Your Daily Dose of Vitamin A

Bucket List V 1.0

2011-02-16T06:50:00.000-08:00

Something I have been working on. It is by no means complete and I've already completed some of the things on here, but I thought I'd put it somewhere that I could always find it!

Go white water rafting
Go on a Mediterranean cruise
Do a canopy tour
Go on a motorcycle trip around US
Go on the Trans-Siberian train
Route 66 trip
Swim with dolphins
See a platypus
Go on a safari
Ride an elephant
Adopt an animal
Join an activist group
Mush a dog sled
Go to the grand canyon
Go to Niagra falls
Yosemite
Visit Hiroshima and Nagasaki
See a meteor shower
Snorkeling in the Belize reef
See the Parthenon in Greece
Stonehenge
Live outside the country for a month or more
See the seven wonders of the world.
Volunteer in the Peace Corps or similar
Visit Auschwitz
Visit the blarney stone
Horse drawn caravan through Ireland
Go to top of empire state building
Statue of liberty
Participate in a march
Go to white house
Ride cable car in San Fran
Write a children's book
Glastonbury festival
Go to Mardi Gras
Learn to play chess
Play poker in a Vegas casino
Learn to make pottery
Grow a garden
Learn to cook
Own my own company
Take drawing classes
Create memory books for each child
Fill out all about me book
Learn to sew
Sew my own clothes/ kids clothes
Start a collection
Learn to not care what others think
Go to a retrouville weekend
Witness a birth
Learn how to take criticism
Learn how to take compliments
Learn time management
Get a college degree
Become a master of geography
Go to a pro sports game of hockey, football, baseball, basketball
Go to a summer and winter olympics
Live debt free
Have college funds for all three kids
Have a savings account with 5 figures in it.
Shop on rodeo drive and not need to feel guilty
Sleep in a castle
Fly first class
Own something from Tiffany &Co
Understand what love is
Understand what forgiveness is
Adopt a child or be a foster parent
Create a home that is fun, comforting, neat and safe
Have an heirloom for each child
Write letters to everyone I love to be given when I pass away
Meet my grandchildren. And take them to Disney :)
Build our dream house
Own a vacation home
Catch a fish
Take up Tai Chi
Go on an awakening retreat
Build a habitat for humanity home
Adopt a BLM horse
Join a disaster relief fund
Start a charity or organize an event
Mentor someone
Be a successful "natural horsewoman"
Make a film
Complete nanowrimo
Complete a marathon
Go to fashion week
Go on a trip alone
Go on a trip with each kid individually
Learn to play guitar
Learn to play the piano
Go to millionaires row at the derby
Own a racehorse
Go to the super bowl
Macy's thanksgiving day parade
NYE at times square
See a psychic
Go to a masquerade
Throw a surprise party
Do a 365 challenge
Ride horses on the beach
Watch my kids fall in love

Art

2010-12-21T12:34:00.000-08:00

After doing the FINAL shopping trip for this holiday season, I took the kids in for some celebratory IHOP. It was quiet in there and the kids had plenty of crayons and extra place settings to draw to their little heart's content. Big drew a complex scene of an army parcel loader, personnel carrier, helipad everything-you-need vehicle. Maxson has been quite proud of his success in drawing people. He decided to draw a picture of me "to make me happy".

He grabbed my pen and made my enormous egg shaped head/body combo. Drew my eyes- complete with pupils- very nice. Then he gave me a squiggly silly mouth which we all laughed at and tried to make our mouths squiggly and silly. Next came my stick legs from the bottom of my egg head/body. I asked where my nose was. A small scribbly dot of a nose was hastily added. Then my arms extended from the center of my face all the way to the edge of the page on either side. Hands are not required. Finally, he added my hair. I commented on how I love the way he draws my hair- a large (though not nearly as large as my Angry Birds-esque figure) curly scribble that resembles a beehive perched on the top. Lovely.

I turned to talk with Big about his drawing and hear every A_M_A_Z_I_N_G thing that his truck was capable of. I turned back to Little and noticed a new addition to my portrait.

Me: "What's that?"

Little: "What?"

Me: "That right there."

Little: (in a very serious- slightly impatient- tone) "That's your pee-pee."

Me: "Really."

Little: "Yeah, so you can go potty. . . your butt is behind it too."

I'm not sure if that rectangle that sticks out is supposed to be my butt. I hope not.

So I get home and am telling J about this when I see all the other portraits he has done of our family. There is one for J, one for Big and one for himself. There is also another one of me. I remember that it's of me because it's in pink. There are no scribble penises on J, Big's or Little's. But sure as shit, there is one on mine hanging right there on the fridge- I didn't even notice it until then.

Perhaps he is trouble by my lack of a penis and thinks that if he draws it on there enough times, the penis fairy will bring me one. So thoughtful.

Dear Claire,

2010-10-28T20:02:00.000-07:00

It's your birthday. Everyone always says "I can't believe it's been a year!", and I can't either. It seems so surreal. The past few days I've been thinking the "this time last year I was. . ." type thoughts and while it seems to have gone by in a blink, it seems from another lifetime entirely at the same time.

The day you were born was such a surprise to me- despite having been induced. After my dr. appointment that morning, the midwife and I decided that it was too risky to have you stay there any longer. I was sent off to pack my bags and meet back at the hospital in a few hours.

When I was finally checked in and settled, my midwife came in to let me know that her shift was over and "pass the baton" so to speak to Nancy, the midwife who would help me bring you into the world. They broke my water at about 6 and I was quite sure that you would be here by 7:30. 7:30 came. . . and went. As did 8:30. And 9:30. Finally, at 10, I was ready to tell the midwife that I was going home because you really were going to stay there forever. My progress was checked again and I had made it all the way to 6cm. I started at 5cm. I was so disappointed in myself that I had gotten everyone worked up over my "fast labor" that was taking 4+ hours.

Nancy came in to chat with me after my progress update. We sat and talked about what I could do to help things move along, how I was feeling, what the contractions were feeling like etc. The longer we talked, the more often I had to stop through each contraction. Toward the end of our discussion, I started getting the shakes and feeling a little sick. A little voice from Bradley class whispered to me that I might be in transition, but I shushed it because there was no way I was there after just 20 minutes.

Before leaving, Nancy decided to check the progress again and instead of telling me how far I had come, she simply asked your father to call the nurse and tell her to bring a birth cart.

I clearly remembered being excited that the moment was finally here, but also petrified that it was here. I know that I thought something idiotic like "Here it (the pain, not you) comes- I can't turn back now!" As if I could have turned back at any other time.

Mere minutes later, I felt the urge to push. Grandma and Aunt Vanessa rushed back right as I started to push.

I'd like to say that I brought you into this world quietly and peacefully- as nature intended- but I didn't.

I yelled through every push. I repeated things that were blatantly obvious (like "It hurts!"). I felt the wave of pure energy of each contraction and how impossible it was to fight against it, but how terrifying it was to be so "out of control" of my own body. It was on autopilot, I didn't have to do anything really.

After two pushes (and much screaming. . . and maybe a little panicking), you crowned with your fist up by your face. Nancy told me to stop pushing and I looked at her like she was insane. I looked her in the eyes hoping she would catch my "no effing way that's happening" message without me having to say it. I remember her smiling as she leaned away from us and simply told me to deliver you myself.

"Reach down and get your baby."

I don't remember a single ounce of pain from that moment on. Nothing. I reached down and pulled you into my arms for the first time and everything diappeared except us. I laid my cheek on the top of your warm, sticky little head and thought "this is heaven." Nothing else mattered. You were here, and I didn't need to see you to know you were perfect.

You were born at 10:50pm. You weighed 7lbs 9oz and were 19.5 inches long. You fussed a little, but mostly wanted to look around. I warmed you up and snuggled with you, kissing your sweet face and knew I couldn't stand to be apart from you. Everyone had to fight me for you- from your dad to the nurses.

When your brothers got to meet you for the first time, they were as in love as the rest of us. On our way home, Maxson reached over and rubbed your blanket and said, "She's so pretty.", softly to you. Aidan put himself on "eye watch" and alerted everyone the minute your eyes opened so that we could all see your pretty eyes. Daddy considered himself your personal bassinet and lived to take naps with you.

It's now a year later. Your brothers still adore you and live to make you laugh. Your daddy still fights me for bedtime snuggles with you and I still think of you as my own little piece of heaven. Through this past year, your innocence has reminded me of what is good in people when I could find none. Your smile has never failed to make me smile even when I was sure there was nothing to smile about. Not a day has gone by in this first year of your life that I have not told you I loved you even though the words don't feel strong enough to explain what you mean to me. I hope that if I say it every day of your life, by the time I am gone, you may understand how much I love you.

Happy Birthday Princess.

Love,
Mommy

A House of Boys

2010-07-26T07:00:00.000-07:00

It's the dead of summer which means we are all stuck inside unless we'd rather drink our air than breathe it. We've also instituted a "No TV before lunch" rule. I was hoping it would prompt the boys to go outside before it got too hot, but it's mostly resulted in them whining for a 2 hours about not being able to watch TV and then asking to eat lunch at 10am.

But this morning I made pancakes, Little is playing with some of his new birthday toys, The Princess is eating pancakes (and an ink pen) and Big is playing with his toy plane. He's been on quite the plane kick lately as Jason recently bought a flight simulator game for the X-Box.

Big zooms around the living room making plane noises that sound remarkably like the sounds in the movies- mimicry of sounds has always been a strong suit of his. I'm so proud. Anyway, he zooms around making accelerations, decelerations, turns, and of course, the occasional weaponry sounds.

As "Atlantis One" buzzes the couch where The Princess and I are sitting, I hear him muttering to himself.

"Atlantis One, you are approaching the Cliff Mountains. Do you copy? Over."

"Copy, I am coming over the mountain. . . I see it! I see the Princess-Bear-Zilla!!! OH NO!!! She's trying to get me with her SuperCuteness Blaster!!!!"

He swerves the plane right down over The Princesse's head while she smiles and giggles at her silly Big. She is still chewing on the ink pen (her top teeth have finally broken through- she can chew on anything she wants as long as it's not me).

Big's voice gets mechanical again.

"Atlantis One, take evasive proceedures. Do not let the Princess-Bear-Zilla get you."

"Copy, but she's coming after me with her SuperCuteness Ray!! (Which is apparently different than the SuperCuteness Blaster). AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! ABORT MISSION."

He buzzes by the couch again and reports to his squadron leader that it was a TRAP!!

"There's a whole family of ZILLA'S- Princess-Zilla is not alone, she has a mommy-zilla and there are dog-zillas, do you copy?!"

"Copy Atlantis One! Get out of there!!! Report back to base!"

"Roger! >he makes several "warp to light speed" sounds< HAHAHA!!! You'll never get me Princess-Bear-Zilla!!! Your SuperCuteness Powers are no match for me!!!"

He kisses her and hauls ass off down the hall.

She might be the cuteset thing we've ever seen, and we might all be so madley in love with her, but she'll still have to live with the fact that this is a boy driven household. She'll always be a Priness-Bear-Zilla with SuperCuteness Powers or a Loch Ness Princess whose Cuteness Stare incapacitates entire armies or something similar.

There's certainly no denying she has Cuteness Powers over every person in this house.

6 Months

2010-04-28T09:16:00.000-07:00

My beautiful daughter is 6 months old today. So much has happened since the day she came into my life. So many times I've thought- I need to write this down or- I need a recorder in my pocket to help me remember this later to blog about it. But I haven't.

I have manged to to keep my head above water though. The past 6 months have brought some of the most heart-wrenching moments I've experienced in my life. Some good, some bad.

The day my daughter was born was incredible. I was so excited to meet my sweet angel. I was so scared to go through a natural delivery again. I was sad that the boys wouldn't get to meet their sister in the hospital because of the ridiculous Swine Flu. I was happy that our family would finally be complete.

I remember once the hard part and the yelling and the pain was over, feeling so amazed by my sweet princess. I put my cheek on her little head the minute she was born- I still remember how warm and soft she felt. It felt like heaven. I also felt relief. Finally, this part of my life was over, I had everything I ever wanted.

In early December I discovered my husband having an affair and all the perfection I thought I had came tumbling down around me. I've never been so destroyed. So lost. So afraid. This was not supposed to happen to me. This happened to other people. People who didn't have the perfection that I thought I had.

I now know that my baby girl was sent to me to be my little ray of hope when I was in my darkest hours. All three of my children reminded me what commitment, hope and love truly meant. One hug from them was better than all the anti-depressants in the world. My amazing friends and family encouraged me when I felt confused, weak and alone.

In some ways, I felt like the last 10 years of my life had been wiped away. It all meant nothing now and I had to start over. The problem was, do I start over alone, or with my husband. In the end, I chose to err on the side of forgiveness. I owed it to my children and most of all to myself to try to make things work. If it didn't work, at least I could say I tried.

