Sunday, December 31, 2006
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Monday, December 25, 2006
Happy Holidays!*
(*Becuase the "The War on Christmas" makes me giggle.)
(And yes, I really need to learn to use Photoshop, which I even own, so that I won't revert to back to Paint. Hand drew the eyes and nose on the cards I sent, but I wish I could have used a mini carrot instead.)
(And yes, I really need to learn to use Photoshop, which I even own, so that I won't revert to back to Paint. Hand drew the eyes and nose on the cards I sent, but I wish I could have used a mini carrot instead.)
You Say Farolito, I Say Luminaria
(And if you're not overly familiar with the Southwest you say "WTF?")
(And if you're my husband, you just call them "flaming bags o poo.")
So what the heck are farolitos/luminarias/fbops? From dictionary.com: "A votive candle set into a small, decorative paper bag weighted with sand and placed in a row with others along a walkway, driveway, or rooftop as a holiday decoration."
(Or you can buy electric ones with clear C9 Christmas lights and plastic bags from Walmart.)
This year I made J and the Cracker take me to Santa Fe on Christmas Eve so we could do the Farolito Walk.
Wow! Even J was impressed, and he was not all that thrilled to go hang outdoors past sunset with temps in the teens when he could be inside playing computer games. It was that amazing.
So we walked, we drank ponche, sang some carols, did the ooh and ahh thing. We even came across a Papa Noel who was giving out Beanie Babies to all the kids just cause he was cool like that.
The Cracker was gifted a bald eagle, which he insists is a penguin because of it's black and white and not a panda and not a zebra. (Go figure: he was so totally over Happy Feet after the first hour.)
There are bonfires every where, which they call luminarias locally (it's all very confusing) so that you can stop and defrost while making chit chat.
J's favorite unexpected highlight of the evening was the college-aged female PETA protestors who were very cold in Christmas themed lingerie. (Sorry, no pics.)
There is a great article in this December's Sunset Magazine (different than the link above and not on the web) with great pics. I highly recommend going, even if, according to my neighbors who have recently migrated from the Golden State, Santa Fe is filled with "assholes from Berkeley" (Snort.)
(And if you're my husband, you just call them "flaming bags o poo.")
So what the heck are farolitos/luminarias/fbops? From dictionary.com: "A votive candle set into a small, decorative paper bag weighted with sand and placed in a row with others along a walkway, driveway, or rooftop as a holiday decoration."
(Or you can buy electric ones with clear C9 Christmas lights and plastic bags from Walmart.)
This year I made J and the Cracker take me to Santa Fe on Christmas Eve so we could do the Farolito Walk.
Wow! Even J was impressed, and he was not all that thrilled to go hang outdoors past sunset with temps in the teens when he could be inside playing computer games. It was that amazing.
So we walked, we drank ponche, sang some carols, did the ooh and ahh thing. We even came across a Papa Noel who was giving out Beanie Babies to all the kids just cause he was cool like that.
The Cracker was gifted a bald eagle, which he insists is a penguin because of it's black and white and not a panda and not a zebra. (Go figure: he was so totally over Happy Feet after the first hour.)
There are bonfires every where, which they call luminarias locally (it's all very confusing) so that you can stop and defrost while making chit chat.
J's favorite unexpected highlight of the evening was the college-aged female PETA protestors who were very cold in Christmas themed lingerie. (Sorry, no pics.)
There is a great article in this December's Sunset Magazine (different than the link above and not on the web) with great pics. I highly recommend going, even if, according to my neighbors who have recently migrated from the Golden State, Santa Fe is filled with "assholes from Berkeley" (Snort.)
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Friday, December 22, 2006
Just Stop Talking, Like Right Now
I hate vomiting and I try not to do it often. My kid? So NOT a barfer. The virus that hit me the night of December 1st was the first real can't-keep-water-down since Christmas Break 1996.
(Have you seen that Seinfeld?)
Dictionary police: I used the word "virus"...didja see? Know what I hate more than people who use the word virus when they've been throwing up and/or having diarrhea and say "flu" is the people who correct them.
"Wow, you don't sound so good. You okay?"
"Getting there. I got the flu and haven't even been able to even keep down ice chips for 3 days. It sucks."
"Nenenenoooo! That's not the flu! The flu is res-pi-ra-tory. You had a virus!"
Assholes.
(Have you seen that Seinfeld?)
Dictionary police: I used the word "virus"...didja see? Know what I hate more than people who use the word virus when they've been throwing up and/or having diarrhea and say "flu" is the people who correct them.
"Wow, you don't sound so good. You okay?"
"Getting there. I got the flu and haven't even been able to even keep down ice chips for 3 days. It sucks."
"Nenenenoooo! That's not the flu! The flu is res-pi-ra-tory. You had a virus!"
Assholes.
The Coolest Shit Ever!
when you're three.
This was taken, by request, as Mommy's car got new shoes so that the Cracker could take a copy to "sharing" aka Show and Tell.
This was taken, by request, as Mommy's car got new shoes so that the Cracker could take a copy to "sharing" aka Show and Tell.
Saturday, December 16, 2006
Sucks to Be Him
So we're in Colorado at J's dad's house when I spot this dude out the window last night.
(That's a purple volleyball net complete with carabiner.)
Poor guy is local celebrity and has my FIL's house on his daily rounds. The powers that be have decided to just leave him alone as he'll be shedding his antlers soon anyway.
(That's a purple volleyball net complete with carabiner.)
Poor guy is local celebrity and has my FIL's house on his daily rounds. The powers that be have decided to just leave him alone as he'll be shedding his antlers soon anyway.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Presenting my Niece
Due 5.4.07
My SIL M and I think she totally looks like a girl already. I'm off to shop! I've been waiting until the official word which arrived just a few hours ago. M feels very strongly about NO YELLOW! and NO GREEN! just pink or blue. Seeing as M and I both have boys we need to get cracking on wardrobe. Fun!
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Tales from the Homeland
Did you hear about the new milk campaign that was pulled after just a day in SF?
Seems that cookie-scented ads in bus shelters are not only offensive to those with allergies (that one I get) but to homeless people who can't afford to buy cookies.
Sometimes I really do miss life in the Bay Area...
Seems that cookie-scented ads in bus shelters are not only offensive to those with allergies (that one I get) but to homeless people who can't afford to buy cookies.
Sometimes I really do miss life in the Bay Area...
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
How to lose 9lbs in less than a day!
A big, fat, nasty virus.
On the plus side, for a few days I actually weighed less than my DL says, which, is like, something I never thought would happen, and wouldn't have except that I'd lost real weight a few months back.
So once I'm back to my normal self I think I need to go get a new license and knock that weight down by at least 10, maybe 15, okay how about an even 20lbs. Because when the cops are putting out APBs for women I seriously think it's DL weight + 10-20, doncha think?
On the plus side, for a few days I actually weighed less than my DL says, which, is like, something I never thought would happen, and wouldn't have except that I'd lost real weight a few months back.
So once I'm back to my normal self I think I need to go get a new license and knock that weight down by at least 10, maybe 15, okay how about an even 20lbs. Because when the cops are putting out APBs for women I seriously think it's DL weight + 10-20, doncha think?
Friday, December 01, 2006
More Than Meets the Eye
"I want to watch Tubbies."
"How about we watch Transformers instead?"
"No, I want to watch Tubbies."
"Daddy doesn't want to watch Teletubbies. How about Voltron!"
The Cracker shakes his head no.
"Monsters, Inc?"
"No Daddy. I not like those movies."
"But they're cartoons."
"Cartoons is not for kids. They's for Daddies!"
2001
2002 (Heidi 2006 called and wants those arms back)
2003
2004 (He can't wear this shirt now unless he's got pants on "because it matches" his leg tatt. See 2006 picture)
2005 (J's Saabatron after battling Idiot Driver's Ford F150) 
2006
"How about we watch Transformers instead?"
"No, I want to watch Tubbies."
"Daddy doesn't want to watch Teletubbies. How about Voltron!"
The Cracker shakes his head no.
"Monsters, Inc?"
"No Daddy. I not like those movies."
"But they're cartoons."
"Cartoons is not for kids. They's for Daddies!"
2001
2002 (Heidi 2006 called and wants those arms back)
2003
2004 (He can't wear this shirt now unless he's got pants on "because it matches" his leg tatt. See 2006 picture)
2005 (J's Saabatron after battling Idiot Driver's Ford F150) 
2006
Ex Californian attempts to make snowman
out of less than an inch of snow to placate her son.
Those would be raisin eyes and Russian Sage arms.
Those would be raisin eyes and Russian Sage arms.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
I'm sorry but I've had too much wine
and this is really funny.
"Why would anyone stick their penis in a can???"
"Because it's one size fits all!"
(Insert a very pregnant pause) "Still..."
"Why would anyone stick their penis in a can???"
"Because it's one size fits all!"
(Insert a very pregnant pause) "Still..."
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Gay Penguin Dreams and Stranger Things
A few weeks back I was racking my brain trying to come up with a small, inexpensive, nonplastic yet meaningful gift for the Cracker. The last thing he needs is anything more in his toy room, yet he is my baby and dammit I want to get him *something* for Christmas. Finally inspiration struck: a friend for Not-Bob!
(The only thing we planned on getting him was his very own copy of the controversial and banned And Tango Makes Three which I'm pretty sure won't be at our local library. And before you warn us of it's hidden political agenda that's the reason we're buying it.)
For those of you who haven't met him, Not-Bob is a stuffed horse I casually picked when we were visiting Colorado back when the Cracker was a mere 3 months old that has become the Cracker's constant companion. Specifically he's his fav-o-wit "bed fwend" which is what the Cracker has named all the stuffed animals he likes to sleep with. (Seriously, his idea, not ours, but it gives us a good chuckle.)
