My husband brought home Krispy Kreme donuts last night. A whole assorted yummy box. They weren't "Hot Now" but I managed to get passed that and eat two of them anyway. One of them even had sprinkles. My husband understands my sprinkle needs in a way no one else does. I'm very pro-sprinkles. I really don't care that they add nothing as far as flavor. It's really the festive properties of sprinkles that I enjoy. Especially for holidays. Although, quite frankly, you toss some sprinkles on top of my donut and suddenly any day is a holiday as far as I'm concerned.
I'm also in favor of balloons. And funnel cake. And sparklers. All of those are very, very fun. And lots of birthday candles on your cake. When my daughter turned 3 she had like 12 candles on the cake. Certain members of my family thought that was odd. Ask me if I care. Candles are fun. The more the merrier. I also let her wear her Christmas dress to feed the ducks in the middle of August. That's just how I roll.
This weekend I'm going to mentally gear myself up for more planning for the soon to be 4 year old's Pepto pink celebration. Last weekend I bought the scrapbook paper to make decorations with. This weekend I need to summon up the courage to pull out some scissors and tape and actually make something happen with it. I fear allowing my three year old to be in the same room with scissors and cute paper. She will make short work of it. And by short work I mean hundreds and hundreds of tiny pieces of cute paper on my dining room floor. And don't try to give her some plain paper and tell her to sit next to you while you work with the cute stuff. Because my baby knows cute paper when she sees it and that plain white paper you tried to pawn off on her is not cute and totally sucks so hand over the cute paper, evil hag.
I'll let you know how it goes.
8.29.2007
Delusion is a disease
I found a Dr. Pepper in the bottom of my desk drawer yesterday. I just opened my drawer and there it was. So I drank it. I feel this doesn't count as cheating on my no Dr. Pepper kick since I didn't actively seek it out. In a way, it sort of sought me out if you really think about it.
For that matter, I like to think that just the fact that the can was in the drawer was a sign that I was meant to drink it. Or maybe I've just been watching too much Big Brother lately. One of the girls on that show takes everything as a sign. And she cries a lot. My favorite though has to be that she thinks she should be on America's Next Top Model. My friend and I were discussing that just the other day. We can't decide if Amber's deluded or if she's just never seen America's Next Top Model. Maybe she doesn't understand the criteria to get on that show. Waif thin and stunning being the two primary considerations. It doesn't hurt to be overly dramatic too but I figure Amber's got that covered with all the crying. But the waif thin and stunning not so much.
But then another girl on the show, Jameka, went and totally agreed with her. I thought maybe Jameka was just being nice. You know how your friend says, I need to win the lottery. And then you say, You should buy a ticket. You could win. But what you really mean is, Good luck. Because you don't honestly think she'll win. Because, reality check, as if. But you still want to be positive and encouraging.
See, I thought maybe Jameka was doing that. Except then she went on about how she could see Amber on the cover of magazines and starting a whole modeling career. Um. Yeah. When did "deluded" become a contagious disease?
I'm not saying chick's ugly or anything. She's a cute average looking, average sized girl. But she's not America's Next Top Model material. Neither am I. You don't see me all broken up in a corner about it. It happens. But what's up her so called friend puffing her ego up all out of proportion. Friends don't let friends go down to the America's Next Top Model tryouts to get ripped to shreds in a bikini.
For that matter, I like to think that just the fact that the can was in the drawer was a sign that I was meant to drink it. Or maybe I've just been watching too much Big Brother lately. One of the girls on that show takes everything as a sign. And she cries a lot. My favorite though has to be that she thinks she should be on America's Next Top Model. My friend and I were discussing that just the other day. We can't decide if Amber's deluded or if she's just never seen America's Next Top Model. Maybe she doesn't understand the criteria to get on that show. Waif thin and stunning being the two primary considerations. It doesn't hurt to be overly dramatic too but I figure Amber's got that covered with all the crying. But the waif thin and stunning not so much.
But then another girl on the show, Jameka, went and totally agreed with her. I thought maybe Jameka was just being nice. You know how your friend says, I need to win the lottery. And then you say, You should buy a ticket. You could win. But what you really mean is, Good luck. Because you don't honestly think she'll win. Because, reality check, as if. But you still want to be positive and encouraging.
See, I thought maybe Jameka was doing that. Except then she went on about how she could see Amber on the cover of magazines and starting a whole modeling career. Um. Yeah. When did "deluded" become a contagious disease?
I'm not saying chick's ugly or anything. She's a cute average looking, average sized girl. But she's not America's Next Top Model material. Neither am I. You don't see me all broken up in a corner about it. It happens. But what's up her so called friend puffing her ego up all out of proportion. Friends don't let friends go down to the America's Next Top Model tryouts to get ripped to shreds in a bikini.
8.27.2007
Goodbye, old friend. For now.
Today is the most awesome Monday in the history of Mondays. Which is odd because it didn't start particularly great. In fact, my three year old had to be picked up and carried into her classroom. She was protesting the color of the sky or some other random uselessness. But nothing could stop me on the way to a good day. Productive at work. Glasses with two arms. Slept on clean sheets. And not one single solitary living creature woke me up in the night. Practically perfect in every way. The beauty of having low standards.
I have a feeling tomorrow will be a lot less perfect. We're out of Dr. Pepper and I've decided to give it up again. That's a silly game I like to torture myself with every few months. Generally when my pants have gotten tight. And let's just say my pants have gotten a little tight recently. My pants, my pajamas, my underwear. You name it. Nothing says you've packed on the pounds like tight Victoria's Secret panties cutting into your groin. It's right up there with your thighs rubbing together. Hot.
I like to start each and every good weight loss effort by pretending to give up Dr. Pepper. Sometimes it lasts several weeks. Sometimes it lasts until I walk by the break room at work. I think my record is 8 months straight back in 1995. The best Coke of my life was the one I drank at the end of the 8 months. Is it wrong that I have such distinct memories of that Coke? And does it speak volumes about my co dependence on soda or is that just me?
I have a feeling tomorrow will be a lot less perfect. We're out of Dr. Pepper and I've decided to give it up again. That's a silly game I like to torture myself with every few months. Generally when my pants have gotten tight. And let's just say my pants have gotten a little tight recently. My pants, my pajamas, my underwear. You name it. Nothing says you've packed on the pounds like tight Victoria's Secret panties cutting into your groin. It's right up there with your thighs rubbing together. Hot.
I like to start each and every good weight loss effort by pretending to give up Dr. Pepper. Sometimes it lasts several weeks. Sometimes it lasts until I walk by the break room at work. I think my record is 8 months straight back in 1995. The best Coke of my life was the one I drank at the end of the 8 months. Is it wrong that I have such distinct memories of that Coke? And does it speak volumes about my co dependence on soda or is that just me?
8.26.2007
At least our sheets are clean
Yesterday was not a good day. I was still worn out from a long week, still hadn't gotten my hot shower and my husband was at work for the afternoon. My first plan was to have everyone sit on the bed with me while I laid down for a few minutes. Usually our bed is a wonderland of fun including jumping, rolling and peek-a-boo with the sheets. Yesterday was no exception right up until my 18 month old dumped out an entire bag of tortilla chips. An entire 1 pound bag that is. That would be the downside of buying tortilla chips in bulk.
