My husband and I are planning to take a small road trip with the kids soon. Sometimes when I think about it, I'm already ready to hang my head out the side of the car to escape the noise. This makes it seem like someone has a gun to my head forcing me take the trip. Which is odd since the trip is my idea. We're taking the newest 4 year old to Sea World for her recent birthday. Our 18 month old is sort of along for the ride. I pray he's passed out in his car seat along for the ride but we'll see.
The actual car ride isn't the part that worries me. Staying in a hotel is my concern. Specifically, our 18 month old screaming his head off at bedtime, other hotel guests complaining and the manager showing up at our door telling us to shut him up.
The newest 4 year old has never stayed in a hotel. Or at least, she's never stayed in one without sleeping in a car carrier. I feel certain the hotel room will be endlessly entertaining for her. The ice machine alone will impress her. Shamu's likely to make her head explode.
Last night my husband laughed in my face when I suggested we get a nice 4 star hotel off Priceline. Even he thinks there will be mucho screaming. And one hotel we looked at had fancy schmancy glass top coffee tables we feel certain our kids could either break or impale themselves on. Or both.
My husband is normally the optimist when it comes to traveling with the kids. When I predict doom and gloom he calmly assures me everything will be fine and we'll just shove Chicken McNuggets at anyone that cries. It concerns me that the optimist is talking about driving straight home after Sea World to avoid the hotel. I told him about the big wholesome family fun we're going to have. It's practically a vacation. Except shorter. And significantly less relaxing. But fun. Big fun! With hotel beds to jump on! It'll be great. I just know it.
10.30.2007
10.29.2007
Big excitement found here
I have new and exciting things to report. No, none of them involve me raffling off a free car. Even better! I'm participating in NaBloPoMo! I also saved a bundle on my car insurance.
NaBloPoMo goes on in November. It's like a pact to post on your blog every day for the whole month. I read a couple blogs that did it last year. It seemed kind of challenging and fun so this year I signed up right away. I was like #94 to sign up or something ridiculous. Now November is kind of looming in front of me like an endless sea of blank pages waiting to be filled. I think some people brainstorm ideas ahead of time to avoid that problem. Some people even have a theme or something. Whatever. They need to learn to procrasinate better. Like me. I'll be flying by the seat of my pants all month long. It's gonna be killer. Prepare to feel awesome each and every time you visit.
And please don't lose any more sleep worrying about my DVR. It's fixed. Crisis averted. Verizon fooled us into thinking they had fixed the problem Thursday night but they are big, fat, hairy liars. Saturday night the onscreen menu froze up and my husband and I ended up laying in bed staring at the blank television screen while we sat on hold. We live an exciting life. We finally got some dude on the phone and he said they'd send someone out to fix it. My husband, never at a loss for words, asked if they could send someone out that night. The tech guy enjoyed that. They came bright and early the next morning though. So I guess Verizon's not all bad. I mean, I still hate them as much as ever but I guess there won't be any need to burn down their headquarters or anything.
NaBloPoMo goes on in November. It's like a pact to post on your blog every day for the whole month. I read a couple blogs that did it last year. It seemed kind of challenging and fun so this year I signed up right away. I was like #94 to sign up or something ridiculous. Now November is kind of looming in front of me like an endless sea of blank pages waiting to be filled. I think some people brainstorm ideas ahead of time to avoid that problem. Some people even have a theme or something. Whatever. They need to learn to procrasinate better. Like me. I'll be flying by the seat of my pants all month long. It's gonna be killer. Prepare to feel awesome each and every time you visit.
And please don't lose any more sleep worrying about my DVR. It's fixed. Crisis averted. Verizon fooled us into thinking they had fixed the problem Thursday night but they are big, fat, hairy liars. Saturday night the onscreen menu froze up and my husband and I ended up laying in bed staring at the blank television screen while we sat on hold. We live an exciting life. We finally got some dude on the phone and he said they'd send someone out to fix it. My husband, never at a loss for words, asked if they could send someone out that night. The tech guy enjoyed that. They came bright and early the next morning though. So I guess Verizon's not all bad. I mean, I still hate them as much as ever but I guess there won't be any need to burn down their headquarters or anything.
10.27.2007
My imaginary book club
I'm going to go ahead and call to order my imaginary book club. This month we've been reading The Memory Keeper's Daughter by Kim Edwards. I hope everyone had time to finish it. Go ahead and grab some cookies from the refreshment table and have a seat so we can get started.
Yep. I agree it was really different than Kite Runner. Kite Runner was told entirely from one individual's point of view. I think maybe that made it feel more personal to me. Like maybe Amir and Hassan had sat on the couch in my living room sharing goldfish crackers with my kids while the World's Most Annoying Dog jumped on them.
The Memory Keeper's Daughter was told from shifting points of view. Which I really liked because getting other people's perspective was really important. But it made it feel different. Almost like watching the characters on television. Which is okay, because, honestly, I spent a big portion of the book exceptionally intrigued with the main character.
He's a doctor. Due to a big snow storm, he ends up delivering his own children. It's the 1960s so they didn't know they were having twins. The 2nd baby is born with Down's Syndrome but his wife isn't aware she even had a second child because she's not awake at the time. The doctor decides she would be better off without that kid so he sends the baby away with a nurse and tells his wife the second baby died.
The thing that intrigued me was how that seemed like a good plan. I'm not an expert at scamming people about missing babies, but I think I'd rather not mention the second baby at all if I'm him. I mean, a baby dying is still monumentally rough. If we're looking to spare her pain, why not skip that grief too?
It was a different time and the doctor based his decision on the child potentially dying young due to complications. His own mother had lost a child and never recovered from it emotionally. He didn't want that for his wife. I think he really thought he was doing something out of love for her. And I think once he did it there was no turning back. Because the lies just compounded. Because then you're holding a funeral. And then the whole town knows and then it's a whole thing and how are you supposed to turn all of that around? If you confess the truth, everyone will hate you. Talk about digging yourself into a hole.
I had a hard time accepting the doctor's decision. It's the premise for the whole book. Looking at how that decision affects the lives of everyone involved. I think my main problem was that I felt for the mother. I can't imagine my child being on this planet and I don't even know she exists or get to see her or know her or hug her. That was the difficult part for me. But I think that's part of it. That the doctor grasps that too. And he feels the longing to tell her and the profound guilt about what he did. Except he has to try to live with it and continue a normal life. Complicated.
I liked The Memory Keeper's Daughter. Different but intriguing. Kudos to No Way for the recommendation. Since finishing it, I've even had the added pleasure of harassing my husband to confess where he sent my extra children. Good times.
Me and my imaginary book club are going to continue to make our way through the list of recommendations I previously received. I ordered them from Amazon and everything. They're sitting on my dining room table right this second. I know. I'm so on the ball. Although I haven't finished the newest 4 year old's butterfly costume and we're going to a Halloween carnival in 3 hours. Yikes.
The imaginary book club's next selection is Bel Canto by Ann Patchett. Michelle from I Got Two, Babe told me to read that next and I'm nothing if not highly susceptible to suggestion. See you at the next meeting! Please be on time. And bring cookies. Brownies would be good too. No nuts. See you then.
Yep. I agree it was really different than Kite Runner. Kite Runner was told entirely from one individual's point of view. I think maybe that made it feel more personal to me. Like maybe Amir and Hassan had sat on the couch in my living room sharing goldfish crackers with my kids while the World's Most Annoying Dog jumped on them.
The Memory Keeper's Daughter was told from shifting points of view. Which I really liked because getting other people's perspective was really important. But it made it feel different. Almost like watching the characters on television. Which is okay, because, honestly, I spent a big portion of the book exceptionally intrigued with the main character.
He's a doctor. Due to a big snow storm, he ends up delivering his own children. It's the 1960s so they didn't know they were having twins. The 2nd baby is born with Down's Syndrome but his wife isn't aware she even had a second child because she's not awake at the time. The doctor decides she would be better off without that kid so he sends the baby away with a nurse and tells his wife the second baby died.
The thing that intrigued me was how that seemed like a good plan. I'm not an expert at scamming people about missing babies, but I think I'd rather not mention the second baby at all if I'm him. I mean, a baby dying is still monumentally rough. If we're looking to spare her pain, why not skip that grief too?
It was a different time and the doctor based his decision on the child potentially dying young due to complications. His own mother had lost a child and never recovered from it emotionally. He didn't want that for his wife. I think he really thought he was doing something out of love for her. And I think once he did it there was no turning back. Because the lies just compounded. Because then you're holding a funeral. And then the whole town knows and then it's a whole thing and how are you supposed to turn all of that around? If you confess the truth, everyone will hate you. Talk about digging yourself into a hole.
I had a hard time accepting the doctor's decision. It's the premise for the whole book. Looking at how that decision affects the lives of everyone involved. I think my main problem was that I felt for the mother. I can't imagine my child being on this planet and I don't even know she exists or get to see her or know her or hug her. That was the difficult part for me. But I think that's part of it. That the doctor grasps that too. And he feels the longing to tell her and the profound guilt about what he did. Except he has to try to live with it and continue a normal life. Complicated.
I liked The Memory Keeper's Daughter. Different but intriguing. Kudos to No Way for the recommendation. Since finishing it, I've even had the added pleasure of harassing my husband to confess where he sent my extra children. Good times.