As far as the origin of the name Not-Bob, after dozens of nope-try-again-Moms I suggested Bob. Shaking his head in you-are-such-an-idiot disgust he informed me "No Mom! Bahb is not a horse! Bahb is a BUILDER!" But Not-Bob? Now that was a hilarious and perfect name in his humble opinion.
Insanely pleased with myself for coming up with the perfect gift, I took off the next day while the Cracker was in school to find a friend in town. (Must have instant gratification. And I don't want to pay shipping.) But to be just right, it couldn't be just any old stuffed horse, it had to be the same company, the same model. We need soft, and we need washable.
Ahh...the thrill of the chase! Just as I was getting started my mom called. When I told her about my quest she reminded me that they sell them at Barnes & Noble. Jackpot! Before I picked him up from school I had found a full-size friend at B&N and a mini-sized friend at our only locally owned toy store. Woo hoo! A family, and for just $14!
But, of course, it was bound to get out of hand. Nothing is ever simple when it comes to my mom and I, but luckily for me my intown shopping resources are very limited. My mom, however, just outside of San Francisco, could simply not help herself and bought two full-sized friends the same day. (No, she doesn't need a life...she has one: buying toys for the Cracker.) But before she could tell me, I was at home on the net where I was searching for more mini horses. Babies! Gotsta have at least one more baby! (And besides, they are only $5.99 = pretty harmless.) And of course I immediately fell in love with this little guy from Not-Bob's former home who we will eventually have to have. The but is that my itchy credit card finger refuses to pay $6.95 shipping (at least for now) for a $5.99 horse that weighs just ounces. And to justify it I start to think that maybe I should just buy two. This guy is awfully cute too, and the Cracker will delight in telling us over and over how he's a horse that looks like a cow, just like our neighbor's black and white spotted cat.
(Small inexpensive token is becoming collector status. But I've been good, so far.)
So I'm resisting and I'm resisting and I am actually able to keep a Christmas surprise a secret for once. (Other secrets = no problem. But if I have a Christmas gift that I am excited to give you? Really bad track record.) (And that would be my mom's fault. My paternal grandmother would send me my gift and my mother would encourage me to carefully slice the tape and open it the second I got home from school. Then she'd retape and remind me to act surprised in front of my Dad, who is no dummy but knew there was no stopping her.)
And then last night, right before bed, a sick little Cracker barfed. And because he was sick and sad and pathetic he had was clutching his best bud ever so tightly when it happened...
Not-Bob was sporting really stinky vomit.
Now really, what was I to do? It was late! And he was sick! And just as much as he needed to go to bed, Not-Bob need a bath or two or three. So I reached into the stash.
"I want Not-Bob!"
"I know you do honey, but he is sick too and he really needs a bath. But before he went into the washing machine he asked if you could do him a favor."
That stopped the crying. "Huh?"
"Not-Bob asked for your help."
"Mommy?"
"Yes?"
"Not-Bob is not a weal horse. He's PRETEND. Oh, and horses don't talk. Horses NEIGH."
Stop being so damn smart and logical and go with me here. "He has a new friend who is very lonely and scared of the dark. Do you think you could let him sleep with you tonight?"
"Not-Bob has a fwend!"
"Of course he does! Would you like to meet him?"
And just as I'd hoped, the Cracker was instantly attached.
I rock.
"He needs a name you know. Can you think of a good name for him?"
"Hmmmm...hmmm.........let's see........ummmm......ummmmmm......ummmmm............NO."
"Okay, well, ummm...how about Charlie?"
"Chaw-wie? Chaw-wie! Yes! I love it!"
So without further ado I present you with Charlie
(And his still-a-secret posse)
The Cracker has now decided he wants more friends for Not-Bob and Charlie.
(Score.)
"Honey, we don't have anymore. Only one friend came to visit." (Hehehe!)
"Dats okay Mommy. I tell San O Cause, and San O Cause will come down! down! down! the fi-place and bwing Not-Bob and Chaw-wie more horse fwends. And San O Cause will eat cookies I make for him and Not-Bob and his lots of fwends will eat hay and apples. Oh, and cawwots too."
Damn I'm having fun.
(The only thing we planned on getting him was his very own copy of the controversial and banned And Tango Makes Three which I'm pretty sure won't be at our local library. And before you warn us of it's hidden political agenda that's the reason we're buying it.)
For those of you who haven't met him, Not-Bob is a stuffed horse I casually picked when we were visiting Colorado back when the Cracker was a mere 3 months old that has become the Cracker's constant companion. Specifically he's his fav-o-wit "bed fwend" which is what the Cracker has named all the stuffed animals he likes to sleep with. (Seriously, his idea, not ours, but it gives us a good chuckle.)
As far as the origin of the name Not-Bob, after dozens of nope-try-again-Moms I suggested Bob. Shaking his head in you-are-such-an-idiot disgust he informed me "No Mom! Bahb is not a horse! Bahb is a BUILDER!" But Not-Bob? Now that was a hilarious and perfect name in his humble opinion.
Insanely pleased with myself for coming up with the perfect gift, I took off the next day while the Cracker was in school to find a friend in town. (Must have instant gratification. And I don't want to pay shipping.) But to be just right, it couldn't be just any old stuffed horse, it had to be the same company, the same model. We need soft, and we need washable.
Ahh...the thrill of the chase! Just as I was getting started my mom called. When I told her about my quest she reminded me that they sell them at Barnes & Noble. Jackpot! Before I picked him up from school I had found a full-size friend at B&N and a mini-sized friend at our only locally owned toy store. Woo hoo! A family, and for just $14!
But, of course, it was bound to get out of hand. Nothing is ever simple when it comes to my mom and I, but luckily for me my intown shopping resources are very limited. My mom, however, just outside of San Francisco, could simply not help herself and bought two full-sized friends the same day. (No, she doesn't need a life...she has one: buying toys for the Cracker.) But before she could tell me, I was at home on the net where I was searching for more mini horses. Babies! Gotsta have at least one more baby! (And besides, they are only $5.99 = pretty harmless.) And of course I immediately fell in love with this little guy from Not-Bob's former home who we will eventually have to have. The but is that my itchy credit card finger refuses to pay $6.95 shipping (at least for now) for a $5.99 horse that weighs just ounces. And to justify it I start to think that maybe I should just buy two. This guy is awfully cute too, and the Cracker will delight in telling us over and over how he's a horse that looks like a cow, just like our neighbor's black and white spotted cat.
(Small inexpensive token is becoming collector status. But I've been good, so far.)
So I'm resisting and I'm resisting and I am actually able to keep a Christmas surprise a secret for once. (Other secrets = no problem. But if I have a Christmas gift that I am excited to give you? Really bad track record.) (And that would be my mom's fault. My paternal grandmother would send me my gift and my mother would encourage me to carefully slice the tape and open it the second I got home from school. Then she'd retape and remind me to act surprised in front of my Dad, who is no dummy but knew there was no stopping her.)
And then last night, right before bed, a sick little Cracker barfed. And because he was sick and sad and pathetic he had was clutching his best bud ever so tightly when it happened...
Not-Bob was sporting really stinky vomit.
Now really, what was I to do? It was late! And he was sick! And just as much as he needed to go to bed, Not-Bob need a bath or two or three. So I reached into the stash.
"I want Not-Bob!"
"I know you do honey, but he is sick too and he really needs a bath. But before he went into the washing machine he asked if you could do him a favor."
That stopped the crying. "Huh?"
"Not-Bob asked for your help."
"Mommy?"
"Yes?"
"Not-Bob is not a weal horse. He's PRETEND. Oh, and horses don't talk. Horses NEIGH."
Stop being so damn smart and logical and go with me here. "He has a new friend who is very lonely and scared of the dark. Do you think you could let him sleep with you tonight?"
"Not-Bob has a fwend!"
"Of course he does! Would you like to meet him?"
And just as I'd hoped, the Cracker was instantly attached.
I rock.
"He needs a name you know. Can you think of a good name for him?"
"Hmmmm...hmmm.........let's see........ummmm......ummmmmm......ummmmm............NO."
"Okay, well, ummm...how about Charlie?"
"Chaw-wie? Chaw-wie! Yes! I love it!"
So without further ado I present you with Charlie
(And his still-a-secret posse)
The Cracker has now decided he wants more friends for Not-Bob and Charlie.
(Score.)
"Honey, we don't have anymore. Only one friend came to visit." (Hehehe!)
"Dats okay Mommy. I tell San O Cause, and San O Cause will come down! down! down! the fi-place and bwing Not-Bob and Chaw-wie more horse fwends. And San O Cause will eat cookies I make for him and Not-Bob and his lots of fwends will eat hay and apples. Oh, and cawwots too."
Damn I'm having fun.
Monday, November 27, 2006
Where Has the Time Gone?
Once in a blue moon when I'm tired and lazy but can't get myself into bed and feel like doing something yet nothing on the computer I go back and search for old pictures taken around this time a previous year. Now that the Cracker has been around a few years it's always quite the trip. It one of the few things that makes me feel old.
11.22.2003
11.22.2003
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Not just snacks anymore
Ever been so tired that you just forget everything? Things you've known for years, but in the moment that formerly useless trivia become actually useful your brain just completely fails you?
Like that we could be using Cheerios and Fruit Loops to teach aim?
Why oh why did I totally forget this? Must have been that all of my available resources today (twice today) went to destroying evidence that my son peed on the wall/seat/back of a public toilet.
And the floor. Don't forget the floor.
(I am going to make myself learn to pee standing up. I am never sitting my bare ass down on a public toilet again.)
So what was my excuse yesterday? How about that occasionally the Cracker will ask to take a bath when he's actually already very clean at a most inopportune time and my promise of later isn't NOW so he pees on himself on purpose in hopes that he will get to play with his tub friends?
Actually I think it's amazing I even know who I am anymore, even if I don't know the difference between a pumpkin and a honeydew.