I'm now 4 months out from that devastating day of discovery. It has been a journey filled with exceptionally deep valleys, blind corners, seemingly never-ending plateaus of apathy and on occasion, a small peak or two.

In 6 months, so much has changed for me. The way I look at each day, myself, my relationships is no longer a fixed thought process. It's fluid, it changes with every nuance. It's like learning to speak all over again. While I struggle to have everything remain as normal as possible for my children, I'm trying to turn over a new leaf to make things better for our family- and myself.

Recent Gems From my Children

2009-12-02T08:53:00.000-08:00

"Don't you think Little has a Frankenstein head? I mean it's so tall and square, it looks like a Frankenstein head." ~ Big

"She smells like cottage cheese." ~ Big in reference to The Princess

"Dat is the biggest garage I ever seed." ~ Little exclaiming as we pass a "Self Storage" facility.

"I ate a-hunred-dowlars." ~ Little in a pretend game of. . . eat the money? I don't know, he has an obsession with money and with eating inappropriate things. But I do love the way he says"a-hunred-dowlars".

"Isn't it weird that babies take such little breaths? I think she's hyperventilating." ~ Big's observation of The Princess in her car seat.

"That's not tasty for me."~ Little in regard to our dinner one evening.

"Take me home!! I am SICK of this!!"~ Little while we are out V-Day card shopping

"You are making BAD choices!!!"~ Little yelling at Big for not turning on Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.

Perfection

2009-10-30T20:03:00.000-07:00

is about 7lbs 9oz and 19.5in long and arrived on October 28th @ 10:50pm

*pic courtesy of Kacy Cierley Photography

I am Still Pregnant

2009-10-26T07:29:00.000-07:00

Can you believe that shit?

I was quite sure that Baby Claire would have made her appearance by now. Apparently my cervix was as well as it's been hanging out at over 4 cm dilated for two weeks now.

Yes, I just posted about the condition of my cervix. My mother deems it necessary to let each of her clients know all about it and send out mass emails to the family about my cervix and Jason seems to think the people in his office cannot comprehend a simple "she's close"; they need the cervical play-by-play, so I might as well give her some publicity myself.

I am 38 weeks and 3 days. I'm already past where I delivered Little at and will be where I delivered Big at in just 3 short days. Perhaps she really has been listening that I would like a Halloween baby. Or she's just stubborn. That could be it too.

So for right now, Baby Watch 2009 is suspended pending a review of cervical conditions on Wednesday.

When will I learn

2009-10-12T06:25:00.000-07:00

Seriously. I have been a mom for 9 years now. I've had to go through this toddler phase twice already and have made my bed for a third trip through it. When will I learn? On the whole I think I've learned quite a bit about child rearing and the ways of children in general. I read scores of books on child behavior and discipline. I've had even more experience with 3 year old's in particular- other than my own children- as I was a preschool teacher for several years. I should know this.

Perhaps it's because it is my own child. I fancy my own offspring as above this rule; incapable of being anything but innocent, sweet, angelic beings. Big was an exceptionally well behaved toddler, so in some ways I suppose it's like I'm going through the true version of "toddler terrorism" for the first time. Maybe because of this I choose to turn a blind eye to this particular rule thinking this could be the area in which Little's goodness shines through.

I'm wrong. Every time I am wrong, but it doesn't stop me from hoping. So someone PLEASE tell me the next time I think that my quiet 3 year old is playing nicely that he's not. Remind me that the rule is and has always been "quiet toddlers are up to no good". No exceptions. You would think that after Strawgate of 07 or the Marker Debacle of 08 I would know. But apparently I have amnesia- exacerbated no doubt by pregnancy- and do not think of these shining, case-in-point examples.

In just the past month, here are a few examples of Little "playing quietly by himself":

An entire box of bandaids dumped, opened and stuck to the (dirty) kitchen floor.

Half a HUGE bag of dog food dumped by the cupful on the living room floor (right after I vacuumed BTW)

And this mornings gem. When I said if you were still hungry, I would get you something other than the sour cream and onion Pringles you pulled out of the lazy susan, I did NOT mean you could eat the bag of brown sugar also residing in said lazy susan. As a matter of fact, I am pretty sure I mentioned cottage cheese or some grapes specifically as the only things you were getting to eat this morning for second breakfast. But definitely not the brown sugar.

(Excuse the pic quality on these- taken with the cell as it was what was within arm's reach before I threw him in the shower.)

Yes, he looks high in this picture- 1/4 cup of sugar straight up in a 30lb toddler might as well be speed. We're going to have an AWESOME day.

There is also no photographic evidence of the entire bottle of gummy vitamins dumped (and half eaten) on the bathroom floor (YAY Poison Control!!), or the 1/4 gallon of milk dumped on the floor because my pregnant ass wasn't waddling fast enough to the kitchen to get him some milk, or the bag of fruit loops dumped (again) on the bathroom floor while I was in the shower, or the numerous baskets of folded laundry that have been emptied piece by piece onto the dog hair covered floor because he needs a boat to play in and the other 5 EMPTY baskets are unacceptable.

But you can be sure that they have all happened just since we moved into our new place less than 3 months ago at the hands of my adorable toddler. If that's not birth control enough, I don't know what is.

This is why we are a bug free home

2009-09-05T20:00:00.000-07:00

Because when I make exceptions, bad things happen.

Our neighbor has a small vegetable garden outside her house with some tomato, cucumber, green bean and carrot plants in it. The other day she comes over and tells the boys to tell me to get a jar because she found a really cool caterpillar and she thought it might be getting ready to spin a cocoon and that would be fun for them to watch. So I head over there with the boys since in theory, I have no problem with caterpillars. They make butterflies and are generally harmless, so they are a creepy crawly that I can generally stand.

I get over there and she tells me he's covered in these little white hairlike things, so she thought he might be starting to spin his cocoon. I'm not well versed in the process of cocoon spinning, so sure, that could be it. We put him in a tall tupperware thing (with a corner lifted up so he could breathe) because I am lame and don't have a jar. We come home and I spend an hour online trying to figure out WTF this caterpillar is so I can show the boys what it will turn into. I can't find shit, so I give up.

We have been watching him for two days and I started to suspect that all is not well with this bug. He looks like he is quite literally losing his shit out one end and he's not moving much. I talked to Jason tonight and told him I think I'm going to tell the boys that he died and I buried him because I don't think it's going to make it to butterfly/moth stage. He hops on Google and in less than 2 fracking minutes he tells me that he knows what it is and that we have to throw it out.

Why you ask? Because the "little white hairlike things" on it are NOT the beginnings of it's own cocoon. They are tons of little cocoons of the predatory WASP that eats the Tomato Horn Worm (which is what this bastard is). The larvae are feeding off the worm while it is alive and will hatch in about 10 days time. It's already been two days just in my kitchen, it could have been days 8&9. Can you freaking imagine if I woke up one morning to a kitchen full of effing WASPS that hatched out of my children's "pet" caterpillar!!!!!!!!!!!!

Here are the pics of the poor soul who was promptly destroyed far away from the house. In theory, the wasps are good because those caterpillars are really destructive to tomato or tobacco plants, but they have no business in my kitchen.

Revelations

2009-08-31T19:39:00.000-07:00

The kid can identify the eating habits, appearance, migration patterns and mating rituals of over 100 different species of dinosaurs, but after 8 years on this earth, this came as a shock to him.

Big: "MOM!!!! There are maggots in the outside garbage can again!"

Me: "Sorry buddy, I just washed the cans out, but I guess a fly got in there when I put the garbage in. There's nothing I can do about it until after garbage day."

Big: "Yeah, well, I don't think you should put the garbage back in those cans anyway."

Me: "Why not?"

Big: "Because they make it smell."

Me: "You mean it makes them smell. Well, it's garbage, it smells."

Big: "No, it wouldn't smell if you wouldn't put it in those smelly cans!"

Me: Qua? WTF is this kid talking about? "What do you mean? The garbage is what stinks the cans up, not the other way around."

Big: "What do YOU mean? *insert 3 second pause* Do you mean that if you went to the store and bought new garbage cans, they wouldn't stink when we bought them?"

Me: "Uhhh, yeah, garbage cans don't come 'pre-stunk'."

Big: "Really?! I thought all garbage cans were made smelly. We should go buy some new ones then."

Me: "Why? Our garbage would just stink up the new ones too."

Big: "Oh yeah. I hate garbage."

Dreams

2009-08-21T15:53:00.001-07:00

I know right, 3 posts in one day- now you won't hear from me for months.

When I was 14, I got my first job working on the backside of the horse racing track. I was so excited to be doing ANYTHING involved with horses, I (usually) overcame my deep hatred for early rising and not only rose before the sun, but did so willingly to go and shovel shit. The trainer I worked for a was a good woman who loved each and every one of the horses in her care. She taught me a lot about horses and for that I will always be grateful to her.

For the summer season, we were at a track where the stalls in the barns faced each other over a wide walkway. Directly across from us was a trainer/jockey that we'll call "Mike". Mike was not a nice man and epitomized generally every negative stereotype that surrounds those who handle race Thoroughbreds. The two camps never fraternized much as the two trainers could not have been more different.

One day, Mike came back in swearing and kicking and jerking on the horse he had just worked. The horse was sweating and trembling so bad, the lead line looked like it was made of jello. Mike continued to swear and slam things around while he walked the horse around to cool him down until he could put him in his stall. Anytime the horse got too close to him, he recieved a sharp jab in the nose followed by a string of threats about being sent to the butchers.

Eventually the horse was so wound up that he started rearing a little and knocked a few muck buckets over which only increased his terror. He slipped out of Mike's grasp and bolted for the one small patch of grass he could find.

I didn't bother to see what punishment the horse had received when Mike caught up to him, but about 10 minutes later, he was jerked into the barn and thrown (as much as one can throw a 1,000 lb animal) into his stall. Mike immediately got in his truck and left. Our work was almost done for the day, but since I was only 14, I had to wait for someone to come and get me. Before my boss left, I asked her what was going on with the horse who had been so traumatized this afternoon.

She told me that he was a "frustrating" horse for Mike because despite his fairly impressive pedigree, he was stubborn and not much of a racer. For someone like him who was only in this sport for the money, he seemed to take this as a personal slight from the horse and has always treated him like less than a living being. He called the horse "Heart Attack" because his racing name was something similar, but Heart Attack was always jumpy and fearful of everyone and everything he came in contact with.

After everyone left I took some peppermints from our jar and peeked into Heart Attack's stall. He looked dejected and barely even bothered to notice that someone was outside his door. Soon enough his curiosity and the smell of the peppermints that I was now eating since he had little interest in them lured him over to the door. I talked softly to him and gave him the last of the mints. I told him he was a good boy and began rubbing on his face and neck. It is *SO* cheesy, but a friendship was born that day that I have never forgotten.

Heart Attack became one of the best reconciliations for my inability to get myself to and from work as I would spend time with him while I waited for my ride. Some days I would see if I could get someone to give me a ride over to the track in the afternoons or on my day off just so I could see him.

He would answer promptly at the stall door when I would peek around the barn door and call his name very softly. Sometimes I'd sit on the ground outside his stall and he'd "groom" my hair while I read. I liked to think that our few moments of quiet and friendship made his days just a little more bearable on the track. Obviously, our friendship did nothing to improve his talent, so he went on being hated and bullied by his trainer.

After I got pregnant with Big, I never worked on the track again and lost all contact with the people I had befriended in my youth. Before I left my job, I had my boss promise me that if she ever got wind that Heart Attack was actually going to be sent to the butcher's that she would do everything in her power to stop it. Like I said, she was a good person and agreed to make a teenage girl feel better. I'm sure, however, if she had ever known that his life was in danger that she would have remembered her promise and tried to honor it.

But life on the track is hectic and crazy, people go from track to track and buy and sell horses not only through private sales, but through claiming races that it is very hard to keep up with someone unless you are in direct contact with them.

Still, I never forgot Heart Attack. I always wondered what had happened to him and on occasion would try to search for him online to see if I could find any race reports or anything for him. Unfortunately, while I knew his "barn name", I didn't actually know his registered name- I had an idea of what it was, but could never find anything on him by guessing at his full name.

Wednesday I woke up from my nap with Little thinking about searching the Jockey Club registry for what I thought was his name. I have ABSOLUTELY no idea why on earth I would have woken up thinking about that after all this time, but I did. The registry search would come back with results for all horses with names similar to that, so maybe I could find him that way. I did some sleuthing and came up with nothing, so I tried searching under the trainer's name knowing as always that it was going to be futile. About 11 pages into a Google search, I found his real name under a race result report for the trainer.