Me and my imaginary book club are going to continue to make our way through the list of recommendations I previously received. I ordered them from Amazon and everything. They're sitting on my dining room table right this second. I know. I'm so on the ball. Although I haven't finished the newest 4 year old's butterfly costume and we're going to a Halloween carnival in 3 hours. Yikes.
The imaginary book club's next selection is Bel Canto by Ann Patchett. Michelle from I Got Two, Babe told me to read that next and I'm nothing if not highly susceptible to suggestion. See you at the next meeting! Please be on time. And bring cookies. Brownies would be good too. No nuts. See you then.
10.25.2007
For the sake of the children
I hate my DVR today. Sunday night our power went off in the middle of the night. I didn’t particularly care that it reset my alarm clock and made me late for work Monday morning. Please. They're called leave hours. Let’s all use them together. And then let’s roll into the office several hours late eating a fresh bag of Cinnamon Twists from Taco Hell.
Last night, however, when I discovered that it seems to have messed up my DVR and caused me to miss America’s Next Top Model, I was highly annoyed. Technically it took me five minutes to believe it really happened. I continually went through the menus looking for my shows. I kept thinking I just went to the wrong place. Except there was nothing there.
On top of missing America’s Next Top Model, I also missed Tuesday night's season finale of Damages. My husband, who’s been half watching all season, opted to actually watch that episode. When I mentioned that I missed it, he made a point of telling me how good it was. This from the guy that only understands the plot because I explained all the parts he missed with his back turned to the screen. But he saw the finale and not me. Is it Opposite Day and I didn't get the memo?
Monday night I reprogrammed all my shows after discovering the power outage had erased the DVR recordings. I remember prying the remote from my husband’s hand during halftime of Monday Night Football. He kept explaining the importance of the half time show and I kept explaining how it wouldn’t bother me if he missed the third quarter entirely.
The power didn’t go off again after that. So there’s no explanation for the reset DVR. This is disturbing. The DVR is my friend. I love the DVR. I do not want to hate the DVR. The DVR makes me happy. I don’t want to leave the DVR. We’re just going through a rough patch. Trust will be an issue in our relationship moving forward but we can get through this.
We're going to try to work things out. For the sake of the kids and my moderate addiction to reality television. I’ve reprogrammed the DVR again and I’m giving it one more chance. Damages and America’s Next Top Model both have reruns later in the week. I’ll catch those and we’ll put this behind us. Because forgiveness is part of any loving relationship. Although, if it makes me miss Survivor tonight that DVR is dead to me. I will take it for a long drive into the desert and there will be a hole already dug when we get out of the car if you know what I mean.
Last night, however, when I discovered that it seems to have messed up my DVR and caused me to miss America’s Next Top Model, I was highly annoyed. Technically it took me five minutes to believe it really happened. I continually went through the menus looking for my shows. I kept thinking I just went to the wrong place. Except there was nothing there.
On top of missing America’s Next Top Model, I also missed Tuesday night's season finale of Damages. My husband, who’s been half watching all season, opted to actually watch that episode. When I mentioned that I missed it, he made a point of telling me how good it was. This from the guy that only understands the plot because I explained all the parts he missed with his back turned to the screen. But he saw the finale and not me. Is it Opposite Day and I didn't get the memo?
Monday night I reprogrammed all my shows after discovering the power outage had erased the DVR recordings. I remember prying the remote from my husband’s hand during halftime of Monday Night Football. He kept explaining the importance of the half time show and I kept explaining how it wouldn’t bother me if he missed the third quarter entirely.
The power didn’t go off again after that. So there’s no explanation for the reset DVR. This is disturbing. The DVR is my friend. I love the DVR. I do not want to hate the DVR. The DVR makes me happy. I don’t want to leave the DVR. We’re just going through a rough patch. Trust will be an issue in our relationship moving forward but we can get through this.
We're going to try to work things out. For the sake of the kids and my moderate addiction to reality television. I’ve reprogrammed the DVR again and I’m giving it one more chance. Damages and America’s Next Top Model both have reruns later in the week. I’ll catch those and we’ll put this behind us. Because forgiveness is part of any loving relationship. Although, if it makes me miss Survivor tonight that DVR is dead to me. I will take it for a long drive into the desert and there will be a hole already dug when we get out of the car if you know what I mean.
10.23.2007
Superior planning skills any employer would be lucky to have
I feel certain there are tens of thousands of people on pins and needles waiting for the follow up report on whether I decided to put in for the new job. I previously wrote about my pathetic indecisiveness. One job being cushier while the other is upwardly mobile. Late Thursday, much as I predicted, I was frantically attempting to think of descriptive phrases to use on my resume. You know clever stuff that makes you sound super important and highly skilled. I'm not sure how successful I was. Eh.
I decided to put in for the job not because I've decided I want it but because I haven't decided that I don't want it. In my head it's a "just in case" move. Just in case the cushy new job I'll be starting soon is boring. Just in case I become tragically power hungry and decide I need to take over the world.
I figure if I get a call for an interview I can decide then. I'm so good at putting things off. See how I delayed that decision to the last possible moment? See how I've set myself up to have to make that decision while I'm sitting on the phone being asked what day and time would be good for me? Maybe I won't even get a call for an interview and then I won't have to decide at all. Another brilliant strategy on my part. Who wouldn't want to hire someone with these planning skills? Eh.
I decided to put in for the job not because I've decided I want it but because I haven't decided that I don't want it. In my head it's a "just in case" move. Just in case the cushy new job I'll be starting soon is boring. Just in case I become tragically power hungry and decide I need to take over the world.
I figure if I get a call for an interview I can decide then. I'm so good at putting things off. See how I delayed that decision to the last possible moment? See how I've set myself up to have to make that decision while I'm sitting on the phone being asked what day and time would be good for me? Maybe I won't even get a call for an interview and then I won't have to decide at all. Another brilliant strategy on my part. Who wouldn't want to hire someone with these planning skills? Eh.
10.21.2007
I'm prepared to remain inside our house forever
I woke up Saturday morning feeling optimistic. My husband would be at work all day so I laid in bed thinking of fun things to do with the kids by myself. Fun things that wouldn't involve laundry or dishes or wiping marker off of anything. Fun things that maybe wouldn't involve remaining inside the four walls of our house.
I hear about other mothers taking their kids places. They appear to successfully leave the house without their husband and actual fun is had by all. So then I thought I could be one of them.
I decided to take my 4 year old and 18 month old to a fall festival at a local arboretum. We haven't been in several years but it's always super pretty. I figured I could get a cute picture of the kids sitting next to a pumpkin and they could run around outside. I'm so naive. It's almost sad. I didn't even take a stroller. Even the diaper bag was a last minute addition to the car.
First there were the giant mounds of pumpkins. My daughter wanted to climb them. I was worried she'd create a pumpkin landslide and crush a small child. Namely her brother. I need not have worried. He hated the pumpkins and refused to get near them. This is as close as he got:
The place even had a giant pumpkin shaped topiary. So cute. Here's my daughter agreeing to walk over to it:
And here she is coming right back after some random mud got on her pants. Notice how she's holding her pants up to illustrate the exact nature of the problem:
Here she looks at me with scorn for subjecting her to such horror:
What kind of mother are you? Why did you make me do that? You suck.
I redeemed myself by locating a large water fountain with four giant frogs that shoot water. I think the idea is that you can run under the streams of water without getting wet. It's fun. See:
Except suddenly, it's not fun. Too much water. Immediate change of clothes required or a nuclear winter will commence immediately. Must get to car:
That's the 4 year old with her hand in her mouth crying because I couldn't teleport her to the car. I managed to get everyone walking to the exit. Except then the 18 month old realized we were leaving the super fun fountain. So he flung himself to the ground in protest:
He was actually saying "water" and pointing. I had to carry him kicking and screaming several blocks while his sister followed behind whimpering. Then the 4 year old's water trauma began to affect her motor functions. She refused to walk another step and insisted she needed to be carried. So then I got to carry the 4 year old. Heaven help me that child weighs a lot. Here we are taking a break next to some flowers:
She agreed to smell them. Not because it's fun to smell flowers but because some other kid came by and smelled them first. And then there were no more photos because I wanted to die. I carried the crying 4 year old while cajoling my 18 month to keep walking. At one point they both refused to walk and I was carrying one child at a time from point to point. It was like a horrible nightmare where the parking lot seems to get further and further away in your head.
Shortly before the exit, a bride walked by. She was leaving after having photos taken in the gardens. I've never been so thankful to see a complete stranger in a wedding dress in my life. My 4 year old loves brides. Weird. I know. Whatever. I immediately sold my 4 year old on the idea of following the bride to see where she was going. Me, I knew she was headed to her car. My daughter? Pretty sure she thought there was a groom and a reception with a DJ somewhere up ahead. I rode that bride's tailwind the rest of the way to the car. Everyone was still pretty much crying but at least we were moving.
At the car, I strapped everyone in. My daughter was confused. She'd been under the impression we were changing clothes and going back in. Right. Good one. She'll be lucky to ever leave the house again.
I hear about other mothers taking their kids places. They appear to successfully leave the house without their husband and actual fun is had by all. So then I thought I could be one of them.