I immediately began screaming for everyone to back away from the chips as if my 18 month old understands "back away." Although he does understand screaming in general apparently. Except he thinks screaming means jump and flop and grind the chips into the sheets. The only thing more ridiculous than my "back away" comment though was that I actually thought I needed to minimize creating more crumbs. He'd dumped the whole bag out. Including the bottom of the bag crumbs. A few more wasn't going to make a difference.
Once I evacuated everyone from the bed, I started trying to figure out what to do. For like a full minute I have to admit I evaluated whether or not I could Shop Vac the crumbs up instead of changing the sheets. That has to be one of the laziest plans I've ever entertained. Or at least the laziest one this week. I only discarded the plan when I realized it would take too long to drag the Shop Vac in and locate an outlet to plug it into.
Once I finally gave in and started pulling the sheets off, I could hear The Wrecking Crew in the living room. It sounded like they were having big fun. Which means something is broken, wet or spilled on the floor. This time it was Kix. Dumped out by the same tortilla chip dumping 18 month old. Although his 3 year old sister really aided and abetted by getting the box out of the cabinet for him. The World's Most Annoying Dog did his best to help me pick them up but some had rolled under the couch just out of his reach. Don't worry. I got them. Nothing a little quality time on my hands and knees couldn't fix.
So then I decided maybe we should leave the house. That's usually what I decide when our house has become such a wreck I can no longer stomach looking at it even one more second. Sometimes leaving the house just means a short drive. Sometimes it means nuggets at Wendy's. Yesterday I must have been feeling ambitious because I decided to go shopping.
Only, whenever we get out of the car and enter a retail establishment it always comes rushing back to me why we never go anywhere. Because no one wants to stay in the cart and everyone wants to examine breakable objects. Back when I had one child I found this relatively manageable. My technique was always handing the kid one object after another to look at. Pretty much anything. If it had moving parts, even better. We'd leave a trail of random objects behind us thrown haphazardly on the wrong shelf.
Now that I'm outnumbered by my kids, it's like juggling fire with one hand while attempting to compare prices and read the ingredients on the back of the box with the other. I end up swearing under my breath a lot and shopping very, very fast. I've developed the ability to make quick decisions about what we do and do not need. I'm not saying I'm always right. I'm just saying I'm not wishy washy in the middle of the store. It's either worth standing in line for or it's not. In the grocery store one of my strategies is to try not to stop the cart unless I have to. Which is why I hate the canned vegetable aisle. Would it kill them to alphabetize? Or maybe throw some signs up? By the time I locate generic black beans one of my offspring has thrown seven cans of pickled artichokes in the basket for me to discover at checkout.
Yesterday's outing was to a craft store to buy pink scrapbook paper to make decorations for the soon to be four year old's Pepto pink celebration. Um. Yeah. Been awhile since I attempted the craft store with them. Now I remember why it's been awhile.
My three year old insisted on pushing the cart by herself. We nearly took out a row of fabric bolts and a middle aged lady shopping for buttons. My 18 month old tried playing hide and seek. When I won and tried to pick him up and put him in the cart, he hosted a sit in next to wood crafts. He also protested leaving the ribbon aisle by chucking several rolls of grosgrain at his sister. It was awesome. At least we got the scrapbook paper. Although it's slightly wrinkled. But that should go without saying when you are stupid enough to shop for scrapbook paper with two small children.
My daughter couldn't figure out why I declared it "quiet time" as soon as we got home. I couldn't figure out why I ever thought the spilled tortilla chips were annoying. All things considered, new sheets on our bed was actually one of the highlights of my day.
I immediately began screaming for everyone to back away from the chips as if my 18 month old understands "back away." Although he does understand screaming in general apparently. Except he thinks screaming means jump and flop and grind the chips into the sheets. The only thing more ridiculous than my "back away" comment though was that I actually thought I needed to minimize creating more crumbs. He'd dumped the whole bag out. Including the bottom of the bag crumbs. A few more wasn't going to make a difference.
Once I evacuated everyone from the bed, I started trying to figure out what to do. For like a full minute I have to admit I evaluated whether or not I could Shop Vac the crumbs up instead of changing the sheets. That has to be one of the laziest plans I've ever entertained. Or at least the laziest one this week. I only discarded the plan when I realized it would take too long to drag the Shop Vac in and locate an outlet to plug it into.
Once I finally gave in and started pulling the sheets off, I could hear The Wrecking Crew in the living room. It sounded like they were having big fun. Which means something is broken, wet or spilled on the floor. This time it was Kix. Dumped out by the same tortilla chip dumping 18 month old. Although his 3 year old sister really aided and abetted by getting the box out of the cabinet for him. The World's Most Annoying Dog did his best to help me pick them up but some had rolled under the couch just out of his reach. Don't worry. I got them. Nothing a little quality time on my hands and knees couldn't fix.
So then I decided maybe we should leave the house. That's usually what I decide when our house has become such a wreck I can no longer stomach looking at it even one more second. Sometimes leaving the house just means a short drive. Sometimes it means nuggets at Wendy's. Yesterday I must have been feeling ambitious because I decided to go shopping.
Only, whenever we get out of the car and enter a retail establishment it always comes rushing back to me why we never go anywhere. Because no one wants to stay in the cart and everyone wants to examine breakable objects. Back when I had one child I found this relatively manageable. My technique was always handing the kid one object after another to look at. Pretty much anything. If it had moving parts, even better. We'd leave a trail of random objects behind us thrown haphazardly on the wrong shelf.
Now that I'm outnumbered by my kids, it's like juggling fire with one hand while attempting to compare prices and read the ingredients on the back of the box with the other. I end up swearing under my breath a lot and shopping very, very fast. I've developed the ability to make quick decisions about what we do and do not need. I'm not saying I'm always right. I'm just saying I'm not wishy washy in the middle of the store. It's either worth standing in line for or it's not. In the grocery store one of my strategies is to try not to stop the cart unless I have to. Which is why I hate the canned vegetable aisle. Would it kill them to alphabetize? Or maybe throw some signs up? By the time I locate generic black beans one of my offspring has thrown seven cans of pickled artichokes in the basket for me to discover at checkout.
Yesterday's outing was to a craft store to buy pink scrapbook paper to make decorations for the soon to be four year old's Pepto pink celebration. Um. Yeah. Been awhile since I attempted the craft store with them. Now I remember why it's been awhile.
My three year old insisted on pushing the cart by herself. We nearly took out a row of fabric bolts and a middle aged lady shopping for buttons. My 18 month old tried playing hide and seek. When I won and tried to pick him up and put him in the cart, he hosted a sit in next to wood crafts. He also protested leaving the ribbon aisle by chucking several rolls of grosgrain at his sister. It was awesome. At least we got the scrapbook paper. Although it's slightly wrinkled. But that should go without saying when you are stupid enough to shop for scrapbook paper with two small children.