I couldn't believe I had finally found his name! Now that I had that, I could really look to see if he had been doing anything lately. I put it in a search and the second result was from an organization that helps owners find new homes for their old racehorses and he was there.

Since I'm a big pregnant ball of hormones, I started sobbing. I really thought that he had been sent to slaughter years ago and never dreamed I would actually find him. I called Jason immediately and told him that I'd found Heart Attack. Because he can be a good husband when he wants to be, he must have been listening at least one of the times that I spoke about Heart Attack and knew exactly who I was talking about.

He said that he would call the woman at the "rescue" and see what information he could get on him (since I was blubbering like a fool, I was in no shape to be talking to anyone). He called me back to tell me that the owners were no longer in contact with the rescue, but the woman was pretty sure he was still available and that she would pass along their information.

We called them on Thursday only to find out he had been given away about 3 weeks ago. The owner seemed genuinely upset that we had missed out. She offered to call the current owners and ask if they would be willing to sell him for what they paid for him. She wasn't sure what would happen, but said she would try to get back with us one way or the other.

Jason has been out of town working all week. I picked him up from the airport today and was irritated with him as I was trying to call him to let him know I was there and he wasn't answering. Finally he came to the car and was on the phone which would explain the unanswered calls.

As he got in, he got off the phone and told me he brought me home an awesome present from New Mexico to make up for his rather shitty gifts he had brought me from he recent travels. (For example, he spent a week in Hawaii and brought me back a bag of sea salt to cook with- I am a terrible cook- and a glitter babydoll T-shirt that said "Hawaii" on it in a medium. I was 5 months pregnant.)

I kind of rolled my eyes wondering what desert rock or Mexican spice packet he had brought me back. He smiled and told me that he just bought Heart Attack and he would be arriving on our farm next weekend.

It is a dream that I *never* expected to come true. It's so weird that I can remember daydreaming when I was 14 about having a nice farm and bringing Heart Attack to retire with me. He is 15 years old now and ready for a nice quiet life which is exactly what I can provide him with.

Luck of the Irish

2009-08-21T15:36:00.000-07:00

So, now that I've updated everyone on our amazing new place, I'm sure there are those who noticed that it is missing something. Something of the 4 legged variety that keeps the mowing responsibilities to a minimum if you know what I mean.

We were not necessarily *looking* for a horse. It just sort of found us. I have been watching the Farm and Garden section on Craigslist just to see what is being offered for sale on there, average prices for things we may need one day- you know. So an ad that offered up a gentle, people loving Tennessee Walker for adoption caught my eye one day.

I showed the ad to Jason who fell in love immediately. He's always wanted a big, pretty paint horse and this big baby was exactly what he was looking for. To top it off, the horse's name was Patrick because he was born on St. Patrick's day and given Jason's affinity for all things Celtic/Irish, it seemed like fate to him. We drove about 4 and a half hours to meet Patrick and his owners. They had been using him to babysit some of the babies on the farm due to his extremely gentle and carefree nature.

Everyone in the family was smitten with him and we decided to bring Patrick into our home. His owners couldn't have been happier- Patrick was very special to them, but due to an impending move, they needed to reduce their herd size. They wanted to make sure that he went to a home that would love him and not treat him like a ticket to the winner's circle in the show ring.
Since he is still watching over one of their little ones, he will not be arriving on our farm until mid October when his little friend gets a new buddy more her own size. The boys are always talking about Patrick and even helped me dust the cobwebs out of a few stalls in the barn today! Here is a picture of Patrick, our good luck pony =)

To catch up briefly

2009-08-21T15:02:00.000-07:00

since my last post.

#1- I'm 29 weeks pregnant today. Woot. Only 11 more weeks to go- that's 77 days in case anyone but me is counting. At 17 weeks- right before I left for vacation, we decided to splurge and get a 3/4-D ultrasound to tell us whether we were having a boy or a girl. We rounded the grandma's and aunt up and made it a surprise- fun times. The baby was pretty squirmy, but the tech felt very positive that our final baby was also going to be a boy. I think the girl thought we were crazy when the grandma's both yelled "NO!", but everyone was soon happy enough about Baby Bennett and life went on.
When we went in for our 20 anatomy scan, we went by ourselves since we were just making sure all fingers and toes were accounted for (and they are). Jason and I were talking back and forth about HIM and saying that HE was really a wiggler when the tech asked us if we knew what we were having. We told her we had the 17 week scan and were told boy. I also tossed in that she could feel free to confirm or deny that however she saw fit. Her response: "Well, I'm asking because I'm not seeing anything that indicates that you are having a boy. Everything I am seeing says girl and I've been doing this for 20 years."

Shut. Your. Mouth.

Jason and I are absolutely dumbfounded. I start crying of course, he leans over and asks if she is serious. She insists that she wouldn't even have said anything if she was not 99% sure and offered to have another tech come in and look for us. The other tech assured us that we were indeed having a baby girl. I'm still sobbing BTW. Jas had to take over all communications for me while I sat there and lost my shit.

I had an appointment with my midwife right afterwards and after scaring my mother half to death when she brought the boys to me (what was she supposed to think when I came out of the room in hysterics), I started sending the word out via text. Jason and I were in such a daze when the midwife came in that she asked us what was going on, when we told her we were having, like, the BEST day ever and explained, she was just as excited for us as our friends and family.

Still, it took me every bit of the next month and two more ultrasounds to REALLY believe it. As a matter of fact, last week was the first time I dared to do any shopping for her for fear that she may sprout a penis simply to spite me. I go in for another (and hopefully final) u/s in a few days and will of course, ask them to check again- one can never be too sure, right?!

#2- Around the same time that all this was going down, Little took it upon himself to start potty training. Actually I had about a week that I knew I could devote to really taking him in on time and washing 1,000's of pairs of underwear, so we decided that Friday was the last day for diapers.
To my amazement, we did not have a single accident- he peed in the potty every time. Number 2 was harder and we had a few episodes on the floor (but not in his pants) until he finally figured out that we REALLY weren't going to put a diaper on him and that nothing was going to come out of the toilet and snatch him ass off while he did his business. Since Little is quite possibly one of the most stubborn children I have ever met, I really expected more resistance from him. I am so proud of my big boy!

#3- I'm going to have to put the kabosh on the Plague O Fruit Flies story- it was much more "funny" when I was doing daily battle with them and losing only to realize that a bag of bananas has slipped and fallen down behind our microwave (which was positioned diagonally across a corner) and had become a swapy fruit fly breeding ground. Barf.
Thankfully, our new place has a perfect microwave spot and bananas are now required to be placed on the bakers rack so they can be in full view at all times. Which brings me to my next point- our new place. It happened. Nothing jinxed it and we got moved in with only the normal amount of drama, fighting, exhaustion and confusion that comes with moving. Here is a link to some pictures of our amazing new property. Every morning I wake up and can't believe I *actually* live here. And that it costs a little more than HALF of what I was paying for our shittastic house in the snooty suburbs.

Pics

It May Be a While

2009-07-03T07:07:00.000-07:00

I know, like it hasn't already. We are getting ready to move and things are just hectic lately. Our new home is something plucked straight out of an L.M. Montgomery tale and I'm so afraid something will jinx it that I don't even want to write about it. To keep it simple, I'll tell you that it has a pasture and a barn. A nice barn with stalls.

July is turning out to be every bit as packed as May is and June wasn't much better. Summer needs to be much longer.

Also, I'm still working on posts about our amazing gender changing baby, Little's abrupt potty training success, and a cautionary tale about a lost/forgotten bag of bananas and a plague of fruit flies. So check back in.

Little Boys Play This Game Too, Right?

2009-06-10T07:09:00.001-07:00

Little (shoving his hands into my bangs and pulling): "Mommy, I wix your haiw."

Mommy: "Ok"

My hair is already a frightening sight since I just let it air dry after getting out of the most chlorinated pool in Christendom, which makes me shudder silently to myself as I think about the man-hours it is going to take to fix this "fix".

Little : "Oh no no no no no no. I wix it."

He notices the grimace on my face as he knots and yanks and teases my hair and assures me:
"It be over soon Mommy."

He stops and waits for further inspiration to come to him. Or he forgets what he's doing and stares off into space while I discreetly try to smooth some of the tangles out of my hair. It looks like Edward Scissorhands hit the pipe and went to town on my head. I don't have to see it, I can feel it.

Little (being drawn from his stupor by my non-stealthy movements): "No no no no no no, I wix it Mommy. Hewe some yotion."

Hair products = lotion in Little Land. He holds his finger up like he's got an invisible lotion pump in his hand and puts it in my haiw. Hair.

"I wix it I wix it."

Severe mussing continues punctuated by him looking at my face and telling me it will be over soon. There is also about a gallon's worth of imaginary lotion pumped into my unruly mane. But it's ok, because every so often those little chubby hand will slide down my face and hold onto my cheeks while he looks at me and smiles. Once you have parented a toddler (or terrorist as a friend of mine has renamed the "toddler" stage), you know that moments like that can sometimes be few and far between and you'd go through anything- even the manual removal of each hair on your head- to get another one.

By now I'm nearly bald in the front, but as Little steps back to admire his handiwork, he realizes that somewhere in the rat's nest he's created, there is A hair out of place. He frowns and tells me he'll wix it and carefully reaches up to readjust ONE hair on the top of the pile.

Little: "Ahh, dat's beb-ber Mommy. All Done!!"

At this point, I am required to look at his masterpiece in the mirror. I want to tell him that I look (and feel) like Amy Winehouse's stunt double, but it's all I can do to smile and tell him it's "BEAUTIFUL!!". Then he runs away and leaves me to sort out the mess.

Don't Worry

2009-05-05T06:45:00.001-07:00

It wasn't the stress of being bitten yesterday that made Little fall asleep so early.

He's got a stomach bug and has been puking all morning. It's just as hard as you would think to take care of someone who is puking while you are puking. The joys of motherhood never cease to amaze me.

U Bet It Is

2009-05-04T17:12:00.000-07:00

I have been bragging about my week free from vomiting and TWO whole days free of nausea AND vomiting, so this baby has decided to kick me right in the ass and let me spend another day hugging my toilet bowl.

I really hate puking in front of the kids. It scares them and worries them and well, there are some things that are just easier done without a two year old putting you in a half nelson and screaming that he wants milk RIGHT NOW! Thankfully, Little fell asleep on the way home from school today. (He's had no nap and was vampire bait at school today and apparently the stress was just too much for him) It was just Big and I this evening.

I am getting pretty good at controlling all coughs, laughs and sudden shifts of weight that may upset the delicate balance of my stomach contents, but I was unprepared for the violent sneeze that sent me hurdling toward the bathroom. Big heard me and asked if I was ok. I managed to choke out that I was fine.

My stomach seemed to think that the only way to stop this was for me to puke out everything down to my small intestines so I was in there for a while. Big came in to check on me despite my feeble assurance that I was fine. He rubbed my back and asked me if I was ok again. I nodded in between heaves. When I finally caught a break, Big was still rubbing my back and looked at me and said:

"Being pregnant sure is hard work isn't it mom?"

Why yes, yes it is and the sooner you realize this and you start thanking your lucky stars that you got the easy end of life because you were born with a penis and not a uterus, the further you are going to get in a successful relationship with a member of the opposite sex- not that we need to be thinking about that for the next 20 years or anything.

(Small aside here, why is it not "an uterus" or "an unicorn" but it is "an umbrella" and "an usher"?)

The Case of the Missing Mint

2009-04-27T05:54:00.000-07:00

I am lazy and hate to cook and that goes double for my husband, so we went to the local Nathan's/Bruster's for dinner on a lovely summer-like evening this weekend. In case you don't know, Nathan's serves "Nathan's hot dogs" which are so delicious and juicy that they are apparently approved by God. They are God approved animal by-products. Bruesters is an ice cream parlor which may also be human tested, God approved, but I'm not entirely sure. It's certainly human approved- even if it is entirely sinful.

A hot dog and ice cream picnic-esque meal on a summer night- how Americana. We even called in the grandparents who came to to join us for ice cream. (someone call Norman Rockwell)

I have never been to Brusters and being pregnant an naturally picky, I couldn't decide what I wanted when it came time to order the ice cream. It's a walk up window and we were the only patrons, so I was taking my sweet time. Big ordered first- Mint Chocolate Chip. That's what he gets every time he comes here. DH ordered for himself and for Little next. MIL decides that she would like 2 scoops of Mint Chocolate Chip in a waffle cone. FIL orders. I still don't know what the hell I want.

I'm going to throw in here that Brusters must be run by an ex-football player or retired female gym teacher as EVERY ONE of their employee's is fresh off the cheerleading squad of the local highschool. I mean it's ice cream and hotdogs- should be cake- even for them.

Suddenly, there is a problem. Cheerleader #1 comes back to the window and says

"We're out of Mint Chocoalte Chip- well, we only have enough for one scoop."