I decided to take my 4 year old and 18 month old to a fall festival at a local arboretum. We haven't been in several years but it's always super pretty. I figured I could get a cute picture of the kids sitting next to a pumpkin and they could run around outside. I'm so naive. It's almost sad. I didn't even take a stroller. Even the diaper bag was a last minute addition to the car.
First there were the giant mounds of pumpkins. My daughter wanted to climb them. I was worried she'd create a pumpkin landslide and crush a small child. Namely her brother. I need not have worried. He hated the pumpkins and refused to get near them. This is as close as he got:
The place even had a giant pumpkin shaped topiary. So cute. Here's my daughter agreeing to walk over to it:
And here she is coming right back after some random mud got on her pants. Notice how she's holding her pants up to illustrate the exact nature of the problem:
Here she looks at me with scorn for subjecting her to such horror:
What kind of mother are you? Why did you make me do that? You suck.
I redeemed myself by locating a large water fountain with four giant frogs that shoot water. I think the idea is that you can run under the streams of water without getting wet. It's fun. See:
Except suddenly, it's not fun. Too much water. Immediate change of clothes required or a nuclear winter will commence immediately. Must get to car:
That's the 4 year old with her hand in her mouth crying because I couldn't teleport her to the car. I managed to get everyone walking to the exit. Except then the 18 month old realized we were leaving the super fun fountain. So he flung himself to the ground in protest:
He was actually saying "water" and pointing. I had to carry him kicking and screaming several blocks while his sister followed behind whimpering. Then the 4 year old's water trauma began to affect her motor functions. She refused to walk another step and insisted she needed to be carried. So then I got to carry the 4 year old. Heaven help me that child weighs a lot. Here we are taking a break next to some flowers:
She agreed to smell them. Not because it's fun to smell flowers but because some other kid came by and smelled them first. And then there were no more photos because I wanted to die. I carried the crying 4 year old while cajoling my 18 month to keep walking. At one point they both refused to walk and I was carrying one child at a time from point to point. It was like a horrible nightmare where the parking lot seems to get further and further away in your head.
Shortly before the exit, a bride walked by. She was leaving after having photos taken in the gardens. I've never been so thankful to see a complete stranger in a wedding dress in my life. My 4 year old loves brides. Weird. I know. Whatever. I immediately sold my 4 year old on the idea of following the bride to see where she was going. Me, I knew she was headed to her car. My daughter? Pretty sure she thought there was a groom and a reception with a DJ somewhere up ahead. I rode that bride's tailwind the rest of the way to the car. Everyone was still pretty much crying but at least we were moving.
At the car, I strapped everyone in. My daughter was confused. She'd been under the impression we were changing clothes and going back in. Right. Good one. She'll be lucky to ever leave the house again.
10.18.2007
How to be a jerk on national television
Last night, on Survivor, or as my husband refers to it with our kids, "Momma's show," the tribes swapped two people. Two total studs got sent to the tribe that's been losing. The original loser tribe members decided to intentionally throw the immunity challenge since their alliance was in the majority and could safely vote off the new guys since they would end up being the biggest challenge threats after the merge. I'm sort of with them on this strategy. It sucks because I actually kind of like the guys they're planning to vote out and it's always nice to have some eye candy. But I get the plan and maybe I'd have done the same thing.
I know for a solid fact, however, that I would not have laughed mid challenge while one of the guys in danger of being voted off is standing right next to me trying his hardest to win the challenge. That's after two other guys swam and dove and busted their butts to do their part in the challenge. The two guys fell to the ground panting when they were done with their part.
If you weren't prepared to do a good job pretending to try, why didn't you just come right out and tell them? They could have just forfeited the challenge or something and saved their energy. Instead they did all that work for nothing. Not only do you not feel guilty about it, you think it's funny.
The rudest part was laughing in their faces when the two guys confronted them about it later. They're worried about getting voted out. They tried really hard in the challenge. They care about trying to get further in the game. Seems like you could summon up a little common courtesy for them. Hello, self absorbed. Thy name is Jaime. I'm officially rooting for everyone but her. I guess that even includes the annoying Jean-Robert who's pretty self absorbed himself. But I'm willing to let that go for now. And I'm beginning to like Todd. Maybe it's just that he's polite. My standards have gotten low.
On a non reality television note, I can't decide if I like the hour long format for The Office. I will admit that I'm often left wanting more when the 30 minute shows end but sometimes the hour long seems just a little too much. Although I probably wouldn't mind an hour of just Jim and Pam. Last night was good but felt the tiniest bit stretched to last the full hour. I'm not into Jan. But I love Ryan. Almost as much as I love Dwight who's a total freak but I still wish he worked in my office. My husband said he wouldn't have gone to Dwight's bed and breakfast. This makes me think maybe we can't be married anymore because how could you not want to go see what a bed and breakfast run by Dwight would be like? Sheesh.
I know for a solid fact, however, that I would not have laughed mid challenge while one of the guys in danger of being voted off is standing right next to me trying his hardest to win the challenge. That's after two other guys swam and dove and busted their butts to do their part in the challenge. The two guys fell to the ground panting when they were done with their part.
If you weren't prepared to do a good job pretending to try, why didn't you just come right out and tell them? They could have just forfeited the challenge or something and saved their energy. Instead they did all that work for nothing. Not only do you not feel guilty about it, you think it's funny.
The rudest part was laughing in their faces when the two guys confronted them about it later. They're worried about getting voted out. They tried really hard in the challenge. They care about trying to get further in the game. Seems like you could summon up a little common courtesy for them. Hello, self absorbed. Thy name is Jaime. I'm officially rooting for everyone but her. I guess that even includes the annoying Jean-Robert who's pretty self absorbed himself. But I'm willing to let that go for now. And I'm beginning to like Todd. Maybe it's just that he's polite. My standards have gotten low.
On a non reality television note, I can't decide if I like the hour long format for The Office. I will admit that I'm often left wanting more when the 30 minute shows end but sometimes the hour long seems just a little too much. Although I probably wouldn't mind an hour of just Jim and Pam. Last night was good but felt the tiniest bit stretched to last the full hour. I'm not into Jan. But I love Ryan. Almost as much as I love Dwight who's a total freak but I still wish he worked in my office. My husband said he wouldn't have gone to Dwight's bed and breakfast. This makes me think maybe we can't be married anymore because how could you not want to go see what a bed and breakfast run by Dwight would be like? Sheesh.
Live and learn
In response to the letter I wrote to my younger, stupider 18 year old self, Jessica left me a comment about how she wouldn't warn her younger self not to date a guy that would ultimately end up breaking her heart. She explained her reason so well I feel obligated to quote her directly:
So true. As much as I'd like the 18 year old me to have been smart enough to avoid that loser boyfriend, it was a learning experience. I developed remarkably good loser radar after that. And it's all good anyway because every chick I know seems to have her own story about some loser boyfriend. You know. The guy you'd be kinda embarrassed to admit you dated if you ran into him in the Walgreen's parking lot.
Maybe he stone cold dumped you. Maybe he cheated on you. Or, like this girl I once knew, maybe your husband took your life savings and disappeared with it instead of paying your college tuition. And maybe you didn't find out until you tried to have lunch in the university dining hall but your student ID stopped working because you'd been dropped from classes for failure to pay. Um. Wait. My husband said he wrote a check for that. Here I'll just call him and find out what's going on. Oh. Huh. He's not answering the phone. Oh. Hey. There's no furniture in our house anymore. Wow, did it suck to be her.
And she didn't tell anybody for three days. She just kept going to class and acting like nothing was wrong. I think she was hoping he'd turn up and it would turn out to be a big mistake. I remember seeing her in the hall and she seemed okay. She stopped by to give me something the day she moved home to live with her parents and told me the whole story. And then I got on a bullhorn and told everyone within a fifty foot radius because, dude, what the hell.
I don't think I'll ever forget how crazy it felt to realize that she had been going through that three doors down from me. I try to remember that feeling whenever someone's a little crabby. I try to let it roll off my back and just figure they're having a bad day. Well, unless you're one of the evil hags on America's Next Top Model making fun of the girl with Asperger's who's name is Heather which I know because I was kinda sorta rooting for until last night when they showed her talking about the other girls behind their backs. Because it's hard to hold it against the other girls when they talk about Heather if Heather's doing the same thing. I'm now officially pro-Chantal. And Saleisha. And I don't understand why Jenah's hair always looks like a rat's nest. The end.
I feel as though the lessons I learned from every single one of those heartaches allowed me to appreciate what a wonderful, caring, responsible, remarkable person my boyfriend is now. Without having had my heart broken once, twice, (ok like seven times) I might have taken him and everything he has to offer for granted.
So for that, I think the advice I would give my younger, more naive self, is to keep her chin up because the tears will dry, the pain will subside and I will become a better person because of every experience I allowed myself to walk into blindly.
So true. As much as I'd like the 18 year old me to have been smart enough to avoid that loser boyfriend, it was a learning experience. I developed remarkably good loser radar after that. And it's all good anyway because every chick I know seems to have her own story about some loser boyfriend. You know. The guy you'd be kinda embarrassed to admit you dated if you ran into him in the Walgreen's parking lot.
Maybe he stone cold dumped you. Maybe he cheated on you. Or, like this girl I once knew, maybe your husband took your life savings and disappeared with it instead of paying your college tuition. And maybe you didn't find out until you tried to have lunch in the university dining hall but your student ID stopped working because you'd been dropped from classes for failure to pay. Um. Wait. My husband said he wrote a check for that. Here I'll just call him and find out what's going on. Oh. Huh. He's not answering the phone. Oh. Hey. There's no furniture in our house anymore. Wow, did it suck to be her.