So in my eternal quest to have a child fully able to take care of his own waste needs I've forgotten a few things along the way. Sue me.
The thing you have to realize is that this potty training thing hasn't been a black and white matter. Really, truly, the whole thing is gray. Lotsa gray. I came into this figuring that you're either potty trained or you're not.
Oh no.
And it's been going on since approximately 18 months.
STEP 1: Matching the word to the receptacle.
STEP 2: Agreeing to sit on it.
STEP 3: Understanding what it's for.
STEP 4: Learning to recognize the urge.
STEP 5: Before the urge hits.
STEP 6: Being able to sit still long enough.
STEP 7: Actually agreeing to.
STEP 8: Trying more than occasionally.
STEP 9: Learning to accept that you must stop what you are doing to do business, even if what you were doing was more fun because it always is.
STEP 10: And care that dry pants are preferable to wet ones.
STEP 11: How to hold it.
Followed in no particular order by: dry during awake time, dry during nap time, dry all night long, doing it on the command of your mother, taking care of business all by yourself, and (the one thing I most look forward to) poo in porcelain.
"Ms. X is finally potty trained!"
"Wow! That's great! I can't wait for the Cracker to be there."
"It's the best! You're going to love it! It has changed my life!"
"So how is that going overnight? Is she still sleeping through or does she get up to pee often? Do you get up with her? Does she go back to sleep right away?"
"Oh no, she's only DAY trained."
"Oh. How about naps?"
"Mmmm...she's dry maybe once a week?"
"Uh huh. And what about poo?"
"Oh no, she won't poo in the potty! She asks for a diaper and then does it in that!"
"Okay...well it must be nice to not have to think about it, for her to just go when she needs to."
"Oh no no no! If I don't make her try every hour she has an accident."
???
In the last two months we've made the following pee related progress:-Pee standing up.
-Which lead to (woo hoo!) being able to urinate in potties other than our own at home without a special stool or ring.
But best of all:-Hold our own penis while peeing. (Okay, this is really new and really big. Yes, he made us hold it. And we did because we are first time suckers. Even J. And now that it's on the Internet everyone I have ever known knows. Why did I tell everyone? Because I never knew that this was even a possibility, that one day I would be holding a 3 year old penis while it peed. Did you know that???)
Which brings us now to aim. Aim is next. Hi ho Cheerios!
Monday night, when I really needed some adult alone me time, so I went to the grocery store down the hill to buy milk. Woot.
And after I was done I found myself sitting in my car in the parking lot with the engine running, enjoying the peace and quiet, admittedly not really wanting to go home yet when my cell rang.
"Umm...how would you go about sucking up dirty water if the bathroom...uh...flooded? Do we have special towels for that?"
"No. Use the steam cleaner. Just turn it on and the default is sucking mode. Wait...the bathroom flooded?"
"Yeah."
"Is it bad?"
"Yes."
"How bad?"
"Are you on your way home?"
"Yes, I'll leave right now."
"Okay, I'll just wait for you then."
And the good news is that it was the first time the Cracker tried to take care of business by himself!
The bad news is that I had spent the whole day cleaning, that my parents were arriving for a Thanksgiving inspired visit the next day, and now there was soggy toilet paper floating in pee water in the bathroom, running down the carpeted hall, under closet doors, etc. Not a puddle, A FLOOD. INCHES OF WATER. OUT THE BATHROOM AND DOWN THE HALL.
So happy I cleaned all damn day long.
And J totally knew what the Cracker was doing. But instead of being like me and sneaking into the hall outside the bathroom to listen and observe he just stayed where he was. Even when, in his own words, the Cracker started screaming "Daddy! Daddy! UH OH! OH NO! DADDY HELP ME! TOO MUCH PEE!!! TOO MUCH PEE!"
Oh yeah, and before that, the sound of rushing water.
When he finally got there he found my dear child holding the lid down and trying valiantly to stop the water with his little hands.
"Wow, sucks you have to clean the bathroom again."
"Did you at least give him a bath?"
"No, but I guess that would be a good idea."
You think?
(If don't already own one, buy a damn steam cleaner. Best purchase of my life. Not only can it be used as a wet/dry vac in a pinch, but you can steam clean you carpets to your hearts content. Quite useful in my line of work.)
Like that we could be using Cheerios and Fruit Loops to teach aim?
Why oh why did I totally forget this? Must have been that all of my available resources today (twice today) went to destroying evidence that my son peed on the wall/seat/back of a public toilet.
And the floor. Don't forget the floor.
(I am going to make myself learn to pee standing up. I am never sitting my bare ass down on a public toilet again.)
So what was my excuse yesterday? How about that occasionally the Cracker will ask to take a bath when he's actually already very clean at a most inopportune time and my promise of later isn't NOW so he pees on himself on purpose in hopes that he will get to play with his tub friends?
Actually I think it's amazing I even know who I am anymore, even if I don't know the difference between a pumpkin and a honeydew.
So in my eternal quest to have a child fully able to take care of his own waste needs I've forgotten a few things along the way. Sue me.
The thing you have to realize is that this potty training thing hasn't been a black and white matter. Really, truly, the whole thing is gray. Lotsa gray. I came into this figuring that you're either potty trained or you're not.
Oh no.
And it's been going on since approximately 18 months.
STEP 1: Matching the word to the receptacle.
STEP 2: Agreeing to sit on it.
STEP 3: Understanding what it's for.
STEP 4: Learning to recognize the urge.
STEP 5: Before the urge hits.
STEP 6: Being able to sit still long enough.
STEP 7: Actually agreeing to.
STEP 8: Trying more than occasionally.
STEP 9: Learning to accept that you must stop what you are doing to do business, even if what you were doing was more fun because it always is.
STEP 10: And care that dry pants are preferable to wet ones.
STEP 11: How to hold it.
Followed in no particular order by: dry during awake time, dry during nap time, dry all night long, doing it on the command of your mother, taking care of business all by yourself, and (the one thing I most look forward to) poo in porcelain.
"Ms. X is finally potty trained!"
"Wow! That's great! I can't wait for the Cracker to be there."
"It's the best! You're going to love it! It has changed my life!"
"So how is that going overnight? Is she still sleeping through or does she get up to pee often? Do you get up with her? Does she go back to sleep right away?"
"Oh no, she's only DAY trained."
"Oh. How about naps?"
"Mmmm...she's dry maybe once a week?"
"Uh huh. And what about poo?"
"Oh no, she won't poo in the potty! She asks for a diaper and then does it in that!"
"Okay...well it must be nice to not have to think about it, for her to just go when she needs to."
"Oh no no no! If I don't make her try every hour she has an accident."
???
In the last two months we've made the following pee related progress:-Pee standing up.
-Which lead to (woo hoo!) being able to urinate in potties other than our own at home without a special stool or ring.
But best of all:-Hold our own penis while peeing. (Okay, this is really new and really big. Yes, he made us hold it. And we did because we are first time suckers. Even J. And now that it's on the Internet everyone I have ever known knows. Why did I tell everyone? Because I never knew that this was even a possibility, that one day I would be holding a 3 year old penis while it peed. Did you know that???)
Which brings us now to aim. Aim is next. Hi ho Cheerios!
Monday night, when I really needed some adult alone me time, so I went to the grocery store down the hill to buy milk. Woot.
And after I was done I found myself sitting in my car in the parking lot with the engine running, enjoying the peace and quiet, admittedly not really wanting to go home yet when my cell rang.
"Umm...how would you go about sucking up dirty water if the bathroom...uh...flooded? Do we have special towels for that?"
"No. Use the steam cleaner. Just turn it on and the default is sucking mode. Wait...the bathroom flooded?"
"Yeah."
"Is it bad?"
"Yes."
"How bad?"
"Are you on your way home?"
"Yes, I'll leave right now."
"Okay, I'll just wait for you then."
And the good news is that it was the first time the Cracker tried to take care of business by himself!
The bad news is that I had spent the whole day cleaning, that my parents were arriving for a Thanksgiving inspired visit the next day, and now there was soggy toilet paper floating in pee water in the bathroom, running down the carpeted hall, under closet doors, etc. Not a puddle, A FLOOD. INCHES OF WATER. OUT THE BATHROOM AND DOWN THE HALL.
So happy I cleaned all damn day long.
And J totally knew what the Cracker was doing. But instead of being like me and sneaking into the hall outside the bathroom to listen and observe he just stayed where he was. Even when, in his own words, the Cracker started screaming "Daddy! Daddy! UH OH! OH NO! DADDY HELP ME! TOO MUCH PEE!!! TOO MUCH PEE!"
Oh yeah, and before that, the sound of rushing water.
When he finally got there he found my dear child holding the lid down and trying valiantly to stop the water with his little hands.
"Wow, sucks you have to clean the bathroom again."
"Did you at least give him a bath?"
"No, but I guess that would be a good idea."
You think?
(If don't already own one, buy a damn steam cleaner. Best purchase of my life. Not only can it be used as a wet/dry vac in a pinch, but you can steam clean you carpets to your hearts content. Quite useful in my line of work.)
Saturday, November 25, 2006
The FINAL Pumpkin Update
Somebody knew and didn't speak up. (You suck.)
Or maybe you just believed me. (Don't do that.)
So let's take another look at my "pumpkins" shall we?
Now, tell me honestly, does that look like a pumpkin to you? First it was green, then yellow, and finally now past it's prime, white.
What if I cut it open?
In my defense, who knew you could grow nice looking melons out of a compost pile in the desert Southwest? This sure as hell isn't Florida folks. Wouldn't you think they'd grow best somewhere a tad more tropical? And I hardly ever buy melons or have them in our home because J is very allergic to them. If they are even in the vicinity of other fruit he ingests he is incapacitated for a good few hours. And it's quite the accomplishment to grow anything here except tumbleweed, so I know that these are not wild honeydew.