My daughter couldn't figure out why I declared it "quiet time" as soon as we got home. I couldn't figure out why I ever thought the spilled tortilla chips were annoying. All things considered, new sheets on our bed was actually one of the highlights of my day.
8.24.2007
I aim low
Our 18 month old has been playing mind games with us for a week. He keeps waking up periodically in the night crying. Not shatter glass end of the world come get me immediately crying. Just, you know, hey, I'm sorta upset and I want you to know about it but I don't really need anything I just like to have you on standby in case I change my mind crying. And he only seems to cry long enough to wake me up. By the time I think I should get up and go in there he stops. So then I'm laying there wondering if I should go ahead and check on him. Sometimes I get as far as standing outside his door wondering.
But going in the room is a big step. Or at least it is for our kid. You open that door and he springs upright in the crib. Groggy or not. And he'll expect you to pay attention to him. Don't be trying any of that lame pat the back and tell him to go back to sleep crap you read in some parenting book. Get over yourself. That kid expects to get picked up. And a cup of milk wouldn't hurt either. In fact, why did you even bother going in there without milk? What kind of mother are you? You suck. It's like you don't even love him. To punish you he will now scream for 7 minutes straight for no apparent reason. There. Enjoy.
Is it any wonder I'm glad it's Friday? My goals for this weekend include less random screaming and a hot shower. Sometimes it's okay to aim low.
But going in the room is a big step. Or at least it is for our kid. You open that door and he springs upright in the crib. Groggy or not. And he'll expect you to pay attention to him. Don't be trying any of that lame pat the back and tell him to go back to sleep crap you read in some parenting book. Get over yourself. That kid expects to get picked up. And a cup of milk wouldn't hurt either. In fact, why did you even bother going in there without milk? What kind of mother are you? You suck. It's like you don't even love him. To punish you he will now scream for 7 minutes straight for no apparent reason. There. Enjoy.
Is it any wonder I'm glad it's Friday? My goals for this weekend include less random screaming and a hot shower. Sometimes it's okay to aim low.
8.22.2007
Do not be alarmed by the one eyed squinter
Tuesday night I left my reading glasses sitting on a table in a restaurant. They were nowhere to be found when I realized my mistake several hours later.
My back up reading glasses only have one arm. I have my first born child to thank for that. In the two years since she broke them, I just never got around to getting a new back up pair. I would soon pay for this lapse in judgment. Because I'm lost without my reading glasses. Going to work without them is not an option. Unfortunately, not going to work really wasn't an option either. I was at the restaurant with coworkers when I lost the glasses. I was hoping someone picked them up but I wouldn't know if they did unless I went to work.
So I ended up going to work with the one armed glasses. I spent the whole morning whipping them off when people would stop by my office. I even started preemptively whipping them off when someone would walk near my door.
I finally left work early to get a new prescription and pick out frames. My goal being glasses before the end of the day. Except getting the new prescription included getting my eyes dilated. And getting my eyes dilated left me with double vision and a complete inability to focus. I've never had that happen before. I can't think of a more inconvenient day for random side effects. Because I still had to pick out frames. With blurry double vision.
By the time we got to EyeMasters to pick frames I was holding one eye closed to accommodate the double vision and putting my face 12 inches away from anything I wanted to focus on. So I'm walking up and down the rows and rows of frames leaning in squinting with one eye. I actually started putting frames on and just letting my husband tell me yes or no without even trying to look myself in a mirror. After we narrowed the field, I squinted as best I could to a final decision.
Then I put my sunglasses back on. Right there at the desk with the guy ringing up my bill. Because I was developing mind numbing light sensitivity by this time. My husband finally took my hand and led me out of the mall. I rode home with a towel over my head. Then I wore sunglasses at the dinner table. And I guess maybe in the bathtub too. With the lights off. But only til they fogged up. Because wearing fogged up sunglasses in the bathtub is just plain weird. I swear it all made perfect sense at the time.
My back up reading glasses only have one arm. I have my first born child to thank for that. In the two years since she broke them, I just never got around to getting a new back up pair. I would soon pay for this lapse in judgment. Because I'm lost without my reading glasses. Going to work without them is not an option. Unfortunately, not going to work really wasn't an option either. I was at the restaurant with coworkers when I lost the glasses. I was hoping someone picked them up but I wouldn't know if they did unless I went to work.
So I ended up going to work with the one armed glasses. I spent the whole morning whipping them off when people would stop by my office. I even started preemptively whipping them off when someone would walk near my door.
I finally left work early to get a new prescription and pick out frames. My goal being glasses before the end of the day. Except getting the new prescription included getting my eyes dilated. And getting my eyes dilated left me with double vision and a complete inability to focus. I've never had that happen before. I can't think of a more inconvenient day for random side effects. Because I still had to pick out frames. With blurry double vision.
By the time we got to EyeMasters to pick frames I was holding one eye closed to accommodate the double vision and putting my face 12 inches away from anything I wanted to focus on. So I'm walking up and down the rows and rows of frames leaning in squinting with one eye. I actually started putting frames on and just letting my husband tell me yes or no without even trying to look myself in a mirror. After we narrowed the field, I squinted as best I could to a final decision.
Then I put my sunglasses back on. Right there at the desk with the guy ringing up my bill. Because I was developing mind numbing light sensitivity by this time. My husband finally took my hand and led me out of the mall. I rode home with a towel over my head. Then I wore sunglasses at the dinner table. And I guess maybe in the bathtub too. With the lights off. But only til they fogged up. Because wearing fogged up sunglasses in the bathtub is just plain weird. I swear it all made perfect sense at the time.
8.21.2007
D is for Disturbing
The dude that falsely confessed last year to killing JonBenet Ramsey only to have DNA later prove he didn't do it is engaged to a pretty 23 year old female. The fiance believes he killed JonBenet. He says he did it and she believes he doesn't lie. She says you can't help who you fall in love with.
That's ridiculous enough as it is. For so many disturbing reasons. But that's not the part that kills me. Chick has a 3 year old daughter. Let's all stop a moment and take that in. 3 years old. Chick claims her daughter's father knows about her relationship with John Karr and is fine with it. Um, yeah. There's a follow up story waiting to happen. Track that father down. Wait outside his house. Shout questions at him as he walks to his car in the morning. No way that father is okay with that. Although he was married to crazy chick at one point so who knows. But still.
Let's just acknowledge that the chick is nuts. Clearly. It's unfortunate but it happens. But is there not even one sane person in that entire family that thinks maybe someone should notify someone somewhere. Dude had kiddie porn on his computer before he fled overseas. The only reason he's not in prison for that is because they lost the computer while he was MIA. Dude described sexual interest in children. Dude hangs out with crazy chick and her kid. At minimum, crazy chick has to go to the bathroom sometime. Crazy chick in the bathroom equals crazy pedophile alone with the kid. I'm not even related to the kid and I have a problem with that. What. On. Earth.