So MIL starts perusing the board to find an acceptable substitute for her one scoop of minty goodness.

MIL: "Ok, I'll have a scoop of Vanilla and the scoop of Mint"

Cheerleader#1: "We're out of Mint." Huh?

At this point Cheerleader #2 comes by with Big's ice cream. It's a scoop of regular Chocolate Chip. I told Cheerleader #2 that this was supposed to be Mint as well.

Awkward silence ensues. I ask is there or is there not a scoop of Mint Chocolate Chip- if there is, Big would like it and MIL says she will get something else.

Cheerleader #1: "We're out of Mint Chocolate Chip." (Maybe she's Robot #1)

Cheerleader #2 steps in to save the day: "You can have this (sliding the Chocolate Chip ice cream toward Big and MIL who are standing together in a united mint front). It's just like the Mint Chocolate Chip, but without the mint."

***

I don't have any words. I can't even look at FIL because if I do, I am going to lose it in a fit of laughter right in this bewildered girl's face. So everyone (including me) gets regular Chocolate Chip as I was afraid any more confusion just might make one of their heads explode.

Thankfully, it was quite tasty- even without the mint.

It better be a girl

2009-04-22T09:02:00.000-07:00

Recently there was a discussion in one of my online mom's groups about chin/facial hairs. At first, I avoided the topic as body hair gives me the heebie jeebies. From the neck down is pretty much a free-for-all for my razor and has been, for the most part, hair-free for about the past 10 years. Life is good.

It was a normal Tuesday about 3 weeks ago when I climbed into my car to leave for work and flipped down the visor mirror to do my makeup (whatever, I was running late). I began with my foundation as I sat in the driveway- there is a routine (I'm late a lot); driveway-foundation, first stop light-powder, second light- blush and lip color, work parking lot- mascara, which equals me arriving at work looking like a million bucks. Or at least not like I just got out of my pajamas 10 minutes before I rolled into work (which I did).

So anyway. Normal Tuesday. Foundation. Right. As I casually glanced in the mirror to make sure I didn't look like the illegitimate child of Two-Face and the Joker, something dark and sinister caught my eye.

I'll cut to the chase. It was the beginnings of my own hormone induced pregnancy mustache. I almost passed out and I won't lie- I got a little teary. I thought "this is it. The beginning of the end." and then I vowed to never look at myself again. Except that didn't work because now I looked like Wolverine came over for a threesome with Two Face and the Joker and I work with children and would probably be fired for scaring them.

BTW- someone out there educate me. I sat here for 10 minutes looking for a hairy, moustached villain from Batman and came up with nil. I had to pull out Wolverine which made me think of Hugh Jackman and the word "threesome" in the same sentence. Which made this post take much longer than it should have.

So it has been three weeks and while I have not been able to not look at my mug in the mirror, I have specifically tried to make it as quick as possible and am sure not to let my eyes wander to places that would upset me. So I have avoided noticing if I have advanced from Justin Timberlake faux-stache to a Burt Reynolds special. Until today.

As if my body sensed the coming nervous breakdown, all lip hair has returned to a non-seizure inducing peach fuzz color and cinsitency<----holy shit that is actually how I spelled that because I am typing one handed and my brain is melting from watching Sid the Science Kid----consistency.

On that happy note (the hair update, not the brain melting part), I'm going to go take a nap.

I'm Starving!!!!!

2009-03-31T18:01:00.001-07:00

Seriously husband. You leave at 7:30 to go get a nice steak and potatoes (the word potatoes is the bain of my existance- I have spelled it every way imaginable, but it still looks wrong as hell) for your pregnant wife for dinner. Nice thought until you decided to spend an hour and a half looking at mother forking FISH for YOU when you know that even when not pregnant, I can't STAND the smell of fish. Plus you still have to MAKE dinner. You really can only speed up cooking a baked potato so much. I'm going to eat you if you aren't careful.

I remember now

2009-03-08T20:47:00.000-07:00

I wanted to talk about me.

I wanted to talk about me and my status as "The Charlie Brown of Electronics". These days it appears my motto concerning anything with a cord or batteries needs to be "I killed it. Everything I touch gets ruined!!!". Let's do a quick rundown of the most recently departed. (We'll start with this year, I don't have that much time to go any further back)

My Guitar Hero Drum set. We have two guitars, a microphone and a drum set. I use the drums (and if I've had enough to drink, the microphone, but that's neither here nor there). Because my husband and I are the hugest nerds ever, after our vacation at Disney, we were all excited to get home and play with our new toy from Christmas- Guitar Hero. That's fine and dandy except that the drums are broken. They worked perfectly before we left. They were left unattended and untouched for 2 weeks and have mysteriously lost their will to play. Casualty #1.

My Passport. Not my incredibly unflattering portrait that says yes, this ugly mug belongs here in the USA, but the portable backup device that I was using to back up all of my photos. You know the 30,000 photos that I have stored on my overstressed computer. It is working fine one weekend, then nothing. The computer can't see it, it's clicking like its got someone playing the castanets in there and nothing is happening. $125 down the drain. Casualty #2.

The Wii. See, it wouldn't matter if the drum set worked or not, forces greater than myself have conspired against my video gaming plans. It has a light that says its on. But it's not. It's a lying bastard. Honestly, the console is used about every other day for about an hour. I don't think this is particularly taxing considering the horror stories I have heard about "gamers" that rival old ladies in front of slot machines. It will usually regain consciousness if we turn it off for about 30 minutes and then try again, but after 30 minutes, I'm usually stuffing my face with something and I've forgotten all about Wii Fit. Casualty #3.

The TV. This one has been coming. Our TV started spluttering and hissing at us a few months ago. It took it a while to come on each time and as long as we were patient, we were rewarded with 52 inches of entertainment. Soon though, turning off and then back on proved to be too much for our 4 year old tv, so we were not allowed to turn it off. We would simply change the input channel on it to make it *look* like it was off, but it never had to be stressed out by actually turning off and then back on. Then my mom picked Big up from school. Being the electricity nazi that she is, she told him to turn it off and he did. Even though he KNOWS he's not supposed to. So now no amount of bartering or pleading can make our TV come out of hibernation. Casualty #4.

And finally, the straw that has broken the camels back. My laptop. Yes, the new one that I just got for Christmas. The big shiny silver MacBook Pro. I was uploading some pictures to have printed for a client and video conferencing with my husband (what, I told you we were nerds!) and it froze. I am not familiar with the "Control+Alt+Delete" of Mac's, so I just turned it off. And it never turned back on. Dh insists that something has happened to it, but I swear I've handled it with kid gloves. Kit gloves? WTF ever, I've been really careful with it. He's saying things like "bad drives" and "unrecoverable images". I'm responding with mature things like "that's unacceptable" and "I swear I didn't do ANYTHING!!". It's out of commission for at LEAST 2 weeks while it tries to recover my files (including the wedding I just shot) and then waiting for the new drive. Casualty #5.

These are not counting the "smaller appliances" which like to randomly stop working once I've dealt with them like I have infected them with a plague or something (the phones, the Apple TV, my iPod and my freaking CHI straightener).

I'm considering my new status as "The Charlie Brown of Electronics" and thinking how fortuitous it is that I am married to my husband. He has some mystical, Jedi-like powers when it comes to things with cords and batteries that is all at once incredibly helpful- and infuriating. He is my Linus.

I Had Something to Say

2009-03-04T10:26:00.001-08:00

I'm quite sure of it. I came here for a reason and that reason was to write about something

. . .

What the hell was it?!?!

So Simple

2009-02-25T16:52:00.000-08:00

Big and I were on our way home from dinner tonight when a conversation about government started. He was asking about mayors and governors and wondering why Sarah Palin didn't wear an Eskimo suit if she was really from Alaska. He also wondered if she had huskies for her sled team. This led us to talking about Siberia and where it was. I mentioned that I wasn't even sure if it was still called Siberia. (shut up, I'm TERRIBLE with Geography- just like most Americans- ask Sarah Palin, she knows what I'm talking about) He asked why it wouldn't still be Siberia and I told him that sometimes when one country takes over another country, they will change its name.

We discussed why countries go to war in the first place and he decided that if he were ever president, he would make

"a new rule that you can only have a war for a good reason."

I told him that was a great idea, but why not take it even further and have no war. He pondered that for a moment and asked what we would do if we couldn't have war. "We could talk and try to solve the problem that way." I suggested.

"Oh yeah! Like if there were two countries fighting over the same piece of land, I would just have someone from each country come with their mayor and they could say something like 'Hey, if you give us half of this piece of land, we'll give you protection.' and then the other guys would say 'Yeah, that sounds like a great idea, ok!' and then no one would get hurt and no one would die and no one would be sad."

"Yeah, that would be great." I replied.

Is it bad?

2009-02-17T11:28:00.000-08:00

That I just used my Dyson to clean off my dining room table? I also had to empty it twice just to vacuum around crap in our small living room. I could make coats for homeless kids just by going without vacuuming for a week.

So It Has Been 100 Years

2009-02-17T08:09:00.000-08:00

and I want you to know that at LEAST once a week, I thought of something blogworthy and then didn't have time or forgot that I had a blog or whatever and now I can't remember a damn thing. We had Christmas (as I'm sure many of you did) and it was a huge hit. Went to Disney- that is a whole blog post in and of itself that I'm not sure I have the energy to be sufficiently witty about, so it will have to stay on hold for another day. Then we got home and I had become an aunt again to a Miss Taylor Christine Bea (pics in Flickr------------------->). Once I was settled and home, I went on a real reading jag. You know, sometimes you just get a hankering to read something that you don't have to follow the paragraphs around the ads or fight with your scroll bar and then lose your place. So I was reading everything I had that I hadn't read in a while and generally driving my husband batty (he hates to read). Finally, this past Saturday I had my very first wedding and let me just say that I am so glad that this was a friend and I was doing it for free. I just may have had to slit my wrists if I had the added pressure of making sure everything was worth what she paid. So I am just now finished with editing over 2,000 pictures from Disney, Baby Taylor and this wedding and I'm pooped. However, I am looking forward to getting back to posting here. Notice how I didn't say I *promised* I'd be on here more- I can't be tied down like that, I'm too much of a procrastinator.

Poor Babies

2008-11-18T19:22:00.000-08:00

Due to the economic crisis and the fact that despite it, I am still having a hard time cutting down the spending this year, I decided to try to get a part time job. I found out a daycare around the corner was hiring, so I went in and applied. It just so happened that they were hiring for the perfect after school hours for me and wanted me to start immediately.

Remember that whole "if it seems to good to be true, it probably is" bit. Yeah. That applies here.

I have fond memories of working in the childcare field. I enjoyed playing with kids and making lesson plans and didn't mind all the other not so fun stuff that came with it like changing diapers and cleaning up after messy lunches.

Here I am working with little kids. Kids from 1-2 years old. They break my heart. Today it got up to a whopping 34 degrees. That's 2 whole degrees above freezing. I had a 14 month old baby come in this morning with nothing but a onesie on. A onesie. A piece of t-shirt material with short sleeves and no legs. She also had no shoes on. When I asked the teacher in the room with me, she replied, "Well, Dad brought her in this morning and I guess he doesn't have winter clothes at his house. She comes like that all the time." *Shrug*. I can't even speak I am so taken aback- not only by this crazy parent, but by the fact that a childcare worker is so unconcerned about this.

Are we not paid to look after the best interests of the child? Would that not mean that we should be concerned if a child is deprived of the basic necesseties like food, shelter and clothing?!? Sadly, my disgust doesn't stop there. The same teacher also told me on my first day that she tried to be "nice" to the kids, but they just didn't respect her, so as soon as she started being "mean" to them, they understood.

They are 18 months old. How can you be "mean" to a baby. But the "mean" only comes out to certain children, I've never seen such a blatant show of favoritism in a daycare.

There is an infant who comes to my room at the end of the day who has reflux. As soon as they walk in the room, the baby gets laid on the floor (which does have carpet in it) and ignored because they don't want to get puked on. Get a fucking burp cloth and get over it. This is a 6 month old baby who needs love and attention. I picked her up today just to spite them. I got puked on of course, but I wash and so do my clothes.

There is a handful of books in this classroom which are kept out of reach of the children because "they will just tear them up and I don't feel like messing with them.". Which by the way, this woman says ALL the time. "Messing with them." Today Little was pointing at the letters on the wall and saying their names and what color they were when she asked me if I "messed with him alot." What? I don't even know what that means. Do I talk to him and treat him like a human being who is worthy of my attention?- yes, but I don't consider that the same as "messing" with him. I "mess" with my car or with household appliances, not my kids. Anyway, back to the books. The children are not allowed to touch them simply because the teachers are too lazy to show them how to handle books properly or keep a close eye on them while they are looking at them. But I guess then they would have to look at the kids instead of texting all day. But I digress.