And she didn't tell anybody for three days. She just kept going to class and acting like nothing was wrong. I think she was hoping he'd turn up and it would turn out to be a big mistake. I remember seeing her in the hall and she seemed okay. She stopped by to give me something the day she moved home to live with her parents and told me the whole story. And then I got on a bullhorn and told everyone within a fifty foot radius because, dude, what the hell.
I don't think I'll ever forget how crazy it felt to realize that she had been going through that three doors down from me. I try to remember that feeling whenever someone's a little crabby. I try to let it roll off my back and just figure they're having a bad day. Well, unless you're one of the evil hags on America's Next Top Model making fun of the girl with Asperger's who's name is Heather which I know because I was kinda sorta rooting for until last night when they showed her talking about the other girls behind their backs. Because it's hard to hold it against the other girls when they talk about Heather if Heather's doing the same thing. I'm now officially pro-Chantal. And Saleisha. And I don't understand why Jenah's hair always looks like a rat's nest. The end.
10.16.2007
Life Lesson #3: Normal people have a phone number
I got tagged for a meme back in August. I decided to not let the fact that's it's October stop me from doing it. The meme Virginia tagged me for is to link to a bunch of stuff. Posts I wrote and then stuff other people wrote. Except I got caught up reading Virginia’s letter to her 22 year old self. I particularly enjoyed her advice about how other people can see you when you’re behind the bush.
So when I went to do my response to that meme, I somehow ended up writing a letter to my younger self instead. Which is totally not correct for this meme. So now I’m two months late and completely out in left field. But it’s the thought that counts. So there we are. And I didn’t write to my 22 year old self. Not that 22 year old me was a genius or anything. I just figure 18 year old me was more in need of pointers.
Dear 18 year old younger, thinner and exceptionally more naive me,
Hi. Right. So, it’s me. I’m 33 now. I know. That’s like way old, right? Yeah. So I’m going to give you the 411 on some stuff. 411 is a term you can use to mean information. Feel free to use that. People will copy you. Mark my words.
First, let’s talk about that dude you’re thinking of dating. You know the one. Right. So, that dude’s a loser. I know he seems nice. And I know you think he’s sort of sweet and you like how he laughs at your jokes and makes your heart kinda skip a beat. Right. Forget he ever existed. Because he’s a loser. His life is going nowhere. I know that sounds judgmental. Except, seriously, his life really is going nowhere. I know he tells you about his big plans and he sounds confident that it’ll happen. And I’m sure he means it when he says it. But it’s fluff. Learn to spot that early. It will serve you well. Because there are a lot of people with big plans. The ones to look for are the people with realistic visions of how they’ll make it happen and are actually taking steps to make it happen. Even little steps. And letting you buy dinner because he has no money does not count. In fact, it sort of counts against him. And, honestly, his people skills suck. Like how he’d say he was going to call and didn’t. Or like how he never had a phone number he could be reached at. Normal people have a phone number they can be reached at. Rule for life. Stitch it on a pillow and live by it.
You need a new job, too. I know you’re friends with everyone down at that Taco Hell and it’s easy and you chat all day and you really don’t care about getting a new job because you’re in school. But there are better jobs. And you could get one. You know how to type. That’s a marketable skill. I know you think everyone knows how to type so it doesn’t seem very special. Wrong. People will pay you to type stuff. For that matter, people will pay you to answer a phone. I know. That seems dumb, too. Anyone can answer a phone. That’s what I’m saying to you. You qualify for plenty of other jobs. Feel free to get one that’s more fun, too. Like, say, one that doesn’t involve drunk men hitting on you through the drive through window. Or trying to read people’s minds about how many packs of hot sauce they’re going to require per taco.
Finally, your red hair is kinda awesome. Not everyone is into red heads. That’s fine. But there’s a whole segment of the population that thinks natural red heads rule. A whole segment that actually prefers them. They’ll come up to compliment you in airports. They’ll give you an exceptionally friendly smile at the grocery store checkout. You’ll see. It’s kind of a learning experience. It’s the hair. It’s your very own little gold star in the dating arena. Learn to appreciate it. But feel free to cut it. Because less is more. Especially if the more is your shaggy shapeless mop. Merry Christmas.
Love,
Older, wiser and significantly more neurotic you
I didn’t tag anyone. I’m two months late and in left field anyway. But if you write your younger, stupider self a letter let me know and I’ll gladly add a link.
So when I went to do my response to that meme, I somehow ended up writing a letter to my younger self instead. Which is totally not correct for this meme. So now I’m two months late and completely out in left field. But it’s the thought that counts. So there we are. And I didn’t write to my 22 year old self. Not that 22 year old me was a genius or anything. I just figure 18 year old me was more in need of pointers.
Dear 18 year old younger, thinner and exceptionally more naive me,
Hi. Right. So, it’s me. I’m 33 now. I know. That’s like way old, right? Yeah. So I’m going to give you the 411 on some stuff. 411 is a term you can use to mean information. Feel free to use that. People will copy you. Mark my words.
First, let’s talk about that dude you’re thinking of dating. You know the one. Right. So, that dude’s a loser. I know he seems nice. And I know you think he’s sort of sweet and you like how he laughs at your jokes and makes your heart kinda skip a beat. Right. Forget he ever existed. Because he’s a loser. His life is going nowhere. I know that sounds judgmental. Except, seriously, his life really is going nowhere. I know he tells you about his big plans and he sounds confident that it’ll happen. And I’m sure he means it when he says it. But it’s fluff. Learn to spot that early. It will serve you well. Because there are a lot of people with big plans. The ones to look for are the people with realistic visions of how they’ll make it happen and are actually taking steps to make it happen. Even little steps. And letting you buy dinner because he has no money does not count. In fact, it sort of counts against him. And, honestly, his people skills suck. Like how he’d say he was going to call and didn’t. Or like how he never had a phone number he could be reached at. Normal people have a phone number they can be reached at. Rule for life. Stitch it on a pillow and live by it.
You need a new job, too. I know you’re friends with everyone down at that Taco Hell and it’s easy and you chat all day and you really don’t care about getting a new job because you’re in school. But there are better jobs. And you could get one. You know how to type. That’s a marketable skill. I know you think everyone knows how to type so it doesn’t seem very special. Wrong. People will pay you to type stuff. For that matter, people will pay you to answer a phone. I know. That seems dumb, too. Anyone can answer a phone. That’s what I’m saying to you. You qualify for plenty of other jobs. Feel free to get one that’s more fun, too. Like, say, one that doesn’t involve drunk men hitting on you through the drive through window. Or trying to read people’s minds about how many packs of hot sauce they’re going to require per taco.
Finally, your red hair is kinda awesome. Not everyone is into red heads. That’s fine. But there’s a whole segment of the population that thinks natural red heads rule. A whole segment that actually prefers them. They’ll come up to compliment you in airports. They’ll give you an exceptionally friendly smile at the grocery store checkout. You’ll see. It’s kind of a learning experience. It’s the hair. It’s your very own little gold star in the dating arena. Learn to appreciate it. But feel free to cut it. Because less is more. Especially if the more is your shaggy shapeless mop. Merry Christmas.
Love,
Older, wiser and significantly more neurotic you
I didn’t tag anyone. I’m two months late and in left field anyway. But if you write your younger, stupider self a letter let me know and I’ll gladly add a link.
10.15.2007
Someday I will plan far enough ahead that I won't require Rush Delivery for Halloween costumes
The procrastinator in me lucked out. The job openings I couldn't decide about, yeah, they magically decided to give everyone until Thursday to put in for them. I will be stewing on the matter until late Thursday. Because I enjoy the thrill of the last minute, "Can't talk now. I only have three minutes left to finish my resume. I’ll call you back."
I spent the weekend folding laundry, washing dishes and trying to decide on Halloween costumes for my crew. Last year, I waited until like a week before Halloween. Can you say stress? Can you say Rush Delivery?
We’re going to be a garden. Or something like that. If I can ever win a spider costume on ebay that is. Apparently I’m not the only one that likes the Pottery Barn spider costume but would sooner die than pay the galactically unreasonable Pottery Barn prices. I need the rest of America with 18-24 month size children to just back off already because I need that costume.
My daughter is going to be a butterfly. I’ll be sure to bore the universe with the account of how I’m planning to pull that costume out of my magic hat this weekend. I ordered the wings online because even though Martha Stewart swears I can make them, get real. But I do have bright ideas about putting butterfly-ish dots on a black shirt and pants to give it that something extra. Because I’m all about something extra. Because I’m insane. And I’m also going to use a black headband to make antennae. This should explain why I really need to win the pre-made spider costume. Only so many hours in the day, people.
The cutesy garden theme is courtesy of the newest 4 year old who announced Saturday that she did not want to be a cowgirl. For the last 11 months, I’ve been mentally planning the Village People. We have two kids, two adults and two dogs to work with. That’s six. That screams Village People. Work with me, kid. Our Rottweiler wearing an Indian headdress is priceless all by itself. But then I found a little sailor suit costume with a little white Popeye hat for my son. Oh, heaven help me that little hat is cute. Let’s all just take a moment to summon up an image of an 18 month old in a sailor suit. Do not let yourself think practical thoughts like how he’d most likely take the Popeye hat right off his head. Ignore those thoughts. Just think cute, cute and more cute. Cute that will not see the light of day this year because cowgirl costumes are "yucky."