That's ridiculous enough as it is. For so many disturbing reasons. But that's not the part that kills me. Chick has a 3 year old daughter. Let's all stop a moment and take that in. 3 years old. Chick claims her daughter's father knows about her relationship with John Karr and is fine with it. Um, yeah. There's a follow up story waiting to happen. Track that father down. Wait outside his house. Shout questions at him as he walks to his car in the morning. No way that father is okay with that. Although he was married to crazy chick at one point so who knows. But still.
Let's just acknowledge that the chick is nuts. Clearly. It's unfortunate but it happens. But is there not even one sane person in that entire family that thinks maybe someone should notify someone somewhere. Dude had kiddie porn on his computer before he fled overseas. The only reason he's not in prison for that is because they lost the computer while he was MIA. Dude described sexual interest in children. Dude hangs out with crazy chick and her kid. At minimum, crazy chick has to go to the bathroom sometime. Crazy chick in the bathroom equals crazy pedophile alone with the kid. I'm not even related to the kid and I have a problem with that. What. On. Earth.
8.20.2007
Save yourselves if you can
Much the same way you can't look away from a trainwreck about to happen, while flipping channels I could not look away from Rock of Love on VH1 yesterday. It's like The Bachelor only for rocker chicks I guess. It reminds me of The Flavor of Love. Only Bret Michaels seems a lot brighter than Flavor Flav. Although who isn't.
I found the structure of the show fascinating. They seemed to have taken all the elements of The Bachelor and just made them trashy. Instead of giving the girls a rose, he gives them a backstage pass. Instead of asking if they'll accept his rose, he asks if they'll continue to rock his world. They toast with beer cans instead of champagne glasses at the end. And when he describes the girls he picked to stay in the elimination ceremony, his description of them generally includes the words "hot" and "smokin'." There's also a stripper pole in the living room of the house which gets heavy use and girls were taking their tops off in the first episode.
I'd like to say "What has America come to?" or "Where are their parents?" but that seems silly. I'm thinking being on this show is like the culmination of some madness in the lives of those girls. Makes me think willingness to go on that show is the least of their problems. Also makes me think there won't be any "Take Bret home to meet your family" dates.
The show left me with a lingering need to scrub my entire body clean and a newly defined line in the sand for shows I can't handle. I finally pulled myself out of the gutter and changed the channel. Save yourselves if you can. And don't make eye contact. Bret's eyeliner is kind of mesmerizing. So are his hair extensions.
I found the structure of the show fascinating. They seemed to have taken all the elements of The Bachelor and just made them trashy. Instead of giving the girls a rose, he gives them a backstage pass. Instead of asking if they'll accept his rose, he asks if they'll continue to rock his world. They toast with beer cans instead of champagne glasses at the end. And when he describes the girls he picked to stay in the elimination ceremony, his description of them generally includes the words "hot" and "smokin'." There's also a stripper pole in the living room of the house which gets heavy use and girls were taking their tops off in the first episode.
I'd like to say "What has America come to?" or "Where are their parents?" but that seems silly. I'm thinking being on this show is like the culmination of some madness in the lives of those girls. Makes me think willingness to go on that show is the least of their problems. Also makes me think there won't be any "Take Bret home to meet your family" dates.
The show left me with a lingering need to scrub my entire body clean and a newly defined line in the sand for shows I can't handle. I finally pulled myself out of the gutter and changed the channel. Save yourselves if you can. And don't make eye contact. Bret's eyeliner is kind of mesmerizing. So are his hair extensions.
8.18.2007
Cake on the brain
I've been doing some online shopping today. Mostly browsing. Mostly more brainstorming for my soon to be four year old's quickly approaching birthday. I was still stuck trying to decide on a theme so I finally just went ahead and asked the birthday girl for ideas. First I asked if maybe there was a particular animal she likes. Monkeys briefly seemed like a possibility but then this super cute Martha Stewart monkey cake creeped her out. She says it scary. Whatever.
Then we chatted about my fish idea. I got a big fat "eh" out of her on that. Then I showed her this giant oversized cupcake cake pan. Fun and cute and kind of all purpose! But the size of it was lost on her. She thought it looked like every other cupcake she's ever licked the icing off of.
I finally bit the bullet and asked if she'd like a pink cake. Duh. A Pepto pink birthday it will be. Now I'm just debating cake ideas. Seems like I could do most anything in pink. Maybe the previously mentioned giant cupcake with pink icing and a big old #4 candle on top. Or maybe a number 4 shaped cake with a clever pink pattern on it. I'm leaning toward the number 4. But it's still early.
What I do know is that there are many, many cakes I wish I got to make this year instead of the Pepto cake. Like this ice cream cone cake pan. Super cute. My only concern is all the icing is on top. So how do you eat it? Specifically, how do you get some icing in each bite? Because I'm very pro-icing.
And back when I was still thinking underwater thoughts, I found an octopus cake pan. It's impressively detailed. But I'm thinking it'll take a lot of work to make it look that good. And I'm thinking maybe I'm not up that. I'm into super cute cakes as much as the next girl. I'm just not into marathon decorating sessions.
I also found a pan that makes little cakes that you can jab a stick into and they look like Popsicles. I'm thinking summer pool party. I'm thinking icing in assorted Popsicle colors. I'm thinking cutest thing ever.
My soul is also telling me this airplane shaped pan is in my future. It's just a matter of brainwashing a kid into liking planes. While I'm at it, I'll also be brainwashing someone into liking pirates. I've already got invitation ideas picked out. But I'll have to wait until after Pottery Barn Kids puts their pirate birthday collection on sale because $39 for a map tablecloth is ridiculous no matter how to die for cute it is.
Then we chatted about my fish idea. I got a big fat "eh" out of her on that. Then I showed her this giant oversized cupcake cake pan. Fun and cute and kind of all purpose! But the size of it was lost on her. She thought it looked like every other cupcake she's ever licked the icing off of.
I finally bit the bullet and asked if she'd like a pink cake. Duh. A Pepto pink birthday it will be. Now I'm just debating cake ideas. Seems like I could do most anything in pink. Maybe the previously mentioned giant cupcake with pink icing and a big old #4 candle on top. Or maybe a number 4 shaped cake with a clever pink pattern on it. I'm leaning toward the number 4. But it's still early.
What I do know is that there are many, many cakes I wish I got to make this year instead of the Pepto cake. Like this ice cream cone cake pan. Super cute. My only concern is all the icing is on top. So how do you eat it? Specifically, how do you get some icing in each bite? Because I'm very pro-icing.
And back when I was still thinking underwater thoughts, I found an octopus cake pan. It's impressively detailed. But I'm thinking it'll take a lot of work to make it look that good. And I'm thinking maybe I'm not up that. I'm into super cute cakes as much as the next girl. I'm just not into marathon decorating sessions.
I also found a pan that makes little cakes that you can jab a stick into and they look like Popsicles. I'm thinking summer pool party. I'm thinking icing in assorted Popsicle colors. I'm thinking cutest thing ever.
My soul is also telling me this airplane shaped pan is in my future. It's just a matter of brainwashing a kid into liking planes. While I'm at it, I'll also be brainwashing someone into liking pirates. I've already got invitation ideas picked out. But I'll have to wait until after Pottery Barn Kids puts their pirate birthday collection on sale because $39 for a map tablecloth is ridiculous no matter how to die for cute it is.