It's like everything you fear your child going through in a daycare- being ignored because they are too needy, being treated with anger and frustration instead of compassion because they are not the teacher's "favorite", not being allowed to play with certain toys because they will tear them up instead of being taught respect for other people's things. Part of me wants to get the hell out of Dodge, but another part wants to stay with these kids and give them at least three hours of love and support. I'm going to try to stick it out until I am allowed to stay in the room with the kids by myself (should be next week when the background check comes in) so that I can just do things my own way. I'm a bitch like that.

"Hello! My Name is Go The F*$% Away

2008-10-23T19:10:00.000-07:00

We recently purchased a Wii Fit which I have been playing around with (I like my Wii Fit scale, it's much nicer than other scales. =) ) so I haven't been to the gym very often. Last night I recharged my iPod and finagled with my playlists, so I was inspired to hit the gym for a change of pace.

As I finished the weights portion of my workout, I headed to the rowing machines. About 3 minutes into my exercise, I see the woman who "works" the front desk appear next to me. Her face is right in my personal space. Which I hate anyway. I take out my earphone and smile waiting for her to tell me what she wants.

Exercise Lady: "Are you locking out your knees?!" (her tone is incredulous as if she's saying "Are you trying to smuggle dumbells out in your bra!! *GASP*)

At first I don't understand her. Sometimes the attendants have to come and find the fitness crazed parents of children who have been left in the daycare too long. I'm thinking she's mistaken me for someone else and am trying to figure out who would name their kid "Lock Outyernees".

It dawns on me what she's actually saying and I tell her "No" in a sort of "WTF are you talking about crazy ass?" tone.

"Hmmmmm, well, because it looks like you're locking your knees." replies Exercise Lady in an extremely condescending "You are such a flipping idiot" type tone.

WTHell!

I'll pause here to say that it takes alot for me to get to the gym. I don't like working out in front of people because I have long legs and use them to be extraordinarily uncoordinated in almost everything I do. I don't know how to use many of the machines until I have read all of the stick figure instructions on the sides and sometimes, I have to read them a few times before it clicks.

What I DO know how to do is row. I was a competitive rower for 3 years. And a good one I might add. Got the medals to prove it and everything =P. Rowing is like riding a bike to me. Once I learned it (by learned, I mean had every second of my stroke analyzed to death thousands of times at daily practices for 3 years), I always remembered it.

Now I have this woman very much in my personal space, yelling over the machines as to whether I'm apparently commiting the cardinal sin of exercise equipment, in a VERY crowded gym.

"Well, I'm not" I tell her.

I can see the two housewives on the warm up mats less than 10 feet hanging on every word of this exchange and for some reason I'm mortified.

She goes away and I try to get back to the task at hand. But I can't. I'm so angry and embarrassed for being called out when I'm actually using a piece of equipment properly that I can't even see straight. That's probably because I started to cry like an absolute ninny.

So I throw the bar back into the start position, get my feet out and go over to the desk to get my keys- where she is standing. I have MILLION things that I would have liked to say to her swirling in my head, but I can barely open my mouth because I *that* pissed. As I grab my keys and storm out, she has the audacity to call after me "Have a nice day."

"Yeah, not now that you've ruined it." I toss back at her like I'm five. I'm already almost all the way out the door, so she probably didn't even hear me and even if she did, she probably wouldn't have cared. I go to get a shower and have a meltdown.

Here's the thing:

First-The people who work the desk are not necessarily "fitness instructors". Most of the time, they are simply members who got a job there so their monthly fee would be less. I'm not sure if she was one of those or someone actually qualified to work there, but either way. I don't think they cover much on rowers in PE 101. As a matter of fact, I know they don't because I have seen them do their "tour" and show people "how to use the rower" and it's quite possibly the most ignorant thing I've ever seen. Ok, well, not *ever* seen, but it's pretty fricking stupid. In an actual boat, they'd be going nowhere fast.

Second- Did I forget to take off my sign that said please bother the shit out of me while I'm trying to work out? Personally, I'd be more concerned about the mid-life crisisers over in the freeweights trying to keep up with the 20-something muscle monkeys. But they are men, I'm *sure* they know what they are doing.

Right.

So I think I'm just going to buy a pack of those "Hello, my name is:______________" stickers and put one on my back every time I go to the gym that says

"Hello, my name is Leave Me the Hell Alone" or "Don't Bother Me" or "Beware of Dog" or "Caution: Overly Emotional and Cranky". Maybe I'll change it up. Surely they will take the hint.

Confession

2008-09-28T18:17:00.000-07:00

Last Sunday evening, Dh's grandmother passed away. At the funeral home in the lounge/playroom, I had the following conversation with one of Dh's cousins *Melanie who has a high-functioning form of ASD.

Big and another cousin were playing obnoxiously like boys of that age do and being up in Melanie's personal space. She lashed out at them screaming and I called Aidan over to me and told him that he needed to cool it and just play on the floor and to not be too upset by her outburst.

She comes over to me and lays her hand on my shoulder sighing and says "You don't know how lucky you are to not have cousins to annoy you."

I just laughed and said, "Well, I have my kids to annoy me and that's enough."

"No, it's not as bad as cousins."

"You do know that is my son right?" I ask her.

"No, that is your son." She says pointing to Little.

"Well, yes and so is he." I said pointing to Big.

"No, Angela and Jason had him." Melanie says.

Finally I get it that she has no idea who I am since I got my hair cut. I tell her that I am Angela and she's beside herself. Soon, she plops herslef down in the chair across from me and decides to have a conversation with me.

"So how old were you when you had Big?"

WTF is it with all these questions all the sudden about this stuff!

"I was 17."

"WHAT HAPPENED!!!"

I kind of smiled and said "Well, it's just one of those thigs that happens."

"No really, I mean, what happened?!"

What, you want intimate details kid?! Ugh, this is what happens when Dh leaves me alone around his whole family.

I simply repeated myself and looked to the table of food to find something to stuff my face with.

She shakes her head and finally says; "Are we talking. . . are we talking. . . *sex before marriage!?!?!?!*!"

I just smile and shrug trying not to fuel this conversation any further.

She shakes her head again and grabs my hands, her eyes the size of poker chips and says.

"God will forgive you!"

Ummm. . . ok. Thanks. I'm glad I got that cleared up.

She crosses her legs and leans into me still shaking her head like I just told her I'm actually a convicted felon out on parole, and says "Didn't your parents teach you about that. I mean really, didn't they teach you!"

At this point, I almost blurt out that we don't believe in the same values that she does, so no, my mother did not set out to teach me that I was going to hell for having sex before marriage. But I decided not to.

Instead I decided that MIL was in dire need of her wallet that she had left down there and that we needed to find her immediately and give it to her. I excused myself and my spawn of Satan children. I ran upstairs and found my FIL first and told him the story which gave him a nice chuckle so at least some good came of it.

Later on, I was standing with some relatives and Dh and FIL comes up behind me and says "Sinner!!!" in my ear. I told him I needed a red letter or something. I'll never be seen the same I guess.

Drop it Like it's Hot.

2008-09-17T12:39:00.001-07:00

I did and it is. . .

I donated 10 inches to Locks of Love yesterday and I'm loving it. It's a drastic change, but I needed to spice it up a bit ;).

For more information on how to donate to Locks of love visit: Locks of Love

Where Were You?

2008-09-11T09:55:00.000-07:00

It's the question of the day today.

I was in my anatomy and physiology class. In between classes we had all heard some rumblings from other students "Did you hear? Hear what? Oh that, Mrs. So and so was talking to Mr. So and so in the hallway about something. What's going on?"

We attempted to start class when my teacher, Mr. Gerrard, took out his Blackberry and abruptly left the room. He came back in looking much more pale than when he left and said "Another plane just hit another tower in NYC. Something is going on. I'm going to get a TV." and he left again. My lab partner and I looked at each other and asked if the other knew what was going on. Neither of us did.

He wheeled an old horrid TV in and turned on the first clear channel he could get. There had been plenty of murmuring and small "yes"'s from some when he said he was getting the TV instead of the planned quiz on whatever body system we were supposed to have studied up on.

However, you could have heard a pin drop once the TV was turned on. No one took notes, no one talked- we hardly even looked at each other. Our teacher started to cry. For 40 minutes we all just sat together in a state of shock; unable to make sense of what we were seeing or really to even grasp the depth of the impact this would have on all our lives. The bell rang right as the first tower came down. A chorus of "Oh my God"s rang out as we all looked at each other and I thought "We just watched all those people die.".

When I was pregnant with Big, I would have panic attacks frequently in school. I felt the beginnings of one as I walked to my next class. This time, it was different though. I felt a fear like I'd never felt before. I wanted to leave school and run the 4 miles to Big's home daycare. I wanted to get him and just go home and climb under the blankets and snuggle and pretend nothing outside those blankets existed. I thought of my then boyfriend (now dh). He worked at the 5/3 bank in downtown Cincy. I was scared for him. Terrified actually, but even that didn't come close to the panic that that seized my whole body when I thought about getting to Big.

I made it to my chorus class on time and took a seat off to the side to collect myself. We had a substitute. He informed us that while the news we may or may not have been hearing was disturbing, it was no reason to not rehearse that day and he expected us all to be ready to sing shortly.

I wanted to punch him in the face. I looked around at my classmates. Most were confused and trying to get the story from others and then lamenting the fact that they didn't get to watch TV last period. I started crying. I was so angry. I was angry at my teacher, my classmates and myself. I felt sick and I kept thinking; "What have I done? What kind of world have I brought a child into? I don't know how to deal with this. How do you teach a child about hate and war. They are too innocent for this shit. How am I going to make him feel safe when it's painfully obvious that none of us are ever completely safe." I kept hearing the panic in the newscasters voices and the screams of the people in the streets as the tower came down.

For nearly every problem I'd come across while being a teen mother, I'd managed to find the answer in a book or a friend. I wanted to keep Big safe more than I wanted to breathe, but I didn't know how. Neither would anyone else I knew. I suspected my blanket idea wasn't going to get us very far in real life, despite it's obvious appeal. I tried to think of how I would teach him about love and kindness; helping your fellow man and having respect for all people regardless of where they came from or how they looked. Sitting in that chair that day, it seemed an insurmountable feat.

I don't remember the rest of the day; only that it couldn't have ended soon enough. Most of the rest of the day was spent watching a TV if it was available or having a Q&A session with our teachers. I don't even remember what I did when I got home, but I know that there was plenty of snuggling going on. I remember watching the news for weeks afterward as the stories got less and less about the facts and more about the personal stories of people who had been lost. I remember crying nearly everyday over it. I hated it, but at the same time, I felt like I owed it to them.

This morning I listened to a tribute on the radio which had many of the same clips I heard seven years ago. I sat in the car listening to all of it even though it moved me this morning the same way it did in 2001. And I still felt like I owed it to them. I've done my best to make sure that both of my children feel safe and that they know that love, like hatred, can sometimes come when you least expect it. If I've learned nothing over the last seven years, it's that the philosophy of "an eye for an eye" soothes that burning anger that follows tragedy. However, my heart is more satisfied by Anne Frank's own philosophy that despite everything, people are really good at heart.

I'm struggling with how to end this. I've been at it for over an hour now. I want my children to learn that words are more powerful than any guns and that turning the other cheek doesn't mean having no self respect. I hope that my behavior toward the people in my life will show them how to give and get respect and how to find the good in people.

I Should Get Twitter

2008-08-27T20:23:00.001-07:00

As this is much more "Twitterriffic" than "Blogworthy". I just gave myself my 600th view. Woot. I also gave myself about 450 views before that, but who's counting. Besides me.

Sleep Deprivation

2008-08-26T11:47:00.000-07:00

Is a nasty thing. We'll start there. Sleep deprivation (in my mind) is a MORE than adequate justification for a range of crimes from simple bullying to outright manslaughter of an annoying spouse. Not that I have one of those. I digress.

Little has an amazing bladder for a two year old. Seriously, the kid could pee at least a half a gallon several times a day without batting an eye. For this supersized bladder, I have had to purchase the special (expensive) "nighttime" diapers. For a while this seemed to work. However, the problem is out of control now. He soaks his sheets and blankets on every nap time and every night. EVERY time. Talk about being the smelly kid. I'm changing the sheets twice a day have resorted to putting the fitted sheets from our bed onto his and using bath towels as blankets out of desperation.

Last night was no exception other than this time it was so bad that it woke him up. This is bad news for anyone who wants to get some sleep in our house. Or our neighborhood. He woke us and every living being in a 30 mile radius up at 2:30. We don't go to bed until midnight. It was 5 am before he finally decided that we could all sleep. We get up at 7:30 for school.