Ugh.
Or maybe you just believed me. (Don't do that.)
So let's take another look at my "pumpkins" shall we?
Now, tell me honestly, does that look like a pumpkin to you? First it was green, then yellow, and finally now past it's prime, white.
What if I cut it open?
In my defense, who knew you could grow nice looking melons out of a compost pile in the desert Southwest? This sure as hell isn't Florida folks. Wouldn't you think they'd grow best somewhere a tad more tropical? And I hardly ever buy melons or have them in our home because J is very allergic to them. If they are even in the vicinity of other fruit he ingests he is incapacitated for a good few hours. And it's quite the accomplishment to grow anything here except tumbleweed, so I know that these are not wild honeydew.
Ugh.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
The Poo Post
Oh crap. Literally.
Since repotty training we've had some issues. The Cracker will NOT, I repeat NOT! poop in the potty.
Now the great thing about 3 is that my child owes me in the "why" department. I get down to his level (that counts as squats by the way) eyeball to eyeball with my sympathetic Mommy mask.
"Honey?"
"Yes Momma?"
"Poos go in the potty."
Fidgeting. "I know."
"Why didn't you make poo in the potty?"
"I dunno."
"Does it hurt when you poo?"
"Nope!"
"Are you scared? Is it scary?"
"Nope!"
"Then why won't you poo in the potty?"
"Cause............"
"Because why? You can tell me anything."
"Cause...cause...I no wike (like) to."
Every day between 5 and 5:30pm he lays a nice stinky in his drawers.
(Interestingly, you can also tell time in our house with out using a clock by the smoke alarm low battery beep that goes off every friggin afternoon 50 minutes before sunset no matter how many times we replace the batteries. Everyday, for a good 10 minutes. And that time would be right now.)
And at least three times a week we have a double poo day which I have not yet figured out the math for and am always caught off guard.
(Who has the formula? Pretty please?)
When I'm lucky J is home by dookie time. Then can I kindly refer to him to clean the child while I wait for him to hand me the soiled undergarments.
Let me tell you how fun it is watching miniature pairs of stained underwear pile up because I refuse to dry and put them away with skid marks. It's a fucking par-tay! My mother always told me that the heat of the dryer sets stains and so I refuse to put anything not 100% in the dryer. Luckily my chemical arsenal has worked well until this point, and in the last few years the only permanently stained item has been a brand spanking new shirt my mom bought at full price from Gymboree that made it into the dryer unbeknownst to me with paint in the armpit from school.
(I check everything for stains. I just hadn't been checking the armpits.)
So stained underwear? I refuse to give up.
(What did everyone's mother always say?)
And even if they are otherwise clean (think freshly laundered) and I put them away to save for the 5 o'clock turd parade, we will unknowingly grab the only brown pair in the drawer and get in an airplane crash. Or, even worse, send him to school where they actually know us.
Okay, okay, so I'm making a big deal about nothing, right? Well it is a big deal to me because as much as I *hate* having super soiled undies hanging around stinking up my house (and garage where one troublesome load that inspired this post is currently residing) I also refuse to wash poopie underwear with our regular clothes and I also in most cases refuse to scrub them out by hand first or stick something the size of a sock in the washing machine alone. I will extract chunks and I will rinse well, but I will not get poo under my fingernails. That is where I draw the line.
(Oh yeah, and I didn't cloth diaper. And since J and I don't shit ourselves, this is new territory for me.)
Now that you have the background:
One night I have a good pile going in the dirty underwear bag so I toss in a load of Cracker undies. Do I take each piece out one by one? Nooooo, it's excrement laden. Without looking I just dump the bag upside down and walk away. Only scalding hot water was getting all nastiness out thus appeasing my inner need for sterility, so into blistering hot water they go. A few minutes later on his way in from the garage J walks in through the laundry room and nearly passes out.
"My God woman! What are you doing in there?"
Uh oh. The smell is OVERWHELMING.
Now, since I already know that heat locks in stains, it would be safe to assume that I would also know that hot water will seal in smells.
Yeah, I don't.
And I'd already done this numerous times without a hitch.
After a quick internet search on cloth diapering I learn that while hot water washes away the stains, cold water washes away the smell.
(Seriously, two loads?)
I turn on the fan, open the door to the garage and spray more than a little Febreeze around praying for a miracle while I attempt to finish making dinner.
It's only that when the cycle is finished and I take out the undies for inspection that I find a big hunk o poo sitting in the bottom of the machine.
(At least I'm not hungry anymore. Squatting and now dieting, all in one day!)
Apparently someone forgot to remove the chunks.
(Pretty sure it wasn't me. Who would that leave?)
I grab a baggie to protect my hands, hold my nose, and run it as fast as I can to the bathroom and flush.
Fast forward...I have now run the same load 4 times, all in hot. And the smell in the laundry room seems to be getting worse though the undies themselves don't reek as much anymore, though upon a close crotch sniff test J and I both detect a lingering odor.
Toss undies into the garage.
So then I run the washer again, on hot, empty, and use an entire bottle of Febreeze.
And again.
Smell seems to be gone in the room, but not in the stainless steel tub of the machine.
OMG! Realization sets in that in all likeliness a little piece broke off and worked it's way through the holes and is lodged in the machine!
Which, eew, reminds me of my midwife inspecting the Cracker's placenta for completeness. Suddenly I wish I hadn't been so quick with disposal.
No...wait...no I don't.
Out to market at 11pm. I pick up a gallon of white vinegar, 2 boxes of baking soda and a bottle of NEW! Fresh Scent Purex® plus Renuzit™ Super Odor Neturalizer™ promising Long Lasting Freshness!
Run the vinegar through. Run one box at a time of the baking soda. And now it's 1:30 in the morning and I haven't a clean article of clothing to show for it. But the smell in the machine seems to be totally gone.
Next day I avoid the laundry like the plague as I am just not feeling caffeinated enough to face what needs my attention. Finally, in the afternoon, I take a sniff and all still seems well on both a room and machine level. Looking around I ask myself what laundry is most important since I'm getting such a late start.
Ah! The beloved night-night blankie, which was mine as a child. It's the Cracker's most prized possession. Now it didn't get pooped on, but it smells a little like pee from the wee amount that came out with that enormous poop.
And stupidly I put it in on hot thinking that sterilization is key.
Forty minutes later I realize what I've done.
The poop smell is baaack.
This is BAD. This is THE blankie. And it was mine. And my mom made it. And it's the most amazing 1970s fabric that you can no longer buy and has a softness to it that only comes from 29 years of washing. It is so not replaceable.
So here we go with the NEW! Fresh Scent Purex® plus Renuzit™ Super Odor Neturalizer™ promising Long Lasting Freshness!
Again with the sniff test we detect lingering odor! Or do we? At this point we've sniffed so many crotches that both J and I decide that maybe we're imagining things. But sadly there are no impartial noses around, so back in it goes with not only the Purex but more baking soda.
And then it seems to be fine. But now I'm terrified of my dryer. What if the activation of heat brings it back and seals in the smell! And what if this one little poo has totaled my washing machine and anything I put in it from now on without excrement comes out smelling like we shit ourselves???
(I am full of issues. Tell me something I don't know.)
So instead of going right into the dryer I do a little test by sticking a load of towels through w/o the Purex given to me by my evil Mother In Law. They go straight into the dryer.
And sadly, with another crotch sniff, they seem fine too.
It's okay! It's okay!
(And more than a glass of really cheap Zinfandel helped too.)
And that is all I have to say about poo. For now.
Since repotty training we've had some issues. The Cracker will NOT, I repeat NOT! poop in the potty.
Now the great thing about 3 is that my child owes me in the "why" department. I get down to his level (that counts as squats by the way) eyeball to eyeball with my sympathetic Mommy mask.
"Honey?"
"Yes Momma?"
"Poos go in the potty."
Fidgeting. "I know."
"Why didn't you make poo in the potty?"
"I dunno."
"Does it hurt when you poo?"
"Nope!"
"Are you scared? Is it scary?"
"Nope!"
"Then why won't you poo in the potty?"
"Cause............"
"Because why? You can tell me anything."
"Cause...cause...I no wike (like) to."
Every day between 5 and 5:30pm he lays a nice stinky in his drawers.
(Interestingly, you can also tell time in our house with out using a clock by the smoke alarm low battery beep that goes off every friggin afternoon 50 minutes before sunset no matter how many times we replace the batteries. Everyday, for a good 10 minutes. And that time would be right now.)
And at least three times a week we have a double poo day which I have not yet figured out the math for and am always caught off guard.
(Who has the formula? Pretty please?)
When I'm lucky J is home by dookie time. Then can I kindly refer to him to clean the child while I wait for him to hand me the soiled undergarments.
Let me tell you how fun it is watching miniature pairs of stained underwear pile up because I refuse to dry and put them away with skid marks. It's a fucking par-tay! My mother always told me that the heat of the dryer sets stains and so I refuse to put anything not 100% in the dryer. Luckily my chemical arsenal has worked well until this point, and in the last few years the only permanently stained item has been a brand spanking new shirt my mom bought at full price from Gymboree that made it into the dryer unbeknownst to me with paint in the armpit from school.
(I check everything for stains. I just hadn't been checking the armpits.)
So stained underwear? I refuse to give up.
(What did everyone's mother always say?)
And even if they are otherwise clean (think freshly laundered) and I put them away to save for the 5 o'clock turd parade, we will unknowingly grab the only brown pair in the drawer and get in an airplane crash. Or, even worse, send him to school where they actually know us.
Okay, okay, so I'm making a big deal about nothing, right? Well it is a big deal to me because as much as I *hate* having super soiled undies hanging around stinking up my house (and garage where one troublesome load that inspired this post is currently residing) I also refuse to wash poopie underwear with our regular clothes and I also in most cases refuse to scrub them out by hand first or stick something the size of a sock in the washing machine alone. I will extract chunks and I will rinse well, but I will not get poo under my fingernails. That is where I draw the line.