8.16.2007
There is tile in my master bathroom
My master bathroom has been empty for 7 1/2 months. No toilet. No sink. No shower. My husband started renovating it 7 1/2 months ago. Unfortunately for him, he started demolition on his birthday. Makes it really easy for me to remember exactly how long it's been.
The length of this bathroom renovation doesn't annoy me at all. OK. So maybe it'd be nice to not climb over his Shop-Vac to get in my closet. But overall, it's all good. Here's why. 7 1/2 months ago when my beloved pulled out the sledgehammer intending to have his way with our retro funkadelic bathroom, I pointed out that he might not have time to finish such a big project since he'd be busy finishing his bachelor's degree for the next six months. Get this. Dude looks at me and says, "Don't worry, it won't take six months. I swear." Priceless. Even he laughs about it now. How could he not when our bathroom looked like this for 7 1/2 months:
Which I guess is better than this retro madness:
But honestly, not by much. Because at least our medicine cabinet was an actual cabinet. As opposed to a giant medicine box you have to sift through when you feel nauseous at 1 am.
The master bathroom project turned a corner this past weekend though:
That's actual tile. And it's adhered to the walls. And look, there's some on the floor, too:
That's hot. He's hot. Let's go tile the entire free world. And, I don't want to get my hopes up or anything, but we appear to be on schedule to get a toilet in there by the end of the year. Rock on.
The length of this bathroom renovation doesn't annoy me at all. OK. So maybe it'd be nice to not climb over his Shop-Vac to get in my closet. But overall, it's all good. Here's why. 7 1/2 months ago when my beloved pulled out the sledgehammer intending to have his way with our retro funkadelic bathroom, I pointed out that he might not have time to finish such a big project since he'd be busy finishing his bachelor's degree for the next six months. Get this. Dude looks at me and says, "Don't worry, it won't take six months. I swear." Priceless. Even he laughs about it now. How could he not when our bathroom looked like this for 7 1/2 months:
Which I guess is better than this retro madness:
But honestly, not by much. Because at least our medicine cabinet was an actual cabinet. As opposed to a giant medicine box you have to sift through when you feel nauseous at 1 am.
The master bathroom project turned a corner this past weekend though:
That's actual tile. And it's adhered to the walls. And look, there's some on the floor, too:
That's hot. He's hot. Let's go tile the entire free world. And, I don't want to get my hopes up or anything, but we appear to be on schedule to get a toilet in there by the end of the year. Rock on.
8.15.2007
Secrets from our marital bed
My three year old conned my husband into thinking she was sick yesterday. Instead of going to daycare she went with him to run errands, get pancakes at McDonalds and lay in our bed watching television. I'm thinking they watched SportsCenter for several hours. And maybe the history of the eraser. I'd make fun of my husband's taste in television except I actually watched several episodes of Pirate Master. I clearly have no room to talk.
Our three year old must have dozed off at some point during all that quality television viewing. I suspect that because tonight at bedtime she tried to talk me into letting her sleep in our bed instead of hers. I informed her that her father and I barely cram ourselves into our bed and it would be a shame for her to be crushed to death between two idiots jockeying for position in bed.
We share a queen size bed. We are both certifiable bed hogs. He's a broad shouldered fella. His broad shoulders like to encroach on my territory. I'm prone to sleeping at an angle. My legs find their way to his side a lot.
We used to play tug of war with the sheet every night too. I started making the bed with two queen size flat sheets. One for each of us. People think that's odd when I tell them but it's like the best idea we ever came up with. And by "we" I mean me. We've never played tug of war since. For awhile we even had two comforters on the bed. My husband eventually noticed the difference between his comforter and mine. His being bachelor pad 180 thread count sand paper. Mine being 520 thread count snuggly goodness. Next thing you know he's a thread count snob and my duvet is community property.
Every couple months he suggests getting a king size bed. Every couple months I tell him I love him too much to do that. I once read a story about the increased chance of divorce for couples that have a king size instead of a queen or full. My husband's prepared to roll the dice on that risk. I'm prepared to cling to that flimsy story for the next thirty years to maintain the warm fuzzy closeness of our marital bed. Besides, it'll take more than a king size bed for him to escape me.
Our three year old must have dozed off at some point during all that quality television viewing. I suspect that because tonight at bedtime she tried to talk me into letting her sleep in our bed instead of hers. I informed her that her father and I barely cram ourselves into our bed and it would be a shame for her to be crushed to death between two idiots jockeying for position in bed.
We share a queen size bed. We are both certifiable bed hogs. He's a broad shouldered fella. His broad shoulders like to encroach on my territory. I'm prone to sleeping at an angle. My legs find their way to his side a lot.
We used to play tug of war with the sheet every night too. I started making the bed with two queen size flat sheets. One for each of us. People think that's odd when I tell them but it's like the best idea we ever came up with. And by "we" I mean me. We've never played tug of war since. For awhile we even had two comforters on the bed. My husband eventually noticed the difference between his comforter and mine. His being bachelor pad 180 thread count sand paper. Mine being 520 thread count snuggly goodness. Next thing you know he's a thread count snob and my duvet is community property.
Every couple months he suggests getting a king size bed. Every couple months I tell him I love him too much to do that. I once read a story about the increased chance of divorce for couples that have a king size instead of a queen or full. My husband's prepared to roll the dice on that risk. I'm prepared to cling to that flimsy story for the next thirty years to maintain the warm fuzzy closeness of our marital bed. Besides, it'll take more than a king size bed for him to escape me.
8.14.2007
Handy skills I never even knew I had
I read Madeline to my daughter last night for the 697th time. My husband and I have all the books memorized. We're currently beating the dead horse that is Madeline's Rescue.
Having the books memorized occasionally comes in handy. I've discovered that my three year old gets so entranced that I can actually watch television over the top of the book while I recite it to her. Last night, we got to check out the preseason football highlights that way. I might feel bad except reading the same book 697 times makes me want to fling myself off a cliff.
Last night for the first time ever though, I realized upon reaching the next to last page that I had no memory of reading the book. It was like that feeling you get sometimes when you pull in your driveway and realize you can't remember the drive home at all. Kind of creepy when it's a car you were piloting. Kind of awesome when it's a book you've read 697 times. Now if I can just figure out how I did it.
Having the books memorized occasionally comes in handy. I've discovered that my three year old gets so entranced that I can actually watch television over the top of the book while I recite it to her. Last night, we got to check out the preseason football highlights that way. I might feel bad except reading the same book 697 times makes me want to fling myself off a cliff.
Last night for the first time ever though, I realized upon reaching the next to last page that I had no memory of reading the book. It was like that feeling you get sometimes when you pull in your driveway and realize you can't remember the drive home at all. Kind of creepy when it's a car you were piloting. Kind of awesome when it's a book you've read 697 times. Now if I can just figure out how I did it.