Technically, the newest 4 year old’s first suggestion was princess. Which I guess is cute. Except what about the other 5 people I’ll be dressing? What are they supposed to be? And my husband is a costume minimalist. As in, no face paint, no goofy hats and if you could think of a way to make sure he doesn’t have to wear anything besides black or gray that’d be awesome.
Luckily for us, princess costumes were mixed in with fairy costumes and let’s be honest, those fairy wings are very intriguing. Especially if you are 4 and you’ve never worn wings. So then we started discussing butterfly fairies. And then next thing I know she’s demanding to be a buttterfly. Couldn’t have worked out better if I had planned it. Unless there was a butterfly in the Village People. But whatever. There’s always next year. Or not.
I spent the weekend folding laundry, washing dishes and trying to decide on Halloween costumes for my crew. Last year, I waited until like a week before Halloween. Can you say stress? Can you say Rush Delivery?
We’re going to be a garden. Or something like that. If I can ever win a spider costume on ebay that is. Apparently I’m not the only one that likes the Pottery Barn spider costume but would sooner die than pay the galactically unreasonable Pottery Barn prices. I need the rest of America with 18-24 month size children to just back off already because I need that costume.
My daughter is going to be a butterfly. I’ll be sure to bore the universe with the account of how I’m planning to pull that costume out of my magic hat this weekend. I ordered the wings online because even though Martha Stewart swears I can make them, get real. But I do have bright ideas about putting butterfly-ish dots on a black shirt and pants to give it that something extra. Because I’m all about something extra. Because I’m insane. And I’m also going to use a black headband to make antennae. This should explain why I really need to win the pre-made spider costume. Only so many hours in the day, people.
The cutesy garden theme is courtesy of the newest 4 year old who announced Saturday that she did not want to be a cowgirl. For the last 11 months, I’ve been mentally planning the Village People. We have two kids, two adults and two dogs to work with. That’s six. That screams Village People. Work with me, kid. Our Rottweiler wearing an Indian headdress is priceless all by itself. But then I found a little sailor suit costume with a little white Popeye hat for my son. Oh, heaven help me that little hat is cute. Let’s all just take a moment to summon up an image of an 18 month old in a sailor suit. Do not let yourself think practical thoughts like how he’d most likely take the Popeye hat right off his head. Ignore those thoughts. Just think cute, cute and more cute. Cute that will not see the light of day this year because cowgirl costumes are "yucky."
Technically, the newest 4 year old’s first suggestion was princess. Which I guess is cute. Except what about the other 5 people I’ll be dressing? What are they supposed to be? And my husband is a costume minimalist. As in, no face paint, no goofy hats and if you could think of a way to make sure he doesn’t have to wear anything besides black or gray that’d be awesome.
Luckily for us, princess costumes were mixed in with fairy costumes and let’s be honest, those fairy wings are very intriguing. Especially if you are 4 and you’ve never worn wings. So then we started discussing butterfly fairies. And then next thing I know she’s demanding to be a buttterfly. Couldn’t have worked out better if I had planned it. Unless there was a butterfly in the Village People. But whatever. There’s always next year. Or not.
10.12.2007
Am I going up or not?
I have arrived at a bit of a career crossroads. A good crossroads. The sort of crossroads where you have to decide where you want to go. I previously mentioned that I got a new promotion. That’s on top of the temporary promotion I got several months ago. My temporary promotion is ending soon and I’ll finally be heading over to start the new promotion. The new promotion is a very good job and will most likely include more schedule flexibility and even the potential to work at home. However, during the last few months I’ve discovered that I kinda like the temporary position.
The schedule is much less flexible and there’s zero chance of working at home, but I enjoy the challenge of the position and the interaction with people that’s involved. I haven’t worked in the new position yet. For all I know I’ll like that job just as much. Who knows. The thing of it is that the new job doesn’t really have anywhere else to go beyond that position. It doesn’t have any more promotional potential if you will. However, the temporary position I'm in, it’s right in line for other promotions down the road. Promotions I wouldn’t be able to get unless I stayed in the temporary position. See the problem?
Both positions are promotions and both involve the same raise so money isn't the issue. One is just cushier and has perks but doesn’t offer future career advancement opportunities. The other is less cushy but leads somewhere. One of my favorite things about my old position is the schedule flexibility. I could drop everything and go feed the ducks with my kids for an hour. I could roll in late if I was up late the night before with a sick kid. Those are strong selling points for a job if you're a mother.
The truth is that sometime after I had children, my job became just a job as opposed to a career. But I have an actual career going. A good career. And it’s difficult when there are career opportunities that interest you but the constraints of being able to be the mother you want to be stand in the way. I want to be the sort of mother that does the duck pond and the doctor’s appointments and helps with homework after school and blah blah blah. The temporary position wouldn’t involve more hours per week or anything. So I guess it's just the lack of schedule flexibility that I fear. I'm not sure.
This job related stuff has been crossing my mind a lot lately. I figured at some point I’d have to decide where I’m headed and what I want. I just didn’t realize it would be so soon. Permanent openings are currently available for the temporary promotion position. They’re only available until the close of business Friday. That's today. So I have to decide if I’d like to put in for them. Normally, I’d toss my hat in the ring for consideration figuring it’s not even a sure thing I’d get it. I’m laid back like that. I figure it's better to put my name in the hat then wish I had once it's too late.
Except. Well. See, I kinda get the impression my current boss might make sure I get the position if I put in for it. So, if I toss my hat in the ring, it shouldn’t be a “let’s see what happens” sort of tossing of the hat. Because if I got it and backed out I’d look stupid. Which is fine in the confines of your own house. Or maybe even over lunch in the breakroom with coworkers who think your Cartman impression is really funny.
But what I don’t need is higher ups thinking I’m a flake job. Not that I’m not a flake job. I’m just saying let’s minimize looking like one at work. I think getting offered the job after a higher up pulls strings to get you the job would make the higher up prone to never pulling strings for you again. And I don’t even know that she'd pull strings. Maybe it'd just be a name mentioned in passing to the right person. Or an emphatic recommendation. Or just an asterisk next to someone’s name. But I don’t know if I want the asterisk next to my name. Because I don’t know if I even want my name on someone’s desk to get an asterisk. I don’t know much of anything. Except that I need to decide soon. And that it’s hard. Ho hum.
The schedule is much less flexible and there’s zero chance of working at home, but I enjoy the challenge of the position and the interaction with people that’s involved. I haven’t worked in the new position yet. For all I know I’ll like that job just as much. Who knows. The thing of it is that the new job doesn’t really have anywhere else to go beyond that position. It doesn’t have any more promotional potential if you will. However, the temporary position I'm in, it’s right in line for other promotions down the road. Promotions I wouldn’t be able to get unless I stayed in the temporary position. See the problem?
Both positions are promotions and both involve the same raise so money isn't the issue. One is just cushier and has perks but doesn’t offer future career advancement opportunities. The other is less cushy but leads somewhere. One of my favorite things about my old position is the schedule flexibility. I could drop everything and go feed the ducks with my kids for an hour. I could roll in late if I was up late the night before with a sick kid. Those are strong selling points for a job if you're a mother.
The truth is that sometime after I had children, my job became just a job as opposed to a career. But I have an actual career going. A good career. And it’s difficult when there are career opportunities that interest you but the constraints of being able to be the mother you want to be stand in the way. I want to be the sort of mother that does the duck pond and the doctor’s appointments and helps with homework after school and blah blah blah. The temporary position wouldn’t involve more hours per week or anything. So I guess it's just the lack of schedule flexibility that I fear. I'm not sure.
This job related stuff has been crossing my mind a lot lately. I figured at some point I’d have to decide where I’m headed and what I want. I just didn’t realize it would be so soon. Permanent openings are currently available for the temporary promotion position. They’re only available until the close of business Friday. That's today. So I have to decide if I’d like to put in for them. Normally, I’d toss my hat in the ring for consideration figuring it’s not even a sure thing I’d get it. I’m laid back like that. I figure it's better to put my name in the hat then wish I had once it's too late.
Except. Well. See, I kinda get the impression my current boss might make sure I get the position if I put in for it. So, if I toss my hat in the ring, it shouldn’t be a “let’s see what happens” sort of tossing of the hat. Because if I got it and backed out I’d look stupid. Which is fine in the confines of your own house. Or maybe even over lunch in the breakroom with coworkers who think your Cartman impression is really funny.
But what I don’t need is higher ups thinking I’m a flake job. Not that I’m not a flake job. I’m just saying let’s minimize looking like one at work. I think getting offered the job after a higher up pulls strings to get you the job would make the higher up prone to never pulling strings for you again. And I don’t even know that she'd pull strings. Maybe it'd just be a name mentioned in passing to the right person. Or an emphatic recommendation. Or just an asterisk next to someone’s name. But I don’t know if I want the asterisk next to my name. Because I don’t know if I even want my name on someone’s desk to get an asterisk. I don’t know much of anything. Except that I need to decide soon. And that it’s hard. Ho hum.