(Oh yeah, and I didn't cloth diaper. And since J and I don't shit ourselves, this is new territory for me.)
Now that you have the background:
One night I have a good pile going in the dirty underwear bag so I toss in a load of Cracker undies. Do I take each piece out one by one? Nooooo, it's excrement laden. Without looking I just dump the bag upside down and walk away. Only scalding hot water was getting all nastiness out thus appeasing my inner need for sterility, so into blistering hot water they go. A few minutes later on his way in from the garage J walks in through the laundry room and nearly passes out.
"My God woman! What are you doing in there?"
Uh oh. The smell is OVERWHELMING.
Now, since I already know that heat locks in stains, it would be safe to assume that I would also know that hot water will seal in smells.
Yeah, I don't.
And I'd already done this numerous times without a hitch.
After a quick internet search on cloth diapering I learn that while hot water washes away the stains, cold water washes away the smell.
(Seriously, two loads?)
I turn on the fan, open the door to the garage and spray more than a little Febreeze around praying for a miracle while I attempt to finish making dinner.
It's only that when the cycle is finished and I take out the undies for inspection that I find a big hunk o poo sitting in the bottom of the machine.
(At least I'm not hungry anymore. Squatting and now dieting, all in one day!)
Apparently someone forgot to remove the chunks.
(Pretty sure it wasn't me. Who would that leave?)
I grab a baggie to protect my hands, hold my nose, and run it as fast as I can to the bathroom and flush.
Fast forward...I have now run the same load 4 times, all in hot. And the smell in the laundry room seems to be getting worse though the undies themselves don't reek as much anymore, though upon a close crotch sniff test J and I both detect a lingering odor.
Toss undies into the garage.
So then I run the washer again, on hot, empty, and use an entire bottle of Febreeze.
And again.
Smell seems to be gone in the room, but not in the stainless steel tub of the machine.
OMG! Realization sets in that in all likeliness a little piece broke off and worked it's way through the holes and is lodged in the machine!
Which, eew, reminds me of my midwife inspecting the Cracker's placenta for completeness. Suddenly I wish I hadn't been so quick with disposal.
No...wait...no I don't.
Out to market at 11pm. I pick up a gallon of white vinegar, 2 boxes of baking soda and a bottle of NEW! Fresh Scent Purex® plus Renuzit™ Super Odor Neturalizer™ promising Long Lasting Freshness!
Run the vinegar through. Run one box at a time of the baking soda. And now it's 1:30 in the morning and I haven't a clean article of clothing to show for it. But the smell in the machine seems to be totally gone.
Next day I avoid the laundry like the plague as I am just not feeling caffeinated enough to face what needs my attention. Finally, in the afternoon, I take a sniff and all still seems well on both a room and machine level. Looking around I ask myself what laundry is most important since I'm getting such a late start.
Ah! The beloved night-night blankie, which was mine as a child. It's the Cracker's most prized possession. Now it didn't get pooped on, but it smells a little like pee from the wee amount that came out with that enormous poop.
And stupidly I put it in on hot thinking that sterilization is key.
Forty minutes later I realize what I've done.
The poop smell is baaack.
This is BAD. This is THE blankie. And it was mine. And my mom made it. And it's the most amazing 1970s fabric that you can no longer buy and has a softness to it that only comes from 29 years of washing. It is so not replaceable.
So here we go with the NEW! Fresh Scent Purex® plus Renuzit™ Super Odor Neturalizer™ promising Long Lasting Freshness!
Again with the sniff test we detect lingering odor! Or do we? At this point we've sniffed so many crotches that both J and I decide that maybe we're imagining things. But sadly there are no impartial noses around, so back in it goes with not only the Purex but more baking soda.
And then it seems to be fine. But now I'm terrified of my dryer. What if the activation of heat brings it back and seals in the smell! And what if this one little poo has totaled my washing machine and anything I put in it from now on without excrement comes out smelling like we shit ourselves???
(I am full of issues. Tell me something I don't know.)
So instead of going right into the dryer I do a little test by sticking a load of towels through w/o the Purex given to me by my evil Mother In Law. They go straight into the dryer.
And sadly, with another crotch sniff, they seem fine too.
It's okay! It's okay!
(And more than a glass of really cheap Zinfandel helped too.)
And that is all I have to say about poo. For now.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
"A picture is worth a thousand words."
I've been meaning to finish a Poo Post I started well over a week ago for, well, a week. I just need 20 minutes (20 minutes!) of quiet time to make sure I've said everything I have to say at this moment in time about poo. And I have a gazillion other posts writing themselves in my head.
Alls I needs is time.
But no. There are always more pressing things to do than update my blog.
And in case you're wondering how it's going, this is how it was going about 15 minutes ago:
UPDATED TO ADD:
No my child is not Satan, he's just three. And a half.
Powered by 4 hours of restless sleep, too much caffiene mixed with a quarter of a bagel and sweet face filled with shame I had three emotionally charged responses to choose from:
A. laugh
B. cry
C. scream and bang my head against the wall
Then I saw the camera and realized the future blackmail potential, and the two of us had a darn good chuckle.
(And a please we do not poo on the carpet.)
Alls I needs is time.
But no. There are always more pressing things to do than update my blog.
And in case you're wondering how it's going, this is how it was going about 15 minutes ago:
UPDATED TO ADD:
No my child is not Satan, he's just three. And a half.
Powered by 4 hours of restless sleep, too much caffiene mixed with a quarter of a bagel and sweet face filled with shame I had three emotionally charged responses to choose from:
A. laugh
B. cry
C. scream and bang my head against the wall
Then I saw the camera and realized the future blackmail potential, and the two of us had a darn good chuckle.
(And a please we do not poo on the carpet.)
Monday, November 13, 2006
Now where did he learn that?
(Not at our house, that's for sure.)
"Daddydaddydaddy, will you play wif me?"
"I just walked in the door. Can I have a few minutes?"
"Maybe waiter (later). Peas Daddy peas? You play wif me now? Peas!"
"Okay."
"Here Daddy!" Cracker hands him a bowl.
"Aren't we going to play cars and trucks?"
"No! We are cooking!"
Sigh. "Okay...how can I help?"
"You wash dirty dishes."
"Daddydaddydaddy, will you play wif me?"
"I just walked in the door. Can I have a few minutes?"
"Maybe waiter (later). Peas Daddy peas? You play wif me now? Peas!"
"Okay."
"Here Daddy!" Cracker hands him a bowl.
"Aren't we going to play cars and trucks?"
"No! We are cooking!"
Sigh. "Okay...how can I help?"
"You wash dirty dishes."
I Blame School
"Ah ha! Look Mommy look! A booger!"
Before I can completely register what's happening the above booger has been expertly flicked across the room.
(Booger flicking wasn't something I was planning on teaching him.)
(Thank God we have booger-colored carpet.)
Before I can completely register what's happening the above booger has been expertly flicked across the room.
(Booger flicking wasn't something I was planning on teaching him.)
(Thank God we have booger-colored carpet.)
Monday, October 23, 2006
My Mortifying Monday
(Potty Training and vibrators mentioned)
A week ago today the weather was sucky. We needed out.
A few days earlier I finally did what all parents eventually do...I banished Pull-ups from our residence. That's it! I've had it. Mommy says enough is enough!
Over the previous few months the Cracker had slowly become completely unpotty trained as we sat by and lazily did a lot of nothing about it.
"Do you want to go potty?"
"No!"
"Okay Schnookems! No pressure!"
But of course the problem wasn't fixing itself, and I knew he was totally capable, understood when and how and had done it all before. This was bullshit. And so I woke up one morning with no patience and a plan. The plan went into action right then and there and when J got home that night before he could even kiss me hello I gave him the low down.
"No more Pull-ups! None! He will wear only big boy underpants, and to control the leakage he will wear tight PJ bottoms and socks at all times. Wet stuff goes in the blue bag in the bathroom. Strip him down in the tub then use the hair washing cup to rinse him down. No bath toys and he is to remain standing. Don't shame him, but don't make it fun either. After rinsing wash his lower half with soap on a wash cloth. Wash cloths are here. Then rinse and redress. The steam cleaner is ready to go in the living room. Ask him to show you the spot and then pull this to dispense cleaning solution, scrub, and then soak it back up into the machine. Any questions?"
The first few days sucked and the Cracker and I muddled through it at home. One of those beautiful afternoons as I was carrying him by the armpits at an arms length to the tub to wash pee off of him yet again a quarter sized dollop of pee got on my jeans. I immediately took them off and rubbed my legs down with baby wipes. Within hours I had a quarter sized bright red burning rash in that exact spot.
(Today, nearly two weeks and a tube of triple antibiotic ointment later, it's down to an ugly series of mini scabs. I hate having sensitive skin.)
Anyway, by Monday the Cracker was getting the hint about the potty training, so off we went back into the world.
Our exciting journey first took us to the Post Office to mail a bill and have the talk again about how amazing it is that mail goes on airplanes and random people you don't know somehow get it from point A to B. Next stop was Starbucks where I felt no shame in getting a big fat drink because I'd just repotty trained a 3.5 year old. Last was the Cracker's treat, Home Depot, to ride the tractors and lawn mowers for being such a big boy.
We'd been there about 45 minutes when we got a call from J.
"The alarm went off. One of the spare bedroom windows."
Crap!
"The police were already dispatched and they'll meet you there. Whatever you do they don't want you to go inside. They have a description of your car. Go to a neighbor's."
The Cracker somehow mysteriously understood my half of the conversation and immediately asked "the police come my house? Yippie!!!"
?
We're home within 10 minutes...no police. We hang at Crazy Neighbor's across the street because he's the only one I knew would be home. Everyone else is at work.