So I'm tired. And crabby. And tired.

After I drop big off at school, I'm followed home by some random person. I pull into my driveway thinking this is some nutter who is going to go ballistic over some imaginary driving offense I have committed against him (little does he know that he is playing with a sleep deprived crab-ass). It turns out that it's actually a nice little old man telling me that my tire is almost flat. Bah. I think I would have preferred the nutter.

I scrap my original plans of taking Little's 2 year photos this morning (whatever, it's only a month late) and take the car to get the tire fixed. Little's behavior is not that of someone who was up all hours of the night tormenting an entire neighborhood. In fact, he has even MORE energy than normal. Of course. Here is where it gets good.

I hear the guy call out "Angela" from behind the counter. That's me. Little goes streaking out into the showroom pinging himself off the tires hanging precariously on the wall.

Tire Guy: "Angela?"

Me (saving a wobbling tire from rolling across the showroom floor): "Yep"

TG: "With the Maxima"

Me (chasing little down as he runs across the path of an elderly man trying to get to the bathroom): "Yep"

I catch him and plop him on the counter.

TG: "That will be $77"

Me (holy freaking hell!!! The damn tire doesn't even cost that much brand new!! WTF!): "Ok" and I hand him my card >insert "you're a dumbass eye rolling smiley here"<.

He hands me the receipt to sign and I see "Oil change, alignment, rotation. . . " Hang on a minute! I didn't ask for any of this to be done!! They are taking advantage of me because I'm a woman. They are taking me to the cleaners because they don't think I'll know what is going on! What the hell!!! I hate mechanics. What greedy bastards!

I start from the top of the receipt to try to memorize this blatant gender discrimination for use in my tired crabby tirade that this guy is about to be subject to.

"Customer Name: Angela Cowell"

My name is Angela. But not Angela Cowell. As a matter of fact, I don't even drive a fucking Maxima. I drive a Lancer. Which we don't even call "the car" we call it "The Lancer". >insert the same smiley as above. . . again<

Let the self ass-kicking begin.

Me: "Oh my god. I am such an idiot. I'm really sorry, but this isn't my reciept. I'm just in here for a tire patch. I'm Angela *****, not Angela Cowell."

TG: "You don't drive a Maxima?"

Me: "Well, no."

TG: "Did I ask if it was the Maxima?"

Me: "Yes, yes you did and I said yes. I don't know what in the hell is wrong with me. I plead insanity from sleep deprivation."

TG (looking at me like I am the dumbest bitch to ever walk through that door): "Well, ummm. . . ok then. I'm going to have to get someone in here to refund this and try to print out a new receipt. I have no idea how to do this. We've never had someone pay someone else's bill before."

Me (desperately searching for a hole to crawl in and die): "No problem, I'm really really sorry, take your time. You can feel free to laugh your ass off at me when I leave. What an idiot."

Tire Guy cracks a smile and tries to take some of the blame because he can sense my humiliation but we both know that I had a true-blue, no Lady Clairol, au naturale- blond moment right here in the middle of a tire dealership. Except that I am not, in fact, a blond. Sigh.

In the end, Tire Guy is very helpful and nice about the whole thing. He gets my tire patched and hands me the keys with a smirk and says "Here's your Lancer key. It's that one. . . parked right out front." I deserved that.

Oh the shame.

The Case of the Craptastic Earphones

2008-08-08T09:43:00.000-07:00

I recently took notice of what a sloth I was being and how my waistline was reflecting that choice. I didn't really think it was THAT big of a deal until one of my very small boobs came to rest on a fat roll as I sat staring into the computer screen for the umpteenth hour one evening.

Since then, I've decided that perhaps having the metabolism of a baby elephant seal isn't the best thing in the world, so I've made a concerted effort to get out there and eat healthier and get to the gym (which we have been paying $75 a month for as I sat stuffing my face with anything that wasn't nailed down. . . ). I started using Spark People to track my food and tried to have a goal of getting to the gym ever couple of days.

I hate going to the gym- not because I hate working out, but because I hate other people. Well, not all people, I mean I like you, I'm talking about other people. So I dug out the iPod that my husband had given me a few months ago and dedicated that weekend to putting together some ass kicking playlists and tune out every greased up muscle monkey and midlife crisis-er in the joint.

I got that taken care of and rocked it at the gym for the next two days. Then my ears started to hurt due to the nickel sized earphones that come with the iPod. I have smallish ears anyway (at least something is small right?!), so shoving two bottle caps in there wasn't the comfiest thing in the world.

We were out shopping soon thereafter and I started perusing the iPod aisle while Dh and Big were geeking out over some Wii somethingorother. I spotted a nice little set of "noise canceling" earphones with cushy stuff (yes, I'm sure that's what it's called) around them. Sweet! So I got those and an armband because I noticed it's what all the cool kids at the gym are wearing.

They fit right into my ears and it's lovely. They are quite "noise canceling" and therefore get a lot of use not only at the gym, but around the house as well.

Here's my problem.

One side of the wires to the earphones is shorter than the other. I brought this up to Dh and he insisted that ALL new little earphones are like that. Hmmm. . .

Apparently, I have been living under a rock. With no headphones. At first it was a minor annoyance. Now, I spend my free time plotting ways to shorten the long side. Or make one ear much further away.

"WTH Angela, why are you getting your knickers in a twist over a few inches of extra cord?" You might ask. Well, I just am, so there.

I do know that it is irritating to have 6,278 feet of cord swirling around you and getting caught on your knees when you are 2,000 meters into a 5K rowing workout. Not to mention that as you've got all this cord action going on on the one side, the other side is very nearly falling out.

To fully illustrate the insanity (ok, maybe just mild weirdness) of this "extra cord", I have gone the complete OCD route and taken photos and measurements to be submitted as evidence in my case.

Exhibit A:

For reference, that is my cell phone which barely fits in the palm of my hand.

Exhibit B:

The short side measures a scant 4.5 inches. The long side? 2-fricken-1 inches. Yes, that is nearly two feet. They are not adjustable at all , but maybe I've got a busted ass pair.
Unless I've got a goiter the size of Chicago hanging off my face, tell me why I need two feet of cord to get to my other ear!?!

Exhibit C (only to prove my long standing allegation that Dh makes shit up just to shut me up):

The iPod earphones are EXACTLY the same length. So don't give me that "they're all like that, stupid" bullshit.

I paid $30 for these little things which I didn't really need, so I'm determined to figure out some way to make these work instead of buying a new pair. My latest plan is to tape down all the extra wires on my body like I'm doing undercover work for the CIA in the YMCA gym. That should work right?

Big Plans Tonight

2008-08-05T20:28:00.000-07:00

Me: Ooooh, you know what we should do tonight?

Dh: (perking up) What?!

Me: We should take showers. That would be good.

Him: (initially looking disappointed, then nodding) Yeah, showering would probably be a good idea.

We know how to live it up.

Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day

2008-08-05T07:13:00.000-07:00

Just call me Alexander. Sunday was Little's Big Cat Birthday Party and it was a smash hit! I was so delighted that the party was a success that I agreed to watch the Orphans. We get home and I see that we had a flyer from the county fair and it lists that there is a photo contest.

WTH! I looked about a week ago and couldn't find any info on a photo contest at the fair, so I assumed that perhaps this particular artistic avenue was a bit too cosmopolitan for our area. Not so apparently. It's just the whole website-to-give-out-information concept that is too advanced.

Registration for exhibits is Monday from 2-7. Easy peasy. I've got the Orphans until about 3:30, my mom graciously offered to take the photos I had chosen and get them printed at a lab downtown (honestly why is matte finish so hard to come by!) since she was going there anyway. I'd drop the kids off, pick up the pics and run out to the fair.

If only. . . Fate has other plans for me this day.

First I lost the key to the van. Notice I said THE key to the van. So now Dh has no vehicle. I've also lost my wallet. So now I have no money. (I suspect the key and the wallet are in cahoots together making my life hell by blending in seamlessly with all the other crap I have lying around). Dh offers up the $40 he has in his wallet. Great, that should be plenty. MIL and I take the kids to the pool and surprisingly enough that went well. Consider me lulled into a false sense of security that things are going to go as planned today.

I pick up the pictures from my mom and see that, as I suspected, some printed better than others. No big deal. On to MIL's where we get online to try to see if a fresh pair of eyes can see the link for the rules for the contest. No dice. Three phone calls later to three different people, we find that the rules/categories for photos are in the Floral Hall tab (but that's not where they are being shown, they are in the Open Class Hall) under the Home Economics section. At the bottom of all the sewing/baking/jellies/jams/country bumpkin contest rules, photography is tacked on the end. How was I supposed to find this?!?!

I find out all pictures must be matted (dammit!! That means cutting things in straight lines and using glue. Not my strong suit!) and can't be digitally enhanced, so the awesome local fire hat that I had done some selective coloring on, was out and I wouldn't have time to redo it.

I find the stuff I need at the local craft store only to get to the checkout to realize that I must have left my money in the car. 20 minutes and not a few tears later, I find the money in front of where I got the cart. It had fallen out of my pocket and I've wasted 20 minutes that I don't have.

I race home until the last 2 miles to my house where at 5:45pm I am stuck behind a frigging cyclist who wants to ride @ 10mph on a country "thru" road where the speed limit is 50. It's now 10 after 6, I have to cut the mounts, get the photos mounted, get the kids ready for the fair and get back out to the fair (15 minutes away).

Dh took the car right after I got there b/c we wanted to attempt to get two other pics printed. On the phone, the woman says it can be done. In the store, it cannot be done. For some reason, they cannot print them. I suspect user error, but whatever. He calls and says he's coming home empty handed, which is fine as I've FUBAR'd two pieces of mounting, I wouldn't have had enough for them anyway!

It's 6:20 and I've got one photo (complete with dog hair that happened to be swirling through the air when I sprayed the adhesive on it) ready. SOMEHOW, I manged to get three more boards done, even though I had resigned myself to not even going, but I was so irritated that I kept at it (through tears and all!). Dh arrives at 6:35 and forces me into the car, he swears we can make it on time.

We arrive at the fair @ 6:55. No. Lie. Ironically, as I'm running in, another late entry with some artwork is running for it too. We run together (lost of course, because no one at the fair knows where exactly they are accepting the photography/art submission). We squeak in the door literally as the clock ticks over to 7. The lovely older ladies are surprised by just how close we cut it, but are more than happy to get us set up.

As icing on the cake, I wait for dh and the kids and we go off to get our wristbands when I realize I've lost my phone. You've got it; it fell out of my pocket on the grass back at the entrance where I was waiting. I'm pitching these shorts. (which is a shame since they are one of only three pairs that I am manging to get my arse into.) We go to eat and I manage to spill not one, but BOTH of the cokes that we bought all over our food and dh.

So now I'm trying to figure out just exactly who I skeeved off and why karma has it out for me. My mother calls me and I recount this tale of melodrama to her and realize just how silly it all is. At this point, you just have to laugh.

We take the kids on some rides. We try an updated version of the merry-go-round which goes a little faster and doesn't allow me to stand hovering right behind them. As the ride gets going, Little's face lights up. The wind catches his baby fluff hair and he has the biggest cheesy grin on his face. He screams "Wheeeeeeeee" every time he goes around clutching the handles on his rooster steed (what!? I said it was an updated version!). Big keeps turning around to check on Little to make sure he's having fun. As the ride ends, Little throws his hands up and says "YAY" and proceeds to say goodbye to each animal (which includes a buffalo, dalmatian, and monkey) waving his pudgy little hand and giving the dog a pat on the head.

I suppose it wasn't such a bad day after all.

I know I'm not good at math but. . .

2008-08-03T05:45:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I had some errands to run that included getting the balloons I had purchased for Little's birthday party blown up. We are having a "Big Cat" jungle theme. It's only fitting as his most treasured item in the world is a mangy looking leopard that was actually purchased about 4 years ago for Big; plus, he's a Little Leo. Back to the story.

I purchased about 15 balloons off ebay including three huge (3 feet long) cats; a leopard, a tiger and a lion. I also had several animal print balloons. I carried them into the store in the manila envelope they came in and asked the guy at the balloon counter to blow them up. He starts to blow one up (quite unsuccessfully I might add) when he suddenly stops and says, "They did tell you we charge for this right?". "Of course" I replied wondering who "they" were. No one had told me anything of the sort, but I would never have assumed anything is free these days.

He finally has to call over for some help because this balloon blowing up thing is just really too much. Thankfully, I don't think this was her first time blowing up balloons and she managed to get most of them blown up and tied together (apparently the tying bit is MUCH harder than it looks. . . he struggled quite a bit with it). She gets my receipt all tallied and everything and he hands me the balloons.

Balloon Man: "Are you sure you have enough room in your car for all of these?"