10.10.2007
I had it coming
It's ironic that shortly after I wrote about my children wreaking havoc on my house I discovered this madness in my 18 month old's room:
Let me help you out. That's diaper genie refill. Two of them. Pulled all the way out. In case you've ever wondered just how much refill is crammed inside those little containers, wonder no more:
It's kind of noisy. I mean, not noisy enough that you'd really be tipped off that something was wrong if your two small children went in a room and closed the door behind them. But once the door opens, dude, you'll hear the crinkling a mile away. And the baby powder scent will be hard to miss too. Because, wow, who needs air freshner when you can just drag a diaper genie refill around the house. It's also like a party in a box:
The newest 4 year old would like everyone to know that it's also useful for playing dress up. If you wrap it around yourself enough, it's a lovely green dress. If that's not your style, throw it around your shoulders and it's a giant plastic boa:
I love that the 18 month old is trying to escape his crazy sister there. I feel you, bro. I feel you.
Let me help you out. That's diaper genie refill. Two of them. Pulled all the way out. In case you've ever wondered just how much refill is crammed inside those little containers, wonder no more:
It's kind of noisy. I mean, not noisy enough that you'd really be tipped off that something was wrong if your two small children went in a room and closed the door behind them. But once the door opens, dude, you'll hear the crinkling a mile away. And the baby powder scent will be hard to miss too. Because, wow, who needs air freshner when you can just drag a diaper genie refill around the house. It's also like a party in a box:
The newest 4 year old would like everyone to know that it's also useful for playing dress up. If you wrap it around yourself enough, it's a lovely green dress. If that's not your style, throw it around your shoulders and it's a giant plastic boa:
I love that the 18 month old is trying to escape his crazy sister there. I feel you, bro. I feel you.
10.09.2007
I guess we're not having rice for dinner
Enough with the book talk already! Seriously, you’d think I was a bookworm or something. You’d think I have boxes and boxes of books at my mother’s house just waiting for me to let them come live with us. Someday I’ll convince my husband his head won’t implode if our bookshelves are full. Someday perhaps when our house is less overrun with thousands and thousands of tiny pieces of plastic made in China and adored by our children. Currently, Torso Doll’s numerous hair things are cluttering up my life. And my 4 year old tricked me into telling her where I hid the Legos last week. That’s what happens when you’re on the computer playing games (or as my husband likes to call it, “Saving the world”). You get distracted and there go all your secrets.
Getting distracted can also lead to casualties. Like the wall in our hallway smeared green, the back of a lovely mustard pillow from our couch, and pretty much anything in my purse that I’ve ever valued. Yesterday, the kids flooded the bathroom too. We were doing bath time after a particularly colorful marker free for all. The three inches of water I permitted them was turning blue from the massive amounts of ink coming off their bodies. They had every one of the three hundred stacking cups we own filled to the brim and displayed on the edge of the tub when I decided to step out of the room. I figured I could lay on the couch a few feet away and listen for any problems. Except, I guess water doesn’t make a splashing sound when it hits the rug. So I didn’t hear the large water reservoir they were amassing on the bathroom floor until things were past the point of no return.
We evacuated the bathroom and I sent the clean up crew in. Except I’m the clean up crew. And while I was working in the bathroom everyone went back to raiding the hidden Lego stronghold. And then they needed milk. Because, honestly, what’s a Lego stronghold without milk. But I guess the 18 month old got bored waiting so he dumped out a box of rice instead. On the carpet. And I think the World’s Most Annoying Dog may have eaten some of it. Okay, a lot of it. Because it took me a second to decide to stop looking for the dustpan and just drag the vacuum over. And then he drank a bunch of water and all I could think was I hope his stomach doesn’t explode because rice really expands and he ate a lot. And even though he’s the World’s Most Annoying Dog, I’m not sure I could live with myself if I kinda sorta contributed to his death or something.
Everyone ran down the hall when I turned the vacuum on though. Kids and dogs included. Except I guess they raided the fridge on their way by. I’m not sure how that happened. I mean I know the vacuum cord had me confused for a second but I’m still not clear how that gave the 4 year old enough time to reveal the wonders of leftover chocolate icing to her 18 month old brother. She’s like a chocolate icing ninja or something. But, regardless, that’s how our 18 month old ended up running down the hall with a spoon coated in chocolate icing. And ultimately that’s how chocolate icing ended up smeared all over my beloved 420 thread count duvet. Not that I knew it at the time. I was still back at the ranch trying to calculate the size of the World’s Most Annoying Dog’s stomach.
Wait. What’s that you asked? Where was the newest 4 year old during the icing on the duvet debacle? Good question. She was busy dragging a step stool over to get a better look at the basket on top of our bedroom television. The basket that contains $50 in coins. The basket she then tumped out trying to peek inside.
And then my head exploded. Right there in the bedroom with my two children watching. So I just laid down right there on the floor and let them climb all over my now headless body and prayed my husband would be home from work soon. I also prayed that the house would clean itself, the laundry would turn into gold and my children would disappear from my sight for three full peaceful minutes.
Getting distracted can also lead to casualties. Like the wall in our hallway smeared green, the back of a lovely mustard pillow from our couch, and pretty much anything in my purse that I’ve ever valued. Yesterday, the kids flooded the bathroom too. We were doing bath time after a particularly colorful marker free for all. The three inches of water I permitted them was turning blue from the massive amounts of ink coming off their bodies. They had every one of the three hundred stacking cups we own filled to the brim and displayed on the edge of the tub when I decided to step out of the room. I figured I could lay on the couch a few feet away and listen for any problems. Except, I guess water doesn’t make a splashing sound when it hits the rug. So I didn’t hear the large water reservoir they were amassing on the bathroom floor until things were past the point of no return.
We evacuated the bathroom and I sent the clean up crew in. Except I’m the clean up crew. And while I was working in the bathroom everyone went back to raiding the hidden Lego stronghold. And then they needed milk. Because, honestly, what’s a Lego stronghold without milk. But I guess the 18 month old got bored waiting so he dumped out a box of rice instead. On the carpet. And I think the World’s Most Annoying Dog may have eaten some of it. Okay, a lot of it. Because it took me a second to decide to stop looking for the dustpan and just drag the vacuum over. And then he drank a bunch of water and all I could think was I hope his stomach doesn’t explode because rice really expands and he ate a lot. And even though he’s the World’s Most Annoying Dog, I’m not sure I could live with myself if I kinda sorta contributed to his death or something.
Everyone ran down the hall when I turned the vacuum on though. Kids and dogs included. Except I guess they raided the fridge on their way by. I’m not sure how that happened. I mean I know the vacuum cord had me confused for a second but I’m still not clear how that gave the 4 year old enough time to reveal the wonders of leftover chocolate icing to her 18 month old brother. She’s like a chocolate icing ninja or something. But, regardless, that’s how our 18 month old ended up running down the hall with a spoon coated in chocolate icing. And ultimately that’s how chocolate icing ended up smeared all over my beloved 420 thread count duvet. Not that I knew it at the time. I was still back at the ranch trying to calculate the size of the World’s Most Annoying Dog’s stomach.
Wait. What’s that you asked? Where was the newest 4 year old during the icing on the duvet debacle? Good question. She was busy dragging a step stool over to get a better look at the basket on top of our bedroom television. The basket that contains $50 in coins. The basket she then tumped out trying to peek inside.
And then my head exploded. Right there in the bedroom with my two children watching. So I just laid down right there on the floor and let them climb all over my now headless body and prayed my husband would be home from work soon. I also prayed that the house would clean itself, the laundry would turn into gold and my children would disappear from my sight for three full peaceful minutes.
10.08.2007
Kite Runner for president
I finished Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini in six days. I have two children and I am gainfully employed outside the home. Finishing any book in six days says a lot about it. It's very good. Just like I heard. I regret letting the fact that it's set in Afghanistan deter me from reading it earlier.
Several things struck me about the book. The first is that Afghanistan has been through a lot. A lot of awful things. Some countries have it good and some just get more and more screwed up and that sucks. Especially if you didn't win the lottery and get born in America. Because, wow, it's a really different life growing up in a war torn country.
The other thing that struck me was that you have to learn to accept yourself including forgiving yourself for mistakes made in the past. You regret them, you wish you could take them back and you make amends the best you can. But at some point you just have to let them go. Because everyone has flaws and makes mistakes and that's just how it goes.
I have a friend that was also reading Kite Runner last week. She told me halfway through the book how mad she was at Amir, the main character. I understand why she was mad but I mostly just felt sorry for him. He always felt so unworthy and weak and scared. And those feelings led to bad decisions. But it wasn't malicious. And he was just a kid. And maybe I'm just a giant marshmallow but I just felt sad for him.
Speaking of things that made me sad, I swear I almost had to stop reading on page 219 and take a deep breath. The only reason I didn't was because I thought for sure there had been some sort of mistake. And then my stomach dropped on page 281 and I seriously wanted to punch the author in the face. And then the last 100 pages zoomed past. My favorite line in the whole book was "What if you get tired of me?" Little kids should not have to be scared of that. Get. Me. A. Tissue.
Kite Runner is by far the best book I've read all year. If you haven't read it, you're missing out.