8.12.2007
How not to exercise with two kids
One of the many excuses I use for why I don't get more exercise is that I have two small kids. I don't care how many clever six page spreads I see in Parenting magazine about using a baby as a barbell. I find it difficult to exercise when my children are around.
Tonight I convinced my three year old we were going to do a fun exercise video. I may or may not have used the words "kinda like dancing" to sell her on it. She lasted roughly 10 minutes. First she couldn't understand why Denise Austin skips the number one when she counts, "To the left, two, three, four." Then, there really wasn't any music. And there definitely wasn't any jamming out. Mostly there was stretching. And then it got hard. And then my three year old was done. So she stood over me explaining that this wasn't dancing. Eventually she just turned the TV off on me.
My 18 month old was even less cooperative. There was neck clinging during toe touches. There was leg clinging when I'd stand up. My personal favorite though was when he sat on my back during downward facing dog. I clearly need a Plan B for getting my sweat on.
Tonight I convinced my three year old we were going to do a fun exercise video. I may or may not have used the words "kinda like dancing" to sell her on it. She lasted roughly 10 minutes. First she couldn't understand why Denise Austin skips the number one when she counts, "To the left, two, three, four." Then, there really wasn't any music. And there definitely wasn't any jamming out. Mostly there was stretching. And then it got hard. And then my three year old was done. So she stood over me explaining that this wasn't dancing. Eventually she just turned the TV off on me.
My 18 month old was even less cooperative. There was neck clinging during toe touches. There was leg clinging when I'd stand up. My personal favorite though was when he sat on my back during downward facing dog. I clearly need a Plan B for getting my sweat on.
8.10.2007
Imaginary friends for my husband
Last night, my husband and I watched Burn Notice. It's our new favorite show that we can both agree on. I think my husband likes the McGyver elements and the witty dialogue. And the fact that it doesn't involve wedding planning.
I have my own favorite things about the show. The first is that the main character is hot. But not young stud hot. He's like late 30s been around the block rugged take care of himself hot. Which I've discovered to be significantly hotter than young stud hot ever since I turned 30 myself.
The second thing I like about Burn Notice is that the main character reminds me of my husband. Some people watch TV to escape their husband. I watch television to find more of him.
I just think my husband's an interesting guy. Funny and blunt. And when he combines the two he achieves a really unique ability to be candid with people without offending them. He's the guy that tells you the dress makes your butt looks big but does it so that it makes you laugh not feel like killing yourself. People like him. And they remember him. We should all be so lucky.
Spotting people that remind me of my husband entertains me. I like to pick out people he could be friends with. People I'm convinced would give him their number after sitting next to him at a bar. The character on Burn Notice is the newest addition to the list. There's also Andrew Dan-Jumbo from While You Were Out and a local DJ. And Kelly Perdew from the second Apprentice. I know. Talk about one from the way back machine. Denis Leary seems like a possibility, too. I'm still trying to decide though. He seems like he might dress too well. And, honestly, his hair's a little long. Which sounds random except my husband calls himself a hippie when his hair gets over his ears. I thinks it's a post military mentality.
I'd love to stay and pick out more imaginary friends for my husband but my children have dismantled my gift bag drawer and appear to be shredding a container of wipes. I must go rule them with an iron fist now.
I have my own favorite things about the show. The first is that the main character is hot. But not young stud hot. He's like late 30s been around the block rugged take care of himself hot. Which I've discovered to be significantly hotter than young stud hot ever since I turned 30 myself.
The second thing I like about Burn Notice is that the main character reminds me of my husband. Some people watch TV to escape their husband. I watch television to find more of him.
I just think my husband's an interesting guy. Funny and blunt. And when he combines the two he achieves a really unique ability to be candid with people without offending them. He's the guy that tells you the dress makes your butt looks big but does it so that it makes you laugh not feel like killing yourself. People like him. And they remember him. We should all be so lucky.
Spotting people that remind me of my husband entertains me. I like to pick out people he could be friends with. People I'm convinced would give him their number after sitting next to him at a bar. The character on Burn Notice is the newest addition to the list. There's also Andrew Dan-Jumbo from While You Were Out and a local DJ. And Kelly Perdew from the second Apprentice. I know. Talk about one from the way back machine. Denis Leary seems like a possibility, too. I'm still trying to decide though. He seems like he might dress too well. And, honestly, his hair's a little long. Which sounds random except my husband calls himself a hippie when his hair gets over his ears. I thinks it's a post military mentality.
I'd love to stay and pick out more imaginary friends for my husband but my children have dismantled my gift bag drawer and appear to be shredding a container of wipes. I must go rule them with an iron fist now.
8.09.2007
I finally found a company I hate more than the cable company
The promotion I got a few weeks ago has been keeping me very busy. So busy I don't even have time to make phone calls. For example, I needed to call Verizon a few days ago to tell them just how much I COMPLETELY HATE THEIR COMPANY. Except people kept dropping by my office. It's one thing to chill on the phone while reading work related emails. Because that's multitasking. But chilling on the phone while there's an actual line forming outside your office door is just kinda lame. I felt obligated to hang up. Stupid conscience.
I sat on hold in traffic instead. Turns out our account was in collections. Except our account is set to automatically charge our credit card. I'm not sure what more they expected me to do to get them their money. Hand delivering gold bouillon seems sort of unreasonable in this day and age.
Being in collections meant I had to pay to get my account out of collections. But collections wouldn't take my credit card over the phone. Which is slightly insane because isn't the whole point of collections to get money from people? No. The point of collections is to annoy you and then transfer you to the payment department.
Once the payment department finally took me off hold they told me they couldn't take my payment without my account number. Only I'm in the car without my number so I'm screwed. I offered to verify anything else on the account but chick did not care. So I gave her the what for and asked to speak to her supervisor. So then some dude got on the line and pretended to be a supervisor and explained that the account number rule was for my security. I told him I was okay with any Tom, Dick or Harry off the street calling him up and offering to pay my bill for me with or without my account number. I mean, don't go giving him my social security number or anything but feel free to take his money if he wants to pay my bill for me. The fake supervisor didn't see my point. So I told him I HATE VERIZON MORE THAN THE CABLE COMPANY AND I REALLY REALLY HATE THE CABLE COMPANY. And then I let him transfer me right back to square one to get the account number.
But. My. Account. Was. On. Autopayment.
Holy guacamole, I hate Verizon.
I sat on hold in traffic instead. Turns out our account was in collections. Except our account is set to automatically charge our credit card. I'm not sure what more they expected me to do to get them their money. Hand delivering gold bouillon seems sort of unreasonable in this day and age.
Being in collections meant I had to pay to get my account out of collections. But collections wouldn't take my credit card over the phone. Which is slightly insane because isn't the whole point of collections to get money from people? No. The point of collections is to annoy you and then transfer you to the payment department.