"Oh yeah, not a problem." I reply.

Balloon Man (apparently thrown by the fact that I think I can fit all these balloons in my car when he can't get them out from behind the counter): "Well, you know they take up more space when they are blown up."

I just stare at him for a minute waiting for the smile to show me he's teasing. It never comes. I'm met with "I told you so" eyes instead, so I try to laugh it off and say "Ummm, yeah, I've got a minivan with the seats taken out, I think it will be ok."

Balloon Man: "Oh, ok good." And off he walks.

So, I know volume and surface area and the like are really and truly NOT my strong suit, but my goodness. Really?! They get BIGGER when you put air in them. The hell you say! What is this world coming to when balloons get bigger when inflated.

Perhaps I should have said, "Well, I was planning on using these to fly my fat ass home, so I didn't bring my car."

My Open Letter

2008-07-11T20:22:00.000-07:00

Dear Meddlesome Neighbors:

It seems that there are a few residents of this street who have an issue with the way we have prioritized the care of the outside of our home. Instead of beating around the bush (as you've no doubt noticed, I detest anything to do with shrubbery unless there are knights involved), I'll get right to the chase.

To our "neighbor" who called charging us with "not watering our new sod". I'd like to explain a little about being "Eco-Friendly". That means taking care to not use every natural resource including water like housekeeping is going to bring you more in the morning. An example would be that instead of running your sprinkler all day in the blazing sun like an asshole, you time the watering of your grass for when sun is down. This results in the evaporation of less water which means more of the water you are using goes directly to your grass which means you have to use less. See; friendly. Not only on the Earth, but on our wallet as well.

Now I know this concept is extremely scientific. It involves words like "evaporation" and requires you to have a basic knowledge of how things grow and the role water plays in that process. Buy an encyclopedia. Shit, if the Brittanica people come around, I'm sending them to your house. And since you are insistent on hiding behind others to make these false accusations. . . Brittanica is going to have to visit a lot of houses. And I hope everyone in the neighborhood knows it's your fault they've got a pushy salesman hocking crap in their living room for 2 hours.

Now, on to "The Lady Across the Street". I'm not sure which "Lady" I'm speaking to, but I'm pretty sure it's the one whose house is perched on a cliff leading to a creek who lets their dog out only to have it sit on their porch looking forlornly at the front door whose house has been for sale for about 6 months.

For as much as I'd *love* to bear the burden of being the reason you have been unable to sell your house, I have a feeling it has something more to do with the above reasons I mentioned and the fact that you are one of 5 overpriced cookie cutter houses for sale on a street of barely 20 and you are selling in a time that could be similar to the end of days in the housing market. For as much as I'd like to say it is my garbage cans keeping the buyers at bay. I simply can't.

There are no HOA regulations regarding where I am and am not allowed to put my garbage cans. They are in front of my garage on my property. They are not impeding the flow of pedestrian traffic by being in the sidewalk, nor do I put them in the side yard (also known as the Wind Tunnel of Death) so that they are blown willy nilly into the street. I put the garbage cans out and then we park our cars in front of them. Most of the time, you can't see them because there is a vehicle in front of them.

You also expressed concerns that I will put a bag of garbage out on our porch for my husband to take out to the cans. It is heavy and it stinks and it sounds like the perfect job for my husband- however he and I both agree that if you would like to volunteer to schlep the bags over, you are more than welcome.

I have a baby. Which means I have diapers. Which means my garbage cans do not and will not EVER be put inside my garage during the summer. EVER. I'll leave a bag in your garage for two days and then send paramedics over to revive you. Maybe. So outside, away from the WToD and blocked by the cars- not only from view, but from animals getting into them and knocking them over- seems to me the best place to put my garbage cans. I'll be honest however, I don't know that I've ever thought so much about garbage cans and the etiquette surrounding their placement. I've come to the conclusion that to spend this much time and energy on such things is a great waste. You have my pity.

I'd like to close by saying that I am a good neighbor. I don't have wild parties (or any parties for that matter), my kids don't ride their bikes through the street shrieking at 10pm and not watching for cars anytime (honestly, the helmet doesn't do much good when your kid is struck by a car b/c you have failed to teach them respect for the road.). I don't smoke pot around the neighborhood kids. I don't send my kids over to ring your doorbell 4,000 times at nap time so they can hock whatever crap they are selling for the "League of Pestering Children"'s new rock wall. I obey the leash laws AND the poo pick up unspoken laws (except in my yard. I'll pick it up when I get damn good and ready thankyouverymuch).

I am quiet and shy. I keep to myself and play with my kids in my yard. I buy .50 cups of piss warm Crystal Light three days in a row from the "Lemonade Stand" that your kids have set up on the corner of two dead end streets. And I keep my garbage cans in front of my garage and water my grass at night. Kiss. My. Ass.

EADSU,
#1084

I've Been on Hiatus

2008-07-11T20:12:00.001-07:00

Not by choice however.

I have officially blown through 2 top of the line laptops. Little is not laptop compatible. At all. The first was an Acer with a ginormous screen and a power cord that was a POS. When I called to say- "hey, this is broken", they replied with "yes, we know, it's a common defect". Useful information BEFORE dropping 2 grand on a laptop but whatever. I got it "fixed" and happily plugged it in when I got it back, I'm a sonofayouknowwhat if that hunk of junk didn't break AGAIN right then and there.

The second was an HP. . . that doesn't technically belong to us. Technically, it belongs to the airline that shall not be named. After numerous yanking and fingerprints and droppings and generalized beatings, it's getting a new screen and getting shipped back to said airline.

Which leaves me laptopless. Not good. That means I have to haul my rear upstairs where the air does not work into the "office" which smells like cat food and pee all at the same time (>barf<) and try to sit in front of an infernally slow desktop as I slowly melt into a puddle of frustration. And sweat. Not to mention, Little is as fond of cat food as he is of dog food. He also likes to bring me handfuls of it and shriek "KITTY!!!" as he dumps it on the keyboard. Or desk. Or down my sickening sticky-with-sweat back.

Needless to say (but I'm going to anyway. . . ) I don't get up there often. Hence the drop in my blogging. For this I am sorry- though I have to report- in general, things have been rather quiet. I'm sure I will be eating those words later.

Deep Thoughts on Trying To Conceive

2008-06-23T13:20:00.000-07:00

***

WiiPlay

2008-06-14T13:37:00.000-07:00

Together

Big and Little partake in a lazy rainy summer afternoon. The only one actually playing is Big, but Little goes ballistic if he tries to play without him. He screams "MINE MINE MINE" until we give him the second battery-less remote so he can climb up there next to his Big to watch and copy his every move. And yes, they are both still in their skivvies because that's what they wore to bed. That's how we roll in the summertime.

My Poor Little Mom

2008-06-13T18:56:00.001-07:00

My mom is the black sheep in her family. By "black sheep" I mean she isn't a beer drinking, fish-fry-at-the-bar, county dwelling, hillbilly snob. Hillbilly snobs are the worst. Except maybe ghetto hillbillies- see previous post.

My mother is one of seven. Second of the four sisters. Her family (well, and my own warped relationship with my sister) is one of the main reasons I can't- WON'T risk having sisters. A daughter is great. Sisters are Chinese water torture. Her sisters are some of the meanest women I have ever met. Last year they went on a "girls only" cruise. Girls only. . . except my mom. She wasn't even invited =(. They did however invite the ex girlfriend of one of their brothers, isn't that special.

Today is her birthday. She and two of her friends went out with her two sisters (the other lives in OK now), her niece (who is my age and as dense as a board) and the same ex girlfriend. (What the frick lady!! Move the fuck on- he's married, you're not getting another chance. Go leech on another family). The antagonist of this story is her younger sister (sister #3) who has a serious case of the "Solarsystemitis" which is more commonly referred to as "the world frigging revolves around me bitches".

First the restaurant was too expensive. My mother's tab was $17. Sister #3's was so high because she can't keep their hands off the booze. Cry me a river. She ordered a grilled cheese (yeah really overpriced ritzy kind of place. . . with grilled cheese- NOT) which she promptly declare inedible. Did I mention that the owner and head chef is a personal friend of my mothers? She and her husband just got back from a trip to France with him and a few other couples.

The protagonist is my mother's friend "Tanya"*. Who has a chronic case of "IDOWHATIWANTBITCHERIA". She's very nice, but a boisterous, say-what's-on-her-mind type of gal-- especially when it comes to defending her friends. You can imagine how the sparks flew between these two all night. Neither would be outdone by the other. Sister #3 went as low as to talk about Tanya behind a paper menu to the ex girlfriend while my mother is sitting right there. My mom doesn't have a lot of friends, and is so attached to the ones who truly like her and being around her. My mother was in tears by the end of it. It was her birthday and no one even offered to pick up her tab. Ex girlfriend's birthday is next week. You bet your sweet ass, Sister #3 picked up her tab because her birthday was coming up.

I feel so bad for my mom when stuff like this happens. Tomorrow we are going with her and her dh to a swanky Brazillian steak place where I know we'll have a better time. I wish I had gone, nobody deserves to be treated like that on their birthday even if it is Friday the 13th.

*Tanya is of course not her name. Though I have my sincerest doubts she would have given a rats behind if I had broadcast her identity to half the free world. I am of course not suggesting that half the free world reads this blog as evidenced by my staggering numbers on my "visit ticker"-which incidentally counts each time I visit my own blog as a separate visit, so the numbers are incredibly skewed.

The Answer Will Still Be No

2008-06-12T20:00:00.000-07:00

Shortly after we moved into our home, the abandoned house next to us was foreclosed on. By abandoned, I mean it was simply walked away from b/c the owners couldn't afford the payments in the downward spiral of the market. It's only about 2 years old. Still, our house was listed at $185k, our neighbors purchased the house next to us for $130.

I first knew we were going to have a problem when I couldn't figure out who lived there. There are two young adult males complete with wife beaters and chains on their pants, a frumpy crabby woman who was always cradling her incredibly aggressive shitzapoozer or whatever the frick kind of designer mutt it happens to be, a little 6 year old girl, a dirty hippy looking teenage girl in torn "baby tees" and a pregnant African American woman. There were also about 4 cars/vans going in and out of the driveway every day. Turns out there is a mom, her teenage son from a previous marriage, his girlfriend, the dad, the little girl and their live in pregnant nanny.

After I caught the son and his girlfriend smoking a joint in front of his mother, right in front of my son playing in their back yard, I knew we were really headed for trouble. I came out, they knew they were caught and I scooped up my son and informed him in front of them that he was not allowed over there to play any more. The little girl is sweet and loves playing with Big which breaks my heart. Recently, the son moved out (I'm pretty sure) so Big is now allowed back into their back yard. Therein lies the bane of my existence.

They have a trampoline. I hate trampolines. I know how exciting they are for kids, but I REALLY hate how many risks there are associated with them. This trampoline has no netting around it, no bumpers to prevent their feet from going through the springs and is set up on uneven ground full of rocks. Big is not allowed on said trampoline. This creates an unimaginable tension and stress between Little Girl and Big.

Today, Big came in and asked me if he could play on the trampoline. I said no. His response was "Well, her mom said she's not allowed on the ground anymore.

What?

"She's not allowed on the ground anymore, only on the trampoline."

"Well, that is the silliest thing I have ever heard, but if that's what her mommy says, there is nothing I can do about it. The answer is still no."

He goes out to report this to Little Girl (who is sitting on the effing side walk). 5 minutes later, he's back. Now, she is still "not allowed on the ground" but NOW, she is moving. WTF- could I get that lucky. I inquire further:

"What do you mean she's moving?"

"She said she's moving to Florida and I just want to play with her before she moves away!!!" His eyes begin to well up with tears as his breathing gets all raggedy.

"When did she say she was moving?"

"Well, she said she was moving to Florida for 10 days and then coming back."

"Honey, that's a vacation, you don't move somewhere for 10 days- if you come back, it's just a vacation. You can play with her when she gets back."

He bursts into tears. "No, she's moving to Florida for ten days, then she's coming back but she's going to Texas too!!! I just want to play with her and I can't unless I go on the trampoline!!!!"

More meltdown. . . I am just not sure what to make of all this craziness. On one hand, I'm wondering if they are out there smoking pot again and Big is suffering delusions and confusion from second hand smoke. On the other hand, they are just hillbilly enough that there may be some shred of truth to this insane shuffling around of their family. I'm making dinner. It's 8:15, Little needs to be in bed in 15 minutes, Big in 45. I don't have the time or the patience to go over there and attempt to sort out some of this idiocy.

"Ok, honey, you need to calm down. You know how dangerous trampolines can be right?"

Sniffles and wails- and a head nod.

"I just can't risk you getting hurt by playing on it. I know it's fun, but I would feel awful if you fell off and got hurt. You will just have to play with her another day- when she's allowed on the ground. I'm sorry sweetheart."