Next up for me is The Memory Keeper's Daughter by Kim Edwards. It's one of the many recommendations I received after mentioning how blah I felt about the books I've read recently. I appreciated each and every suggestion so I intend to read each and every one of them. I'm starting with The Memory Keeper's Daughter because No Way over at The Early Bird says it will suck me in. That's not good if it's a black hole but it's pretty awesome if it's a book recommendation.
Several things struck me about the book. The first is that Afghanistan has been through a lot. A lot of awful things. Some countries have it good and some just get more and more screwed up and that sucks. Especially if you didn't win the lottery and get born in America. Because, wow, it's a really different life growing up in a war torn country.
The other thing that struck me was that you have to learn to accept yourself including forgiving yourself for mistakes made in the past. You regret them, you wish you could take them back and you make amends the best you can. But at some point you just have to let them go. Because everyone has flaws and makes mistakes and that's just how it goes.
I have a friend that was also reading Kite Runner last week. She told me halfway through the book how mad she was at Amir, the main character. I understand why she was mad but I mostly just felt sorry for him. He always felt so unworthy and weak and scared. And those feelings led to bad decisions. But it wasn't malicious. And he was just a kid. And maybe I'm just a giant marshmallow but I just felt sad for him.
Speaking of things that made me sad, I swear I almost had to stop reading on page 219 and take a deep breath. The only reason I didn't was because I thought for sure there had been some sort of mistake. And then my stomach dropped on page 281 and I seriously wanted to punch the author in the face. And then the last 100 pages zoomed past. My favorite line in the whole book was "What if you get tired of me?" Little kids should not have to be scared of that. Get. Me. A. Tissue.
Kite Runner is by far the best book I've read all year. If you haven't read it, you're missing out.
Next up for me is The Memory Keeper's Daughter by Kim Edwards. It's one of the many recommendations I received after mentioning how blah I felt about the books I've read recently. I appreciated each and every suggestion so I intend to read each and every one of them. I'm starting with The Memory Keeper's Daughter because No Way over at The Early Bird says it will suck me in. That's not good if it's a black hole but it's pretty awesome if it's a book recommendation.
10.06.2007
Pepto pink exploded all over our house
My baby girl turned 4 years old this week. In honor of such an auspicious occasion I flung a little Pepto pink around the house:
Those are the letters I cut out several weeks ago. Instead of just taping them to the wall I taped them to a piece of blue poster board. I'll be taking a job at Martha Stewart Living Omnimedia next week based on those superior design skills. And the large pink mushroom in the middle of the table is actually the cake:
It's supposed to be a giant cupcake. It somehow ended up looking more like a house for Smurfette. I made it using the giant Wilton cupcake pan. I think the pan itself is exceptionally cute but I couldn't find anywhere on the packaging about how much cake mix to use or what temperature to bake it at. So my cake was pretty much screwed from the get go. And I was up sick the night before. Like laying on the bathroom floor waiting to throw up sick. So I was mostly just happy to get myself vertical long enough to move the mixer around in the bowl for 90 seconds. Oh, and we didn't have any flour. Martha Stewart has explained to me several times the importance of greasing and then lightly flouring the pan so your cake will fall right out. Mine was more of a pry job. So maybe flour would have helped too.
Once the cake was out of the pan, I started mixing shades of pink. For reasons that are unclear to me now I decided I needed 4 shades of pink. Seriously. Stab my eyes out next time I decide 4 shades of pink sounds right. They all started blurring together in one horrific Pepto nightmare.
An hour later I actually had some icing bags loaded and ready to go and started making pink squiggles on top of the cake. I was going for a paisley-ish design. Things quickly spun out of control and I ended up with more of Jackson Pollock gone wrong feel. My husband claims he loves it. So does the newest 4 year old. Although she likes anything pink so whatever.
Besides the cake and Pepto explosion, we also hit the zoo. Here's my husband giving us a nice visual of how he feels about paying $2 for a bottle of water.
The $2 water must have robbed him of his senses because then he went and threw a half eaten chicken nugget to the tigers despite all the don't feed the animals signs posted everywhere. It literally bounced off the tiger's paw. And then he took a picture of his handiwork to prove it:
I'm not sure what they serve the tigers for dinner around there, but it's apparently better than cold half eaten chicken nuggets. That tiger couldn't even be bothered to sniff the nugget let alone eat it. Having said that, please don't feed the animals at the zoo. Because that's bad for the animals. And they'll take away your zoo membership or something if they catch you. But my husband's a nut job so he doesn't care. Just look what I'm up against:
The newest 4 year old also receivedmore crap to clutter up our house some presents for her birthday. Books, play jewelry, some crap that takes batteries, and half a doll:
We call her "Torso Doll." So does the newest 4 year old. Because she heard her idiot parents calling it that. Torso Doll came with some glitter nail polish. I think it's actually glitter water but I'm not sure. I'm hoping it wasn't made in China because she's been polishing my entire body with the stuff for the last three days.
And now she's four. And she even looks four. That stupid new haircut made sure of that. I'd like to tell you she's still my little baby. But she's not. And I miss that baby she was. But now it's the little girl I'd be lost without. She is the light of my life. I feel lucky to have spent the last 4 years with her. And lucky to be the mother stirring the 4 shades of pink icing to make her birthday the best it could it be. Because it was was the best. Just like her.
Those are the letters I cut out several weeks ago. Instead of just taping them to the wall I taped them to a piece of blue poster board. I'll be taking a job at Martha Stewart Living Omnimedia next week based on those superior design skills. And the large pink mushroom in the middle of the table is actually the cake:
It's supposed to be a giant cupcake. It somehow ended up looking more like a house for Smurfette. I made it using the giant Wilton cupcake pan. I think the pan itself is exceptionally cute but I couldn't find anywhere on the packaging about how much cake mix to use or what temperature to bake it at. So my cake was pretty much screwed from the get go. And I was up sick the night before. Like laying on the bathroom floor waiting to throw up sick. So I was mostly just happy to get myself vertical long enough to move the mixer around in the bowl for 90 seconds. Oh, and we didn't have any flour. Martha Stewart has explained to me several times the importance of greasing and then lightly flouring the pan so your cake will fall right out. Mine was more of a pry job. So maybe flour would have helped too.
Once the cake was out of the pan, I started mixing shades of pink. For reasons that are unclear to me now I decided I needed 4 shades of pink. Seriously. Stab my eyes out next time I decide 4 shades of pink sounds right. They all started blurring together in one horrific Pepto nightmare.
An hour later I actually had some icing bags loaded and ready to go and started making pink squiggles on top of the cake. I was going for a paisley-ish design. Things quickly spun out of control and I ended up with more of Jackson Pollock gone wrong feel. My husband claims he loves it. So does the newest 4 year old. Although she likes anything pink so whatever.
Besides the cake and Pepto explosion, we also hit the zoo. Here's my husband giving us a nice visual of how he feels about paying $2 for a bottle of water.
The $2 water must have robbed him of his senses because then he went and threw a half eaten chicken nugget to the tigers despite all the don't feed the animals signs posted everywhere. It literally bounced off the tiger's paw. And then he took a picture of his handiwork to prove it:
I'm not sure what they serve the tigers for dinner around there, but it's apparently better than cold half eaten chicken nuggets. That tiger couldn't even be bothered to sniff the nugget let alone eat it. Having said that, please don't feed the animals at the zoo. Because that's bad for the animals. And they'll take away your zoo membership or something if they catch you. But my husband's a nut job so he doesn't care. Just look what I'm up against:
The newest 4 year old also received
We call her "Torso Doll." So does the newest 4 year old. Because she heard her idiot parents calling it that. Torso Doll came with some glitter nail polish. I think it's actually glitter water but I'm not sure. I'm hoping it wasn't made in China because she's been polishing my entire body with the stuff for the last three days.
And now she's four. And she even looks four. That stupid new haircut made sure of that. I'd like to tell you she's still my little baby. But she's not. And I miss that baby she was. But now it's the little girl I'd be lost without. She is the light of my life. I feel lucky to have spent the last 4 years with her. And lucky to be the mother stirring the 4 shades of pink icing to make her birthday the best it could it be. Because it was was the best. Just like her.
10.04.2007
Secure your scissors lest you pay the price
Sunday night, my very soon to be four year old walked up to me while I was reading and announced that she had cut her hair. She wasn't bald and I didn't immediately see any problems so I figured she was pretending to cut her hair. Much like she pretends to escape swarms of sharks by flinging herself on the imaginary boat that is our couch. Only then she handed me a lock of hair. And then she turned her head and I saw this:
I didn't even know what to say. It was 5pm on a Sunday. Talk about limited options. I figured I could even off the bottom with a pair of scissors but we trimmed her hair once before and it's thick. And she wiggles. And her birthday was 2 days away. I don't need any bad haircuts staring back at me in birthday photos for years to come. So I left the hack job just like that until Tuesday. And then we spent the morning at a hair salon. She went in looking something like this:
And here's the kid I brought home:
I know. Holy cow her hair looks better. The back looks fabulous too:
We were supposed to head to the zoo immediately afterwards. But the child was clearly having a good hair day. So I called my husband and told him she'd require an immediate trip to the nearest portrait studio to commemorate the event.
I can't believe I ever had the nerve to cut this child's hair straight across the bottom with my kitchen scissors. The overwhelming increased cuteness is practically exploding in people's faces when they see the new do.