Once the payment department finally took me off hold they told me they couldn't take my payment without my account number. Only I'm in the car without my number so I'm screwed. I offered to verify anything else on the account but chick did not care. So I gave her the what for and asked to speak to her supervisor. So then some dude got on the line and pretended to be a supervisor and explained that the account number rule was for my security. I told him I was okay with any Tom, Dick or Harry off the street calling him up and offering to pay my bill for me with or without my account number. I mean, don't go giving him my social security number or anything but feel free to take his money if he wants to pay my bill for me. The fake supervisor didn't see my point. So I told him I HATE VERIZON MORE THAN THE CABLE COMPANY AND I REALLY REALLY HATE THE CABLE COMPANY. And then I let him transfer me right back to square one to get the account number.
But. My. Account. Was. On. Autopayment.
Holy guacamole, I hate Verizon.
8.07.2007
You'd be amazed how much time I waste on this stuff
My baby girl turns four in two months. I've begun full scale obsession on the topic. I like to do this every year. Sometimes I like to start three months ahead of time. This year I've been distracted so I've opted to limit myself to two months.
Right now, I'm currently fixated on theme. Because you have to pick a good theme before you can obsess over anything else. For example, what's the point of surfing the net for the cutest cake design in the history of cake designs until you know what kind of design you're looking for?
My soon to be four year old has informed me over the last month that she would like a Dora cake, a Disney Princess cake and a Spiderman cake. My soon to be four year old does not actually know anything about Dora, Disney princesses or Spiderman except for what she has been told by other children at the daycare or seen in stores. Marketing for children is impressive. That Dora chick is exceptionally insidious. My kid's never even seen the show but she once tried to talk me into buying her a fugly Dora table and chairs set. And she knows Diego's name too. For that matter, I know Diego's name. What the hell.
Needless to say, I'm not into Disney anything. Especially not a peer pressure induced Disney anything. Luckily she's still young enough to be open to suggestions. And she likes animals. We're planning to take her to Sea World so an underwater fish related theme seems like a possibility. Although I can go ahead and let you know, no one sells underwater fish related birthday crap in pink. Pink is the soon to be four year old's signature color. This is a problem. I guess I could cut out a few pink goldfish shapes and tape them to the wall. Although pink goldfish taped to the wall are not what I like to envision in my head when I obsess two months out from the event. I prefer to envision super cute and available on the internet with free shipping. Maybe we'll keep brainstorming.
Right now, I'm currently fixated on theme. Because you have to pick a good theme before you can obsess over anything else. For example, what's the point of surfing the net for the cutest cake design in the history of cake designs until you know what kind of design you're looking for?
My soon to be four year old has informed me over the last month that she would like a Dora cake, a Disney Princess cake and a Spiderman cake. My soon to be four year old does not actually know anything about Dora, Disney princesses or Spiderman except for what she has been told by other children at the daycare or seen in stores. Marketing for children is impressive. That Dora chick is exceptionally insidious. My kid's never even seen the show but she once tried to talk me into buying her a fugly Dora table and chairs set. And she knows Diego's name too. For that matter, I know Diego's name. What the hell.
Needless to say, I'm not into Disney anything. Especially not a peer pressure induced Disney anything. Luckily she's still young enough to be open to suggestions. And she likes animals. We're planning to take her to Sea World so an underwater fish related theme seems like a possibility. Although I can go ahead and let you know, no one sells underwater fish related birthday crap in pink. Pink is the soon to be four year old's signature color. This is a problem. I guess I could cut out a few pink goldfish shapes and tape them to the wall. Although pink goldfish taped to the wall are not what I like to envision in my head when I obsess two months out from the event. I prefer to envision super cute and available on the internet with free shipping. Maybe we'll keep brainstorming.
8.06.2007
Speaking in code is fun
My husband attempted to tell me tonight about a potential hunting trip he got invited on over my birthday weekend. It's several weeks away and he started out trying to figure out if we already had plans that weekend. He does this because I am his walking talking Day Runner. I even store social security numbers.
So first he asks, Do we have anything going that weekend? This is code for: I've got options that don't include diapers or sippy cups. Give me the green light to lock those plans in. But I just bought those football season tickets so go ahead and remind me if there's a home game that weekend. You're awesome. Love you.
I said, You mean, besides my birthday? This is code for: Last year we went to your sister's wedding on my birthday. The wedding was fun and I didn't have a problem with it being her day because she's nice and I like her. But that was then and this is now.
So then he's all, Some guys I know are going hunting. This is code for: Dude, I'm so clueless it's almost sad. I'm about to act like your birthday can be scheduled around hunting season.
So then we did our psychotic talking crotch impersonations of each other and now we're done. We mostly got distracted from the issue. It's hard not to when you're pretending your crotch talks.
My husband probably figures I'm mellow 99% of the time anyway so it'll be all good. I figure I'm the walking talking Day Runner so it's not like he'll remember the trip on his own. He and I work well together.
So first he asks, Do we have anything going that weekend? This is code for: I've got options that don't include diapers or sippy cups. Give me the green light to lock those plans in. But I just bought those football season tickets so go ahead and remind me if there's a home game that weekend. You're awesome. Love you.
I said, You mean, besides my birthday? This is code for: Last year we went to your sister's wedding on my birthday. The wedding was fun and I didn't have a problem with it being her day because she's nice and I like her. But that was then and this is now.
So then he's all, Some guys I know are going hunting. This is code for: Dude, I'm so clueless it's almost sad. I'm about to act like your birthday can be scheduled around hunting season.
So then we did our psychotic talking crotch impersonations of each other and now we're done. We mostly got distracted from the issue. It's hard not to when you're pretending your crotch talks.
My husband probably figures I'm mellow 99% of the time anyway so it'll be all good. I figure I'm the walking talking Day Runner so it's not like he'll remember the trip on his own. He and I work well together.
8.03.2007
Cold bananas suck but so does living in a barn
Our house is overrun with flies. Initially, we blamed it on bananas. Our children love bananas. In fact, bananas are the one fruit our 18 month old consistently loves. We end up buying bananas almost as often as we buy milk. Which is a lot.
We thought the flies were fruit flies resulting from old bananas laying around. My husband insisted we start storing the bananas in the fridge. But this made the bananas wildly unpopular. Cold bananas being a lot firmer than room temperature bananas. Not to mention they don’t really ripen right in the fridge. We tried defrosting the bananas by leaving them on the counter to warm up a little. However, trying to predict two hours ahead of time when one of our children might potentially be interested in a banana proved difficult.
So then we went back to keeping them on the counter but we’d leave them in their plastic grocery store baggie. I guess hoping that flies would be contained in the baggie. We also made sure we ate bananas before they got old and never leave half eaten ones laying around. This has not worked either. A month and a half later we’re still hanging fly strips in our kitchen and swatting them away while sitting at the computer two rooms away from the bananas.
This is insane. It’s like living in a barn and we’re cows swatting these things away with our tails. Except it’s our house and this is annoying and what on Earth. How can they all be banana related flies? Our kids have eaten bananas for years. We’ve never experienced fly infestation like this. The solution to this problem cannot be getting rid of the bananas. It can’t. Our 18 month old loves them. He loves very few fruits and vegetables. We’re not banning bananas. Of course, we’re also not resigning ourselves to living in a barn either. Our cute new Crate and Barrel dresser would be sorely out of place in a barn.