Sniffles, snotting, wailing and copious tear wiping occurs as he walks out to give Little Girl the bad news and I hear him mutter-

"I told her the answer would still be no."

Project Blue Take 2

2008-06-10T09:45:00.000-07:00

Ok, so I was running around trying to find Little's hospital bracelet which is a lovely shade of teal-y blue. I haven't found it yet, but the search is ongoing. Instead I found this sucker which Big insisted on having. It's got blue in it. Plus I love this picture for some reason. Maybe b/c I actually managed to catch him NOT acting like a carnie with a lolly pop addiction.

Project Blue Take 1

2008-06-10T08:25:00.001-07:00

I'm feeling uninspired. All I could think of was "blue eyes". That's not very creative. Still, I thought, Hiruko (our Huskamute) has lovely blue eyes. So much so that when I'm walking Hiro and Zorro together people will stop me and tell me how much they like Hiro and he's their favorite. Because he has blue eyes. Poor Zorro. He's like a little unwanted brown-eyed step child.

Still, Hiruko's eyes are lovely and I thought if I'm going to be boring with a picture of blue eyes, I'll shake it up with blue pooch eyes. So this is take one in my first time participating in Anna Carson's Project Blue. For more info visit

http://annacpics.blogspot.com/

Ok, so I can't resist. I'm not sure what the rules are, but since I'm late to the game this time around, I want to add my favorite blue picture that I have. From my honeymoon in St.Lucia. This is the southern tip of the island:

This is Little when he was about 10 months old. There must be something incredibly interesting in the mulch down there :)

Opening an Orphanage

2008-06-09T18:54:00.000-07:00

***

PMS and Budget Cuts

2008-06-06T09:48:00.001-07:00

Don't mix.

Dh's BFF/Boss heard a nasty rumor on Thursday that all hourly employees were getting the ax at the end of the month. He went and asked his boss if said rumor was true and she said yes. Dh is an hourly employee. By this afternoon every person in the office knew (dh was not even in the office today due to leaving early yesterday to come in overnight).

So, stay with me. . . his boss's boss's boss got pissed that everyone knew already so she threw a hissy fit and said "you're all going to leave anyway, so today is your last day". Midol. Fucking buy some lady instead of ruining lives.

Just a suggestion.

We were hoping to purchase a house soon. I was to start school in 17 days. We were supposed to go on vacation in a month. Not to mention, we were hoping to expand our family one more time. Obviously, all of these things are on hold. The job search is on like Donkey Kong, but anyone who works in IT will tell you that it is nearly always feast or famine. Right now it's famine- isn't that the story everywhere though?

I Forgot

2008-05-31T12:10:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-31T11:06:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-19T08:53:00.000-07:00

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. . .

2008-05-14T19:20:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-13T11:41:00.000-07:00

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!

2008-05-12T09:36:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-06T10:48:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-05-05T13:34:00.000-07:00

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. . .

2008-05-05T09:32:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-05T09:31:00.000-07:00

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.

Masks Required Upon Entry

2008-02-10T12:17:00.000-08:00

We are requiring that all persons entering our home to wear a mask. We've placed ourselves under voluntary quarantine. It started off with me being sick. Chest cold type stuff that branched out into a sore throat from all the coughing. Also, this coughing business is not to be taken lightly. I have wrenched a muscle so hard in my back that I've displaced a freaking rib. A rib. . . as in a rib bone. . . the things that hold your insides in. Yes, well, mine are doing a piss poor job, I'm literally going to cough up a lung. Oh, then there was the pink eye. This morning Big woke up with a fever and a "headache"- always his complaint when he is sick, he has a headache. Little has a chesty cough as well and Dh is whining about a sore throat. Come to find out, it's the flu. Big's home for the week. Little tests negative but is sick as well. 105* fevers all around. BAH. Then there was my miscarriage which despite being an unplanned pregnancy, has been harder to deal with than I expected. Now I'm just waiting for the dogs to get TB or something.
I'm tired.

The Great Dog Drama of 2007. . .

2007-12-07T09:28:00.000-08:00

We decided to get Big and Little a dog for Christmas. Of course, not just any dog, but a Siberian Husky- DH insisted on it. I wanted a boxer. *sigh*. So, we are looking around the pound/Craigslist for a Husky, get a few from Craigslist that don't pan out- one almost happened, then a family member decided to keep him. We finally found one at the pound that we went to visit and got the adoption set up. He had to be fixed before we could take him home, so we waited for a week. The day before I am supposed to pick him up, we get a call saying he had bitten someone at the shelter and had to be put down. DH is convinced that he was not put down, but adopted out to someone else...who knows, either way, failed adoption #2.

Then we find one in Akron Ohio- 4 HOURS drive from us. But DH says he loves him and wants him. We call the day before and make sure there are no holds on him, we're good to go, as long as we are the first to get there b/c someone else said they might come in to look at him. We get there 1/2 an hour before they open. They finally let DH in (he stood outside the door for the whole 1/2 hour *eye roll*). We see him and he's too stinkin ass cute, so we said we'd take him, but the shelter "manager" puts the kabosh on our plans and says they need to call the person who said they might come in to look at him. WTF?!?! We drove all the way up there on the assumption that he was ours if we were there, money in hand. So they call, no answer. They tell us we have to wait until 1:30pm (2 hours from then) to see if this person might contact them. WTF again!?! So we wait for two frickin hours, playing with and bonding with this little pooch.

May God strike me dead 1:2-frickin-8, the guy calls and says he's coming in to get him.

I was so mad. Luckily, I had brought one other listing with me for a pooch in Cleveland (30 min further than the other place). We decided we might as well go see him since we are already up here. We go and see him and he's very sweet, older than the last one, so a little more calm, but still playful. He's excellent with Little and appears housetrained. We decide to take him home.

Right now he is at Doggy Bootcamp for professional training and boarding to keep him hidden from Big. The trainer is very pleased with him and says he has been very responsive so far. One of his easiest Huskies to train- and apparently they are one of the most difficult breeds to train b/c they are so independent.

This whole thing made me think about adopting kids- something DH and I want to do very much. Could I really handle it?! I was in tears over each failed adoption of a dog- I couldn't imagine if it was a child!! It's a good thing I have a lot more time to think about that.

Here's a picture of our new family member Hiruko (Hiro for short).

******************************UPDATE*********************************
January 2008. We are happily on our way to central KY one weekend for a family members wedding when DH gets a phone call. It's the shelter from Akron with the kabosh-putting manager and idiotic "2 hour contact time". Zorro (the little husky) is back. The "owners" decided that they didn't want him anymore- yes the people who snatched him right out from under our nose, IMO, just to spite us. They have decided that they *really* want a lap dog.

Yes, huskies are *such* lap dogs.

He's the exact same fricking size he was when the picked him up. The shelter would like to know if we would like to come pick him up. They casually remind us that they are a kill shelter and dogs who are returned generally do not fare well. Of course we'll take him. We wanted him once, why not now. We brought Hiro up and he and Zorro got along quite well, so we now have two huskies. Zorro went to boot camp as well, but didn't do quite as well as Hiro. Zorro has ADD. It must be me. Perhaps I give off pheromones that attract people/animals with attention issues. He's a bad rotten little dog and I'm pretty sure, he was brought back as (in true husky form) he HOWLS and WHINES and makes these ungodly noises all night in his crate. Still, he has got the silliest face that you can't help but to laugh when you see it. My sister says he looks like a mongoose.

Here is Zorro the husky/mongoose:

Homocidal Minivan Driver

2007-09-15T11:28:00.000-07:00

So, I love Halloween. Like LOVE Halloween. It's my most favoritest holiday. So naturally, I have already begun shopping for said holiday. Big and Little already have their costumes (Big is a gladiator and Little is a lion- it's even cuter than you are imagining) and I am shopping for decorations. I decide to go to Garden Ridge as I have exhausted all the craft stores in my own area. The only Garden Ridge is a 30-40 min drive from where I live. So I pack Little up, very excited at the prospect of getting some good finds. I drive all the way up there, pull into the parking lot. Get Little out and walk all the way up to the door and pull a cart out when an employee comes up to me and says "We're not open". Ok, it's Thursday right? "Yeah, we don't open until tomorrow" What? What the crap!? "Yes, tomorrow is the big day!"- says the employee, thrilled with himself that he knows what random day of the week the damn place opens.. Now I'm mad that I finally made it up there (I had been planning on going for weeks) only to have it be the DAY before they mysteriously reopen (this place has been there for about the past five years). WTF- and can I just say that is my luck- the day before....sombitches...

So in a homicidal rage that stems from me coming down off female hormones, I get Little back in the van, slamming the doors to show the other cars how mad I am. Then get in and floor the Caravan so that it peels out of the parking lot in a jumpy sort of way that minivans do only to realize that it is one of those trick parking lots with exits that aren't really exits at all, forcing me to drive around in a circle with all the workers of said establishment staring at the insane person in the minivan.

Now, I still want to go to the stupid store (nothing stands between me and a bargain), but I insist on taking my husband car so that any employees that might be milling around in the parking lot when we pull up, won't recognise my completely generic minivan as the one that showed them that they can't just "close" whenever they feel like it unless they want someone to put a hurtin' on their parking lot....

Attempt on my life

2007-09-09T15:08:00.000-07:00

I have to keep all these stories together so that one day I can blackmail-I mean scrapbook- them. Sorry to those who have already read this...

"My son will here-for-after (don't think that is a real word, hyphens or not, but it is now) be known as Damian, spawn of Satan. As I sat on the couch watching reruns of Project Runway Season One, I heard Little fiddling with his toys on the other side of the couch- my rule is if I can hear him, that generally means he's alive...don't criticize, it's worked so far. Anyway, the next thing I hear is a beep from my laptop telling me it's been unplugged. Since the word NO might as well mean gobbledegook to ~~Little~~ Damian, I run around the couch to grab his hand off the plug. As I do, his fingers slip onto the metal prongs that are still halfway into the outlet and an electrical current passes through him and into me.

Thankfully, his plan was foiled, and no one was seriously injured. I know it was a plot to do me in as he didn't even cry over the electrocution, so he had obviously braced himself for it. An attempt on my life by my own child....I never thought I'd have to go through this

When I die, please take up a collection and send flowers to the funeral"

Grasping at Straws

2007-09-08T12:56:00.000-07:00

Why do I even buy toys...

Who Me?

I am doing nothing...I'm flossing..

Flinging the straws as far as I can- it wasn't me!!

However, they are tasty...

Lalalalalala

And I'm done with this...

Socks

2007-09-07T09:19:00.000-07:00

I hate gym day at school. That means I can't be lazy and put Big in sandals for school. I have to get gym shoes and socks out...what a pain. I finally found Big's gym shoes in the closet that he "checked all over in twice". I got him a pair of socks to put on and I think they may have been my socks- we both have the same type of socks, so they look the same. Anyway, he cracks me up with how he puts on his socks. Today he has khaki shorts on and a button up shirt. His gym shoes are black with pirate skulls on the back. His socks are white and since they are probably mine, pulled up to just below his knee. Then he folds the top down about halfway- so now the top is slightly lower than mid-calf. Then he folds the top of that fold down again to just above the first cuff so he can see the gold stitching. He insists that this is the only way to fold socks down and concentrates furiously on getting it just right all the way around and then happily jaunts off to school in his mid-calf cuffed socks. I need to get him ankle socks...

Existentialist 5 year old

2007-09-06T09:13:00.001-07:00

My first blog entry from 2 years ago on Myspace...I like it, so I'm copying it here.

The joys of having a five year old. Big has always been too smart for his own good. Some days like today, I feel he is too smart for my own good! He has come full fledged into the "question" phase of his young life. He has asked me "normal" questions like "Why is the sky blue?", "Why can't I get everything I want?" and of course "How did the baby get in your tummy?" He has also asked me such gems as "Why do people have to die?" "Why are we alive?", "How can I talk to God?" and "Why doesn't he talk back?"

Yesterday he asked me another fantastic Big-ism. We were sitting at the table when he looked over at me and said--

"Mommy, what if this is all just a big dream?"

I said "What if what is a big dream?"

He replied, "This...everything around us...what if this is all just one big long dream?"

My response...I said "That would be pretty neat wouldn't it--"

Then he cut me off and said "Well, I don't think it is a dream, there is too much real stuff here, stuff I can feel and touch."

Hmmm...perhaps he's to be a Paleontologist...or perhaps an Existential Philosopher.

This was all of course after we got into a squabble b/c he asked me to help him spell a word, and midway through the word, forgot what word he was trying to write and forgot why he was writing it! (For the record...the word was THINK)

The joys of motherhood, cleaning a poopy butt one minute, contemplating the meaning of life the next.

Angela