Another 10 minutes goes by, no police.
"Gimme your keys. I'll go check."
"No, I'm just going to wait."
"At least let me go walk the perimeter and see if anything is disturbed. Did you do that?"
"No. I wasn't going to leave the Cracker alone."
So I finally give my neighbor the keys to the side gate, he walks around, pronounces that everything looks in order.
"Okay then. Thanks!"
"Just let me go in your house."
"No, I'll just wait."
"Seriously!"
"No."
"Why not?"
"My house is messy." Half-lie.
"I don't care."
"No."
"Why not???"
And he won't stop bugging me.
"Whywhywhywhywhy?"
"Because!"
"Why?" OMG shut up!
"Fine, I'll tell you! I will tell you, but I won't let you see! My hot pink vibrator is sitting prominently displayed on the nightstand! Happy?! I am embarrassed enough that perfect strangers are going to see it, but I'm not letting you go in."
Insane amounts of laughter. Dying here.
"Okay, okay! I understand!"
More laughter.
"Maybe the cops won't even see it when the go in."
"Yeah, I think not."
"Really, maybe they won't notice."
"Believe me, they will."
"Does it have a name?"
I hate you.
Police arrive: three younger than me officers. They tell me all about the procedure, tell me they will check all closets and hiding spaces and then let me know when it's all clear. Then they make a big deal about going in, weapons drawn. Creepy neighbor continues the teasing.
Cops are inside forever.
When they finally come out they are all smirking and not a one will look at me, they all are grinning at the ground.
"Dude! They SO saw it! Did you see their faces? Did you? Bahahaha!"
Thank you, yes, I saw.
A week ago today the weather was sucky. We needed out.
A few days earlier I finally did what all parents eventually do...I banished Pull-ups from our residence. That's it! I've had it. Mommy says enough is enough!
Over the previous few months the Cracker had slowly become completely unpotty trained as we sat by and lazily did a lot of nothing about it.
"Do you want to go potty?"
"No!"
"Okay Schnookems! No pressure!"
But of course the problem wasn't fixing itself, and I knew he was totally capable, understood when and how and had done it all before. This was bullshit. And so I woke up one morning with no patience and a plan. The plan went into action right then and there and when J got home that night before he could even kiss me hello I gave him the low down.
"No more Pull-ups! None! He will wear only big boy underpants, and to control the leakage he will wear tight PJ bottoms and socks at all times. Wet stuff goes in the blue bag in the bathroom. Strip him down in the tub then use the hair washing cup to rinse him down. No bath toys and he is to remain standing. Don't shame him, but don't make it fun either. After rinsing wash his lower half with soap on a wash cloth. Wash cloths are here. Then rinse and redress. The steam cleaner is ready to go in the living room. Ask him to show you the spot and then pull this to dispense cleaning solution, scrub, and then soak it back up into the machine. Any questions?"
The first few days sucked and the Cracker and I muddled through it at home. One of those beautiful afternoons as I was carrying him by the armpits at an arms length to the tub to wash pee off of him yet again a quarter sized dollop of pee got on my jeans. I immediately took them off and rubbed my legs down with baby wipes. Within hours I had a quarter sized bright red burning rash in that exact spot.
(Today, nearly two weeks and a tube of triple antibiotic ointment later, it's down to an ugly series of mini scabs. I hate having sensitive skin.)
Anyway, by Monday the Cracker was getting the hint about the potty training, so off we went back into the world.
Our exciting journey first took us to the Post Office to mail a bill and have the talk again about how amazing it is that mail goes on airplanes and random people you don't know somehow get it from point A to B. Next stop was Starbucks where I felt no shame in getting a big fat drink because I'd just repotty trained a 3.5 year old. Last was the Cracker's treat, Home Depot, to ride the tractors and lawn mowers for being such a big boy.
We'd been there about 45 minutes when we got a call from J.
"The alarm went off. One of the spare bedroom windows."
Crap!
"The police were already dispatched and they'll meet you there. Whatever you do they don't want you to go inside. They have a description of your car. Go to a neighbor's."
The Cracker somehow mysteriously understood my half of the conversation and immediately asked "the police come my house? Yippie!!!"
?
We're home within 10 minutes...no police. We hang at Crazy Neighbor's across the street because he's the only one I knew would be home. Everyone else is at work.
Another 10 minutes goes by, no police.
"Gimme your keys. I'll go check."
"No, I'm just going to wait."
"At least let me go walk the perimeter and see if anything is disturbed. Did you do that?"
"No. I wasn't going to leave the Cracker alone."
So I finally give my neighbor the keys to the side gate, he walks around, pronounces that everything looks in order.
"Okay then. Thanks!"
"Just let me go in your house."
"No, I'll just wait."
"Seriously!"
"No."
"Why not?"
"My house is messy." Half-lie.
"I don't care."
"No."
"Why not???"
And he won't stop bugging me.
"Whywhywhywhywhy?"
"Because!"
"Why?" OMG shut up!
"Fine, I'll tell you! I will tell you, but I won't let you see! My hot pink vibrator is sitting prominently displayed on the nightstand! Happy?! I am embarrassed enough that perfect strangers are going to see it, but I'm not letting you go in."
Insane amounts of laughter. Dying here.
"Okay, okay! I understand!"
More laughter.
"Maybe the cops won't even see it when the go in."
"Yeah, I think not."
"Really, maybe they won't notice."
"Believe me, they will."
"Does it have a name?"
I hate you.
Police arrive: three younger than me officers. They tell me all about the procedure, tell me they will check all closets and hiding spaces and then let me know when it's all clear. Then they make a big deal about going in, weapons drawn. Creepy neighbor continues the teasing.
Cops are inside forever.
When they finally come out they are all smirking and not a one will look at me, they all are grinning at the ground.
"Dude! They SO saw it! Did you see their faces? Did you? Bahahaha!"
Thank you, yes, I saw.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Tell me please that no one is buying this
You gotta love unsolicited junk mail, especially the catalogues.
From Lilly's Kids: Vending Machine doubles as bank!
"Fill the 6 clear compartments with any fun-sized candies and treats. Ages 3 and up."
All I can say is that online the description is a little less offensive.
But in going online to get you a picture I learned that IT'S ON BACKORDER.
And right under it in the catalogue:
(I think I'll skip the social commentary on my initial reaction of this particular mailorder company.)
From Lilly's Kids: Vending Machine doubles as bank!
"Fill the 6 clear compartments with any fun-sized candies and treats. Ages 3 and up."
All I can say is that online the description is a little less offensive.
But in going online to get you a picture I learned that IT'S ON BACKORDER.
And right under it in the catalogue:
(I think I'll skip the social commentary on my initial reaction of this particular mailorder company.)
By Request: Pumpkin Update
So here we are, a mere two weeks away from Halloween. My pumpkins are (TA DA!) still yellow.
Looks like the grand total is going to be three pumpkins, none of which are the result of my early morning escapades. The mid-September hail damage destroyed all but one of the little ones and the bugs had a field day. The pesticide worked on the worms, but then I got the creepiest little black and red stripped buggers everywhere, and round two and three of pesticide did nothing. On the plus side, for the last month my little patch has millions of ladybugs, which is providing some entertainment in that whatever those red and black guys are, the ladybugs eat off all the fleshy parts and leave the rest.
Lovely.
In other I'm-attempting-to-self-landscape-my-yard-so-check-back-in-5-years-for-the-finished-product news:
My Blue Spruce is going crazy with the pinecone making. This was a bit of a surprise considering that a Dwarf Alberta Spruce that's already been through one winter here never made any. Guess I need to study up on evergreens. (I wish I had a better picture, but I'm still learning how to use the new digital camera. It's not going well.) Now we'll get to do some pinecone art. Sweet!
Fall never came to LLL this year. Instead we went from 80 degrees one day to super evil wind and a high of 50 something the next week with a little flooding on the side. There were maybe two nice weeks during which I got a little more border up while J was camping with a friend but that was it. So much for my plans of getting a lot done outside during my favorite season.
Oddly enough, my heat loving tomatoes that I planted in August are still going crazy. I have at least a couple dozen that should be ready in the next week. Huh? And the peppers are finally taking off. Okay...did I miss something? We had a freeze last night and I'm pretty sure it wasn't the first. (My annuals certainly are not taking it well.)
Happy Fall!
Looks like the grand total is going to be three pumpkins, none of which are the result of my early morning escapades. The mid-September hail damage destroyed all but one of the little ones and the bugs had a field day. The pesticide worked on the worms, but then I got the creepiest little black and red stripped buggers everywhere, and round two and three of pesticide did nothing. On the plus side, for the last month my little patch has millions of ladybugs, which is providing some entertainment in that whatever those red and black guys are, the ladybugs eat off all the fleshy parts and leave the rest.
Lovely.
In other I'm-attempting-to-self-landscape-my-yard-so-check-back-in-5-years-for-the-finished-product news:
My Blue Spruce is going crazy with the pinecone making. This was a bit of a surprise considering that a Dwarf Alberta Spruce that's already been through one winter here never made any. Guess I need to study up on evergreens. (I wish I had a better picture, but I'm still learning how to use the new digital camera. It's not going well.) Now we'll get to do some pinecone art. Sweet!
Fall never came to LLL this year. Instead we went from 80 degrees one day to super evil wind and a high of 50 something the next week with a little flooding on the side. There were maybe two nice weeks during which I got a little more border up while J was camping with a friend but that was it. So much for my plans of getting a lot done outside during my favorite season.
Oddly enough, my heat loving tomatoes that I planted in August are still going crazy. I have at least a couple dozen that should be ready in the next week. Huh? And the peppers are finally taking off. Okay...did I miss something? We had a freeze last night and I'm pretty sure it wasn't the first. (My annuals certainly are not taking it well.)