And the scissors drawer will be getting a child proof lock. Because even though things worked out for the best this time, we all know a couple extra inches and the kid would've been stuck with a Dorothy Hamill do. I'm not prepared to help Dorothy Hamill tie her shoe laces for the next two months. Last night she was telling me how she cut her own hair the other day. Except all I heard was "I cut my hair." I nearly had a heart attack. Then I turned her head from side to side to check that the cutest haircut of her life was still intact.
Do yourself a favor and secure your scissors.
I didn't even know what to say. It was 5pm on a Sunday. Talk about limited options. I figured I could even off the bottom with a pair of scissors but we trimmed her hair once before and it's thick. And she wiggles. And her birthday was 2 days away. I don't need any bad haircuts staring back at me in birthday photos for years to come. So I left the hack job just like that until Tuesday. And then we spent the morning at a hair salon. She went in looking something like this:
And here's the kid I brought home:
I know. Holy cow her hair looks better. The back looks fabulous too:
We were supposed to head to the zoo immediately afterwards. But the child was clearly having a good hair day. So I called my husband and told him she'd require an immediate trip to the nearest portrait studio to commemorate the event.
I can't believe I ever had the nerve to cut this child's hair straight across the bottom with my kitchen scissors. The overwhelming increased cuteness is practically exploding in people's faces when they see the new do.
And the scissors drawer will be getting a child proof lock. Because even though things worked out for the best this time, we all know a couple extra inches and the kid would've been stuck with a Dorothy Hamill do. I'm not prepared to help Dorothy Hamill tie her shoe laces for the next two months. Last night she was telling me how she cut her own hair the other day. Except all I heard was "I cut my hair." I nearly had a heart attack. Then I turned her head from side to side to check that the cutest haircut of her life was still intact.
Do yourself a favor and secure your scissors.
10.03.2007
I'm really busy
One of my nightly rituals, is watching a few minutes of television before bed. I used to be stuck watching whatever crap was on at that time. Thanks to my DVR now I get to watch any crap I want.
If my husband likes the show I'm watching, he'll lay down and watch with me. If not, he'll typically sit at the computer three feet away and check email. He's been having trouble the last couple weeks deciding if he likes Damages. It's the FX show with Glenn Close as the wenchy lawyer. My husband's been half watching all season. By half watching I mean sitting with his back to the television and turning around to watch the exciting parts. I get to fill in all the blanks for him. Who's that? Does he know about that other guy? Is that her husband? He's like the annoying guy at the movies asking the person next to him to explain everything. You know. The one you want to throttle. Except he's not a confused twit, he's just trying to get by only half watching a show.
I let him get away with this because the aforementioned DVR lets me rewind when he talks during the middle of important cross examinations. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for when I talk during the fourth quarter of pretty much any football game that involves someone on the 20 yard line with 3rd and long. Because rewinding football should not be necessary. Ever. Because it is football and therefore, by definition, significantly more important than 93% of the things that could possibly come out of my mouth. But I digress.
Once I'm done watching television, I turn the television off and tell my husband I'm going to sleep. That's my husband's cue to come over and give me some sugar before I go to sleep. I will accept a kiss but cuddling is preferred. My husband enjoys pretending he doesn't catch on to the cue. I enjoy taking great pains to point it out to him. It's another fun game we play.
Before we had a computer in the bedroom, I used to call him on his cell phone in the living room to announce I was going to sleep. One night he lingered in the living room too long so I called and told him it was a good thing he didn't come in the bedroom earlier because I was really busy and didn't have time for him anyway. "I'm really busy" is now sort of legendary in our house. It's also passive-aggressive code for "You suck for taking so long. Get the hell in here."
I've also been known to block the caller ID and call and ask him what he's wearing. Sometimes I just breathe into the phone. When I'm done, I like to leave the phone on his side of the bed for him to hang up. Last night, he put the phone on top of my head and told me I should put it away when I'm done. I looked at him, picked up the phone and told him to hang on a second. Then I pulled the covers over my head, dialed his cell phone and explained to him that as much as I'd like to put the phone away I was really busy so I couldn't. And then I put the phone back on his pillow.
Who knew being married could be so much fun?
If my husband likes the show I'm watching, he'll lay down and watch with me. If not, he'll typically sit at the computer three feet away and check email. He's been having trouble the last couple weeks deciding if he likes Damages. It's the FX show with Glenn Close as the wenchy lawyer. My husband's been half watching all season. By half watching I mean sitting with his back to the television and turning around to watch the exciting parts. I get to fill in all the blanks for him. Who's that? Does he know about that other guy? Is that her husband? He's like the annoying guy at the movies asking the person next to him to explain everything. You know. The one you want to throttle. Except he's not a confused twit, he's just trying to get by only half watching a show.
I let him get away with this because the aforementioned DVR lets me rewind when he talks during the middle of important cross examinations. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for when I talk during the fourth quarter of pretty much any football game that involves someone on the 20 yard line with 3rd and long. Because rewinding football should not be necessary. Ever. Because it is football and therefore, by definition, significantly more important than 93% of the things that could possibly come out of my mouth. But I digress.
Once I'm done watching television, I turn the television off and tell my husband I'm going to sleep. That's my husband's cue to come over and give me some sugar before I go to sleep. I will accept a kiss but cuddling is preferred. My husband enjoys pretending he doesn't catch on to the cue. I enjoy taking great pains to point it out to him. It's another fun game we play.
Before we had a computer in the bedroom, I used to call him on his cell phone in the living room to announce I was going to sleep. One night he lingered in the living room too long so I called and told him it was a good thing he didn't come in the bedroom earlier because I was really busy and didn't have time for him anyway. "I'm really busy" is now sort of legendary in our house. It's also passive-aggressive code for "You suck for taking so long. Get the hell in here."
I've also been known to block the caller ID and call and ask him what he's wearing. Sometimes I just breathe into the phone. When I'm done, I like to leave the phone on his side of the bed for him to hang up. Last night, he put the phone on top of my head and told me I should put it away when I'm done. I looked at him, picked up the phone and told him to hang on a second. Then I pulled the covers over my head, dialed his cell phone and explained to him that as much as I'd like to put the phone away I was really busy so I couldn't. And then I put the phone back on his pillow.
Who knew being married could be so much fun?
10.01.2007
Friendly reading
I'm slowly making my way through the entire book aisle at Target. It's sad but true. When my kids have thrown one too many cordless phones in the toilet and I want to get away for a few minutes, I keep ending up pushing a cart around Target buying stuff I don't technically need. This generally includes a few books. And generally it's chick lit. Many years ago I read romance novels. But they got formulaic pretty quick. So then I read mysteries and thrillers. But I noticed several years ago that they were making me paranoid. Murder mysteries before bed combined with too much Law & Order: SVU and I was obsessively locking doors and hearing weird noises at night. I swore off SVU, too. Although I blame that on a particularly heinous episode several years ago.
At any rate, because I make all my book purchases at Target, I end up with a lot of bestsellers. Which is fine. I guess. Except I'm starting to feel very blah about them. Which makes me start to feel intellectually like one great big blah. I just finished Best Friends by Martha Moody. It was okay. I think it was the fact that it was about lifelong friends that made me buy it. The two girls met on the first day of college. They remain best friends for several decades despite living cross country from each other. I think I wanted to live vicariously through the book and have that sort of lifelong friend. Since having children, I've discovered I'm above average terrible at keeping up with friends. Not that I was great before kids either. But I'm terrible now. Emails take two minutes but I still seem to not find the two minutes. I have a hundred and one excuses for not making phone calls.
One of the girls in the book is a doctor. She's also a single mother. She finds time to fly across country several times a year. This baffles me. Much like it baffled me that the daughter took so long to ask what kind of magazines her dad publishes. Someone says to me, "I'm a magazine distributor." I gotta tell you. My first question is, "What magazines do you distribute?" Not because I'm super nosy. I'm just curious if I read any of them. But maybe that's just me.
So I'm glad that book is done. Mostly because I'm reading Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini next. Not only is it not chick lit it's not even written by a girl. I'm not sure I'll be able to handle it but I've heard it's very good so I'm excited to try.
At any rate, because I make all my book purchases at Target, I end up with a lot of bestsellers. Which is fine. I guess. Except I'm starting to feel very blah about them. Which makes me start to feel intellectually like one great big blah. I just finished Best Friends by Martha Moody. It was okay. I think it was the fact that it was about lifelong friends that made me buy it. The two girls met on the first day of college. They remain best friends for several decades despite living cross country from each other. I think I wanted to live vicariously through the book and have that sort of lifelong friend. Since having children, I've discovered I'm above average terrible at keeping up with friends. Not that I was great before kids either. But I'm terrible now. Emails take two minutes but I still seem to not find the two minutes. I have a hundred and one excuses for not making phone calls.
One of the girls in the book is a doctor. She's also a single mother. She finds time to fly across country several times a year. This baffles me. Much like it baffled me that the daughter took so long to ask what kind of magazines her dad publishes. Someone says to me, "I'm a magazine distributor." I gotta tell you. My first question is, "What magazines do you distribute?" Not because I'm super nosy. I'm just curious if I read any of them. But maybe that's just me.
So I'm glad that book is done. Mostly because I'm reading Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini next. Not only is it not chick lit it's not even written by a girl. I'm not sure I'll be able to handle it but I've heard it's very good so I'm excited to try.
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