charm, charisma and craziness that makes up his act. He can talk shit the whole time and you'll think it's the funniest damn thing you've ever heard- that's where the charm and charisma come in.

He was lovely after the show when a kajillion people stayed behind to get photos and autographs- myself included. I of course acted like a cool kid which means I completely lost my cool and made an ass of myself. Still, he signed my program and posed for a picture with me, my sister and my mom. It's really wonderful that I got to see him in person.

When I first discovered his act, it was ~ 2003-2004 ish and I watched his Dress to Kill on HBO on demand. I thought he was hilarious and tried to get as much of his material as I could and shared it with my friends and family. Soon, despite his excessive use of the f-bomb (again, in a charming British way which makes it all ok) and the fact that he is a man dressed as a woman, I had my own little circle of friends and family that were completely hooked. Back then he would only do gigs in NY or LA or other Californian places. I even went so far as to see if he toured regularly in Europe, b/c if he did and we were going to pan a trip to Europe, I wanted them to coincide. Not happening.

So I gave up and was content to listen to his CD's in the car and then in 2007, watch him every Tuesday on the Riches. I know my friends who are not in that weird obsessive group that I started, think that, well, that I'm weird and obsessive about this. And to a point I am. I don't go to concerts- I love music, but prefer when I can hear it on my own and sing along without anyone else hearing my awfulness. I do love the theatre, but rarely get to go as my "d"h hates it.

I *love* good comedy. It makes me laugh on an adult level- well, sometimes even on an immature childish level. I love people who are funny, they make this world a better place by making people laugh when it seems there is not a single reason in the world to do so and I'll be weird and obsessive over that anytime.


My sister and I anxiously awaiting our turn, though some might say we were blocking his exit by standing in front of his bus. I plead the fifth.

Me, Eddie, my sis and my mom

The Omen

There is a house up the street that has been for rent for a while. Recently, a family moved in there that has a preteen daughter and a 3 year old boy. Being the homebody/cold-o-phobe that I am, we hadn't "met" them until the weather started to turn warm. The boy turned up in our yard one afternoon asking to play with Big who was outside already. His name is Parker David Somethingorother. He insists on being called "Parker David Somethingorother". It's Somethingorother b/c he has this nails-on-a-chalkboard type voice that draaaaaaaaaws out words to where they are indecipherable to human ears and I can't make out WTF he is saying.
Example:

Caaaaaaaaaaaaanheheheeeecomeoutandplaaaaaaayandplayriiiightnowwifvemeeeeeeeeeeeee?

It's delightful, in a very not so delightful way. Anyway. Big and Parker David Somethingorother (we'll call him PDS for space purposes) get along all right b/c let's face it, if it's got a pulse and can talk, Big will play with it. So after the initial introduction, dh briefly meets PDS's mom as she comes to collect him from our backyard. He says something stupid about our dogs still being in training as the excuse for why PDS can't come in the house- really our house is just a sty and I have C.H.A.O.S. (Can't Have Anyone Over Syndrome ~flylady) so now this mom thinks our dogs are vicious maneaters and PDS is terrified of them. Dh can be such a ditz sometimes. The next day we meet dad for about 2 seconds when he asks if he can borrow a cup of butter. That's it, just wanted a cup of butter, then trots back down to his house while we supervise PDS and Big's Transformer War going on over our backyard hill.

So this kid is EVERYWHERE. The other day, I pulled out of the driveway- he was standing in the side yard, watching me leave. I look out in the backyard and he's sitting in our yard. Just. . . sitting. I looked out the sliding glass door one morning to find his face smushed up against it wanting to know if Big could come out and play.

Today, PDS rings the doorbell at nap time. Don't even get me started. I was tempted to drop Little off at his house and let this kids parents deal with a sleep deprived demon in human form, but thought the better of since he would probably just follow PDS back to our house and I'd be stuck with both of them. PDS would like to know if Big can come out and play. No he's at school, he won't be home for another 4 hours, but I'll let him know you called. PDS's response "UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUMMMMMMM, I I I I will jus' wait wight heaw".

Here being my front porch. Where are this kids parents? I had to inform him that it would be a long time before Big got back and waiting on my very hot front porch would not be much fun. He should go home and wait. Unfazed, he said ok and kept standing on the front porch until I told him I had to go get the now screaming Little and bade him goodbye.