Happy Fall!
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Attention Stroller Queens!
I was at Costco today buying wipes when I spotted a Maclaren Techno XT for $177. Holy crap. I always wanted one, but at $300+ at the time I was actually looking I ended up with a less expensive Mac. It was a really nice color too, something I totally would have picked. And adjustable handles! Okay, even though J is tall, he's been fine with our Mac and we never needed adjustable handles. But how cool is that? And I have a friend who bought herself one for that very reason.
I am so sad.
Then I went online to drool over it again even though I have no use for it and saw that they have a bunch of really cool rides online. A variety! of Pegs, Zoopers, Iglesinas (always wanted one of those too!) They've got travel systems, lightweight, heavy full size crap (hello...why do people buy these?) and even a Maclaren Rally Twin! And of course lots o joggers, which is what I usually saw at Costco online when I was still trying to become a Queen.
(Oh, and the Techno was $230 online. Thinking that was the shipping. Colors are different too. The one in store was the prettiest blue.)
Not all were fantastic prices based on my nearly 2-4 year ago knowledge, but I'm pretty sure that Techno was. (FWIW I think it was a 2006. Yes, did you know that the nice brands have model years like cars? Uh huh. And of course you get a better deal if you buy the previous year's model? Uh huh.) Close to 2 years ago I got a great jogger there for $99 that ran $300+ even at the cheap places online. A few I looked at were only $20-50 off Albeebaby and BRU but Costco was including shipping too.
AND they had a Britax Marathon (two colors) online but no price. In my experience it's means Out-of-Stock to be replenished soon.
I heart Costco.
And we totally scored a little something at Costco today that my parents want to give the Cracker for Christmas, which just reminded me that I have to get it out of the car and hide it before he wakes up.
I'd promise more posts later tonight, but it's Grey's night (aka my porn) and I have parent duty at preschool tomorrow bright and early. I certainly have lots to say (think vent) but it's been too hetic to blog lately. I promise I'll be back soon! (Maybe even this afternoon if I can get the Costco score into the attic w/o killing myself. That's doubtful though.)
I am so sad.
Then I went online to drool over it again even though I have no use for it and saw that they have a bunch of really cool rides online. A variety! of Pegs, Zoopers, Iglesinas (always wanted one of those too!) They've got travel systems, lightweight, heavy full size crap (hello...why do people buy these?) and even a Maclaren Rally Twin! And of course lots o joggers, which is what I usually saw at Costco online when I was still trying to become a Queen.
(Oh, and the Techno was $230 online. Thinking that was the shipping. Colors are different too. The one in store was the prettiest blue.)
Not all were fantastic prices based on my nearly 2-4 year ago knowledge, but I'm pretty sure that Techno was. (FWIW I think it was a 2006. Yes, did you know that the nice brands have model years like cars? Uh huh. And of course you get a better deal if you buy the previous year's model? Uh huh.) Close to 2 years ago I got a great jogger there for $99 that ran $300+ even at the cheap places online. A few I looked at were only $20-50 off Albeebaby and BRU but Costco was including shipping too.
AND they had a Britax Marathon (two colors) online but no price. In my experience it's means Out-of-Stock to be replenished soon.
I heart Costco.
And we totally scored a little something at Costco today that my parents want to give the Cracker for Christmas, which just reminded me that I have to get it out of the car and hide it before he wakes up.
I'd promise more posts later tonight, but it's Grey's night (aka my porn) and I have parent duty at preschool tomorrow bright and early. I certainly have lots to say (think vent) but it's been too hetic to blog lately. I promise I'll be back soon! (Maybe even this afternoon if I can get the Costco score into the attic w/o killing myself. That's doubtful though.)
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Our iTunes Playlist of Shame
Last week we celebrated our 9th wedding anniversary.
It started out like any other morning. I got out of bed first and headed straight for the bathroom to pee. Suddenly J is behind me, giving me a big sqeeze. "HAPPY ANNIVERSARY HONEY!"
Dude, I gots to pee.
"Today?"
"You forgot?" Big smirk.
No, I just haven't had coffee yet. And I really need to pee.
Ten minutes later...the coffee pot has mysteriously stopped working and it refuses to make coffee even though it worked perfectly yesterday. Are you friggin kidding me? I finally give up when I realize that it's going to start a fire. (There was actual melting.)
That night he came home with a card with penguins on it. Penguins are very hip in my book.
"I'd already bought it, I just forgot to write in it so I had to take it to work!"
"Okay, okay, you get points."
"Let's go to dinner!"
Ugh, I am far too lazy to drive into town. But he's so excited.
"Crap, I never got around to taking a shower today."
"You forgot! Hahaha!"
"Yeah, I forgot."
In case you haven't already figured me out I often do really stupid things and I always feel the need to share them.
The previous night my eczema was acting up. I was trying to fall asleep and exhausted enough but my skin was screaming for moisture. I had left my creams on the other side of the house, J was out of shouting range, and I really didn't want to get up. So instead of taking a 20 second walk to the other side of our not-very-big house I opted to instead just take a 2 second walk to the bathroom.
I opened the vanity. No lotion but I did see Aloe Vera Gel. (We keep it around because J gets sunburned easily.) So I grabbed it, took it back to bed, and then lathered myself up.
Twice.
Wait? What's with the sticky?
Oops. Aloe Vera HAIR Gel.
When the hell did we buy that?
Since there is no time for a shower I decide to at least try to look nice. I grab a pair of high heeled boots and find a pair of skinny jeans that I know are too long for my normal frumpy shoes. Not my "skinny" jeans, but a pair of jeans that didn't fit a few months back but now probably do since I've recently lost weight.
And being tall in skinny jeans will make me feel sexy even if I'm still covered in hair gel and have been doing dirty work in the yard all day, right?
Shit. They are circa 2003 and go up to my belly button back from my just-had-a-baby days when up to your belly button jeans did seem like a good idea because they sucked in the loose belly skin. Not sexy. And the color blue is just kinda weird. Why did I ever buy these? Whatever. They do fit and everything else is dirty anyway. I just won't lift my arms and try to keep me belly jeans a secret.
Lip gloss! Maybe I can wear lip gloss! I start digging around under the sink.
"What are you doing?"
"Looking for makeup."
"You OWN makeup?"
"Uh, yeah!"
"When did you buy makeup?"
"Well, it was when Garden Botanica was still around. Like 96 or 97? Maybe even 98. Found it!"
What the hell was I thinking in 96, 97 or 98? Even tan I am still pale, and I the only lip gloss I own is light brown? Taupe even?
Once we got home and the Cracker was in bed I finally relaxed enough to get a little in the mood.
At my suggestion we opened up iTunes to listen to our song. Yes, we have a song. And suddenly I just had to grab him and as our Itunes list of shame played on we slowed danced and even did quite a bit of necking.
TMI, right?
So what is OUR song?
Damn I Wish I Was Your Lover (Track #1 if you care to take a little listen.)
Pretty sure it's been on every worst song countdown VH-1 has ever done. But that's why it stuck. We go around around singing it because it's makes us crack up and snot drinks out our noses.
Here's a little sample:
This bloke can't stand to see you black and blue
I give you something sweet each time you
Come inside my jungle book
It's just too good
Don't say you'll stay
'Cause then you go away
Damn! I wish I was your lover
I'll rock you till the daylight comes
Make sure you are smiling and warm
I am everything
Tonight I'll be your mother
I'll do such things to ease your pain
Free your mind and you won't feel ashamed
Shucks!
For me there is no other
You're the only shoe that fits
I can't imagine I'll grow out of it
It started out like any other morning. I got out of bed first and headed straight for the bathroom to pee. Suddenly J is behind me, giving me a big sqeeze. "HAPPY ANNIVERSARY HONEY!"
Dude, I gots to pee.
"Today?"
"You forgot?" Big smirk.
No, I just haven't had coffee yet. And I really need to pee.
Ten minutes later...the coffee pot has mysteriously stopped working and it refuses to make coffee even though it worked perfectly yesterday. Are you friggin kidding me? I finally give up when I realize that it's going to start a fire. (There was actual melting.)
That night he came home with a card with penguins on it. Penguins are very hip in my book.
"I'd already bought it, I just forgot to write in it so I had to take it to work!"
"Okay, okay, you get points."
"Let's go to dinner!"
Ugh, I am far too lazy to drive into town. But he's so excited.
"Crap, I never got around to taking a shower today."
"You forgot! Hahaha!"
"Yeah, I forgot."
In case you haven't already figured me out I often do really stupid things and I always feel the need to share them.
The previous night my eczema was acting up. I was trying to fall asleep and exhausted enough but my skin was screaming for moisture. I had left my creams on the other side of the house, J was out of shouting range, and I really didn't want to get up. So instead of taking a 20 second walk to the other side of our not-very-big house I opted to instead just take a 2 second walk to the bathroom.
I opened the vanity. No lotion but I did see Aloe Vera Gel. (We keep it around because J gets sunburned easily.) So I grabbed it, took it back to bed, and then lathered myself up.
Twice.
Wait? What's with the sticky?
Oops. Aloe Vera HAIR Gel.
When the hell did we buy that?
Since there is no time for a shower I decide to at least try to look nice. I grab a pair of high heeled boots and find a pair of skinny jeans that I know are too long for my normal frumpy shoes. Not my "skinny" jeans, but a pair of jeans that didn't fit a few months back but now probably do since I've recently lost weight.
And being tall in skinny jeans will make me feel sexy even if I'm still covered in hair gel and have been doing dirty work in the yard all day, right?
Shit. They are circa 2003 and go up to my belly button back from my just-had-a-baby days when up to your belly button jeans did seem like a good idea because they sucked in the loose belly skin. Not sexy. And the color blue is just kinda weird. Why did I ever buy these? Whatever. They do fit and everything else is dirty anyway. I just won't lift my arms and try to keep me belly jeans a secret.