I had three fly strips hanging in the kitchen on Wednesday. My husband wanted to know what I hoped to accomplish hanging so many. I would think the answer to that is obvious. I’d like to have fewer flies everywhere. I have no idea what to do anymore. Besides complain, obviously. I’m ready to wall paper the entire house in fly paper at this point. I think looking at that would actually be better than tiny flies flitting around my head while I try to watch television. Isn’t it enough that I have a three year old using my bed as a trampoline during Big Brother? Do I need the flies on top of that?
Speaking of Big Brother, they still haven’t voted Kail out. Chick is on my nerves. Although not as much as Amber who feels the need to cry over every single thing. Even when it has nothing to do with her. Even when it’s not bad news. And she can’t just get teary eyed. She has to full on sob. It's beyond me how she functions in everyday life sobbing that much. Chick needs to be medicated.
We thought the flies were fruit flies resulting from old bananas laying around. My husband insisted we start storing the bananas in the fridge. But this made the bananas wildly unpopular. Cold bananas being a lot firmer than room temperature bananas. Not to mention they don’t really ripen right in the fridge. We tried defrosting the bananas by leaving them on the counter to warm up a little. However, trying to predict two hours ahead of time when one of our children might potentially be interested in a banana proved difficult.
So then we went back to keeping them on the counter but we’d leave them in their plastic grocery store baggie. I guess hoping that flies would be contained in the baggie. We also made sure we ate bananas before they got old and never leave half eaten ones laying around. This has not worked either. A month and a half later we’re still hanging fly strips in our kitchen and swatting them away while sitting at the computer two rooms away from the bananas.
This is insane. It’s like living in a barn and we’re cows swatting these things away with our tails. Except it’s our house and this is annoying and what on Earth. How can they all be banana related flies? Our kids have eaten bananas for years. We’ve never experienced fly infestation like this. The solution to this problem cannot be getting rid of the bananas. It can’t. Our 18 month old loves them. He loves very few fruits and vegetables. We’re not banning bananas. Of course, we’re also not resigning ourselves to living in a barn either. Our cute new Crate and Barrel dresser would be sorely out of place in a barn.
I had three fly strips hanging in the kitchen on Wednesday. My husband wanted to know what I hoped to accomplish hanging so many. I would think the answer to that is obvious. I’d like to have fewer flies everywhere. I have no idea what to do anymore. Besides complain, obviously. I’m ready to wall paper the entire house in fly paper at this point. I think looking at that would actually be better than tiny flies flitting around my head while I try to watch television. Isn’t it enough that I have a three year old using my bed as a trampoline during Big Brother? Do I need the flies on top of that?
Speaking of Big Brother, they still haven’t voted Kail out. Chick is on my nerves. Although not as much as Amber who feels the need to cry over every single thing. Even when it has nothing to do with her. Even when it’s not bad news. And she can’t just get teary eyed. She has to full on sob. It's beyond me how she functions in everyday life sobbing that much. Chick needs to be medicated.
8.01.2007
How to atone for being an evil hag
I felt like an evil hag recently when I took six weeks to set up a playdate with another mother who had left me several notes and messages. I felt guilty because six weeks seems unreasonable. I felt guilty because she was trying so hard to be nice and I was just lazy and forgetful.
When we finally got on the phone to schedule the playdate, she picked the new Harry Potter book opening weekend. My guilt made me agree. That and my inability to admit to another grown woman that I wanted to stay home and read a children's book instead. My selfless generosity was rewarded by the universe because she ended up having to reschedule. Except what the universe giveth, the universe taketh away. Because the next weekend she wanted to go to Chuck E. Cheese with the kids. My lingering guilt made me feel obligated to agree to that too.
My husband immediately assumed she'd never been there before. He figures every other parent must hate Chuck E. Cheese as much as we do. The noise. The children running around unattended. The overpriced games that last roughly fifteen seconds per token. It's not that we're just total joy killers. We do plenty of other fun things with our kids. Like playgrounds and zoos and swimming. We even let them run amok in the Wal-Mart toy aisle.
But we're not into Chuck E. Cheese. Seriously. Have you been there on Saturday? There are like 97 birthday parties going on at any one time. It's wall to wall people. I asked some wench if we could borrow one of the chairs from her kid's party table and she acted reluctant to part with it. I guess she thought that chair was singlehandedly holding up the huge pile of presents in front of it. Or maybe she thought all the kids at her party were going to simultaneously clone themselves three times and she'd suddenly be out of chairs. I took her chair despite the potentially dire consequences.
My husband exhibited world class patience entertaining our 18 month old at the table while I followed two three year olds from game to game handing out tokens. My daughter's favorite part was the slide. Nevermind the fact that they have that at the playground for free. Nevermind that McDonald's has it too and they even air condition the place and sell soft serve ice cream cones for $1. But whatever. We came. We saw. We hope to never have to go again. I'm sure that means we'll be back next week.
The other mother seems to love Chuck E. Cheese. She's really sweet and followed her kid around the entire time. She even walked over and stood immediately in front of the slide while my husband and I opted to watch from a distance. We may or may not have used the word "hover" to describe that choice but she's still super, super nice. And the kids had a great time. And at least the bathrooms were clean.
When we finally got on the phone to schedule the playdate, she picked the new Harry Potter book opening weekend. My guilt made me agree. That and my inability to admit to another grown woman that I wanted to stay home and read a children's book instead. My selfless generosity was rewarded by the universe because she ended up having to reschedule. Except what the universe giveth, the universe taketh away. Because the next weekend she wanted to go to Chuck E. Cheese with the kids. My lingering guilt made me feel obligated to agree to that too.
My husband immediately assumed she'd never been there before. He figures every other parent must hate Chuck E. Cheese as much as we do. The noise. The children running around unattended. The overpriced games that last roughly fifteen seconds per token. It's not that we're just total joy killers. We do plenty of other fun things with our kids. Like playgrounds and zoos and swimming. We even let them run amok in the Wal-Mart toy aisle.
But we're not into Chuck E. Cheese. Seriously. Have you been there on Saturday? There are like 97 birthday parties going on at any one time. It's wall to wall people. I asked some wench if we could borrow one of the chairs from her kid's party table and she acted reluctant to part with it. I guess she thought that chair was singlehandedly holding up the huge pile of presents in front of it. Or maybe she thought all the kids at her party were going to simultaneously clone themselves three times and she'd suddenly be out of chairs. I took her chair despite the potentially dire consequences.
My husband exhibited world class patience entertaining our 18 month old at the table while I followed two three year olds from game to game handing out tokens. My daughter's favorite part was the slide. Nevermind the fact that they have that at the playground for free. Nevermind that McDonald's has it too and they even air condition the place and sell soft serve ice cream cones for $1. But whatever. We came. We saw. We hope to never have to go again. I'm sure that means we'll be back next week.
The other mother seems to love Chuck E. Cheese. She's really sweet and followed her kid around the entire time. She even walked over and stood immediately in front of the slide while my husband and I opted to watch from a distance. We may or may not have used the word "hover" to describe that choice but she's still super, super nice. And the kids had a great time. And at least the bathrooms were clean.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