Later, he appeared behind me inside my garage (I'm cleaning it out, our garbage men will be thrilled). Same set of questions, same answers, but with a twist thrown in. As he's leaving (by "leaving" I mean going to wait in the front yard instead of up my bum in my garage) he informs me that I'm pretty. I said thank you and gave him a smile as it's been days since my hormonal bitchy ass has heard the words "You" and "pretty" together. Then he informed me that I needed to buy Big another police car Transformer so that he (PDS) can play with it.

I knew not to get too excited about that pretty thing, he was just buttering me up for his own self-serving purposes. BAH. This time, it's a police car Transformer, next time. . . perhaps my soul. If he moves it up to beautiful, he just might get it.

The Dark Side of Blogging.

As I wrote my last entry, Little was running around the living room tormenting the dogs like a good two year old. Soon he grew weary of chasing them and settled down with what I thought was a book. He loves books. Alas, what held his attention so raptly was not a book at all.

It starts. . .

Ha!! I hit enter before I typed anything, what an idiot.

Back to the real reason for my entry. It's lunchtime here. Actually, it's time for BYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYTES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So we are sitting here, eating the oh-so-USDA guidlines compliant lunch of cold hot dogs (dahgs) sliced deli turkey (cheese), american cheese (also called cheese), whole grain goldfish crackers (goga- somewhere between goldfish and cracker) and 2 oz of cranberry juice diluted with 6 oz of water (called Coca which is apparently "little-ese" for juice). I don't bother too much with the nutritional value of lunch as it's not Little who will be eating it. No, the floor and by extension the dogs end up eating my gourmet lunch. So Little is throwing the food down just to watch Zorro's ears perk up at the sound of the slap only a cold cut on linoleum can make. After about 2 pieces, I give him the, "Don't throw your food on te floor' routine. no dice. *Slap. . . Slap* "I mean it, don't do that!" *Slap* So I get up very close in his face, get the mom finger out and slowly and loudly (like he's deaf or something and I want him to read my lips) "NOOO NOOO NOOO".

He points his chubby finger back at me and says "na na na"

I can't get this kid to repeat ANYTHING. Please, thank you, I love you. . . I get the "If I smile enough at you will you shut up" look and then off he scampers.

But he's got "no" down. Great. . .

Taking the Plunge

I've decided to enroll in an arts college here for Photography. I had my "admissions" meeting today and was "accepted", by accepted I mean they asked if I was serious, I said yes, they said, ok, you are accepted. I go back on Wednesday to do the fun financial stuff. I'm pretty sure I'm going to get zip. *sigh* It's a total of about $28K for the whole degree which is about $27,995 more than what I've got. Oh well.

I'm nervous. What if I'm complete crap. What if all these young kids with artsy ideas and angsty POV's look at me and say WTH is that crazy woman doing here? She takes pics of her kids and thinks she's an "artist". BORING! I don't know if I'm ready for the criticism that will come with this.

I'm excited. They took me into the darkroom today which I thought was really cool. Just being in there with it's overpowering chemical smells and quiet vibe, I felt at home. I felt like this could be something I could do to relax. "Me time" to reflect and "uncover" my creations. I could get used to that.

I'm nervous. What if the other kids don't like me? For heavens sake, my "camera bag" is a diaper bag. I can see me now walking into a studio class where we are photographing nudes with my diaper bag camera bag. Good lord, what if I break something in there. I'm SO leery of using things that don't belong to me. No matter how careful I am, that's always when something goes horribly wrong and everything goes down the shitter.

I'm excited. I'm getting out!!!! WOOT! I felt like Carrie freaking Bradshaw walking downtown today. I had on my favorite black NY&Co pants with the black and white shirt and shoes my mom brought back for me from Paris. I even got a compliment on those shoes. I think I'll wear them every day despite the fact that they are uncomfortable as all hell. I had that outfit, my fake Dolche and Gabbana sunglasses; I was rockin' it. Well, except that I kept walking in circles b/c I was lost as shit. But that's not unusual for me- and I'll get used to it the longer I am down there! I'll get to feel like a big city kind of girl for a few hours a day, then return to the comfort of my suburban home.
That's sweet.