Lip gloss! Maybe I can wear lip gloss! I start digging around under the sink.
"What are you doing?"
"Looking for makeup."
"You OWN makeup?"
"Uh, yeah!"
"When did you buy makeup?"
"Well, it was when Garden Botanica was still around. Like 96 or 97? Maybe even 98. Found it!"
What the hell was I thinking in 96, 97 or 98? Even tan I am still pale, and I the only lip gloss I own is light brown? Taupe even?
Once we got home and the Cracker was in bed I finally relaxed enough to get a little in the mood.
At my suggestion we opened up iTunes to listen to our song. Yes, we have a song. And suddenly I just had to grab him and as our Itunes list of shame played on we slowed danced and even did quite a bit of necking.
TMI, right?
So what is OUR song?
Damn I Wish I Was Your Lover (Track #1 if you care to take a little listen.)
Pretty sure it's been on every worst song countdown VH-1 has ever done. But that's why it stuck. We go around around singing it because it's makes us crack up and snot drinks out our noses.
Here's a little sample:
This bloke can't stand to see you black and blue
I give you something sweet each time you
Come inside my jungle book
It's just too good
Don't say you'll stay
'Cause then you go away
Damn! I wish I was your lover
I'll rock you till the daylight comes
Make sure you are smiling and warm
I am everything
Tonight I'll be your mother
I'll do such things to ease your pain
Free your mind and you won't feel ashamed
Shucks!
For me there is no other
You're the only shoe that fits
I can't imagine I'll grow out of it
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Overheard: A True Story
J just in from work, Cracker happily playing in the adjoining room.
"So we really need to watch what we're saying around The Parrot. Today he came up with some totally new swear word. Well it wasn't a swear word...what was it? (Trying to remember, trying to remember...) It wasn't horrible, something like "Oh Lordy me!" but I know it wasn't anything that either one of us say. Still it just seems like he's repeating everything these days." Racking my brain. "What was it? Oh it's going to drive me crazy. What was it?"
I'm still saying "What was it? What was it?" when the Cracker wanders in.
"Mommy?"
"Yes?"
"Shit!"
Lovely! My thoughts exactly.
So I'm hoping here that he couldn't read our faces. J and I fell silent and locked gazes as we totally ignored him, but I could see it in J's eyes, and he in mine: pupils all dilated, our looks toward each other screamed "OMG DID HE REALLY JUST SAY THAT? FUCK!!!"
We're still reeling when he takes a toy in his hand and whacks himself in the face. "Fuck!"
AND NOW HE'S READING OUR MINDS?
"Uh.......................J?"
"Bonk. Maybe he said bonk."
"He didn't."
"Yeah, I know, but I'm going to pretend that he did."
Crackers laughs maniacally. "BONK! BONK!" Wanders back to his toys hitting himself in the head repeating "BONK" and laughing each time.
Crrrrap.
I know he understands more than I understand he understands but seriously? Swear word? He knows the meaning of swear word? Our response is always that's not a nice word. Is it Barney's fault? Does Barney call them swear words?
It's times like these where I really wish J had paid attention in Spanish class. At least then if the Cracker still picked up our conversations we could say he's bilingual.
I am in deep doo doo.
"So we really need to watch what we're saying around The Parrot. Today he came up with some totally new swear word. Well it wasn't a swear word...what was it? (Trying to remember, trying to remember...) It wasn't horrible, something like "Oh Lordy me!" but I know it wasn't anything that either one of us say. Still it just seems like he's repeating everything these days." Racking my brain. "What was it? Oh it's going to drive me crazy. What was it?"
I'm still saying "What was it? What was it?" when the Cracker wanders in.
"Mommy?"
"Yes?"
"Shit!"
Lovely! My thoughts exactly.
So I'm hoping here that he couldn't read our faces. J and I fell silent and locked gazes as we totally ignored him, but I could see it in J's eyes, and he in mine: pupils all dilated, our looks toward each other screamed "OMG DID HE REALLY JUST SAY THAT? FUCK!!!"
We're still reeling when he takes a toy in his hand and whacks himself in the face. "Fuck!"
AND NOW HE'S READING OUR MINDS?
"Uh.......................J?"
"Bonk. Maybe he said bonk."
"He didn't."
"Yeah, I know, but I'm going to pretend that he did."
Crackers laughs maniacally. "BONK! BONK!" Wanders back to his toys hitting himself in the head repeating "BONK" and laughing each time.
Crrrrap.
I know he understands more than I understand he understands but seriously? Swear word? He knows the meaning of swear word? Our response is always that's not a nice word. Is it Barney's fault? Does Barney call them swear words?
It's times like these where I really wish J had paid attention in Spanish class. At least then if the Cracker still picked up our conversations we could say he's bilingual.
I am in deep doo doo.
"I can't. Sorry!"
Tonight I had some "me" time. I hid in the bedroom and watched an entire hour of TV without anyone barging in.
(Okay, once, but during commercial. And it only lasted 2 minutes, so mission accomplished.)
When I reemerge the Cracker tells me he wants a banana, that he had one, but that Daddy took it away.
Hmm...
"Hey, he says you have his banana?"
"Oh yeah, guess I forgot to give it back after his time out."
"He had a time out? What'd he do?"
"Well, you had to be there."
"Uh huh."
"He wouldn't stop washing his hands."
"What?"
"You really had to be there." Sighs. "So he's in the bathroom for like 10 minutes yelling out me wash my hands...with soap now...with water now...me wash my shoes...now me wash my hands again...me wash... After ten minutes I told him to stop and of course he told me I can't."
"Ugh! I hate that!"
(This has been going on for a few months now, but he's recently decided that saying "sorry!" after "I can't" makes it okay to say no to everything we ask/suggest/downright tell him.)
"After I realized he'd gone through an entire thing of liquid soap I put my foot down, but he started in with the kicking and screaming routine. And he pretty much flooded the bathroom."
"Grrreat."
"But, on the plus side, he's been in a really good listening mood ever since."
(Okay, once, but during commercial. And it only lasted 2 minutes, so mission accomplished.)
When I reemerge the Cracker tells me he wants a banana, that he had one, but that Daddy took it away.
Hmm...
"Hey, he says you have his banana?"
"Oh yeah, guess I forgot to give it back after his time out."
"He had a time out? What'd he do?"
"Well, you had to be there."
"Uh huh."
"He wouldn't stop washing his hands."
"What?"
"You really had to be there." Sighs. "So he's in the bathroom for like 10 minutes yelling out me wash my hands...with soap now...with water now...me wash my shoes...now me wash my hands again...me wash... After ten minutes I told him to stop and of course he told me I can't."
"Ugh! I hate that!"
(This has been going on for a few months now, but he's recently decided that saying "sorry!" after "I can't" makes it okay to say no to everything we ask/suggest/downright tell him.)
"After I realized he'd gone through an entire thing of liquid soap I put my foot down, but he started in with the kicking and screaming routine. And he pretty much flooded the bathroom."
"Grrreat."
"But, on the plus side, he's been in a really good listening mood ever since."
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Manners Schmanners
"What did you do at school today?"
"Me play."
"What did you play?"
"Me play inside."
"What did you play inside?"
"Paint. And me peel apples!"
"That sounds fun! What else?"
"Me play owside."
"What did you play outside?"
"Gucks." (That would be trucks.)
"What else?"
"Me eat snack."
"Oh? What did they have for snack today?"
Totally disgusted. "Juice! Puple juice!"
"Did you drink it?" (Like I don't already know the answer.)
"Eww...NO!"
"Did you remember to say no thank you?"
"No. Me said (to) dat Mommy juice is eew! Juice is icky! Me no drink dat!"
"Is that what the Polite Elephant would have said?"
"Yes."
"Noooo."
"Is otay. My teacher give me waber isstead."
We used to get compliments all the time from complete strangers on our child's manners. Time to break out the Emily Post again.
"Me play."
"What did you play?"
"Me play inside."
"What did you play inside?"
"Paint. And me peel apples!"
"That sounds fun! What else?"
"Me play owside."
"What did you play outside?"
"Gucks." (That would be trucks.)
"What else?"
"Me eat snack."
"Oh? What did they have for snack today?"
Totally disgusted. "Juice! Puple juice!"
"Did you drink it?" (Like I don't already know the answer.)
"Eww...NO!"
"Did you remember to say no thank you?"
"No. Me said (to) dat Mommy juice is eew! Juice is icky! Me no drink dat!"
"Is that what the Polite Elephant would have said?"
"Yes."
"Noooo."
"Is otay. My teacher give me waber isstead."
We used to get compliments all the time from complete strangers on our child's manners. Time to break out the Emily Post again.
I Stand Corrected
AGAIN. It happens a lot lately.
"Santa no haf waindeer. He haf snowdeer. It is so cold! (Shivers even though the temp has gone up 20 degrees in the last 3 hours and he is now overdressed.) It no wains, it snows!"
"Santa no haf waindeer. He haf snowdeer. It is so cold! (Shivers even though the temp has gone up 20 degrees in the last 3 hours and he is now overdressed.) It no wains, it snows!"
Monday, September 18, 2006
It Really Does Take a Village
Before you have kids you have all these plans, all the things you're going to tell them and teach them about the world.
J, since we're not very religious: "I'm going to teach our kids to say gesundheit instead of bless you."
Me: "Great idea honey! (I love foreign languages.) I'm going to read and sing to our kids in Spanish and Italian all the time! And maybe French too, though my pronunciation sucks, but I'll get better! I'll take a refresher course!"
And then you have kids. And somewhere between smelling all wets spots "Is that pee? Why yes it is" and kissing invisible boo-boos and cursing yourself for once again for neglecting to put Elmo Band-Aids on the shopping list, well, you forget a few of them along the way.
That's where just being out in the world becomes handy.
A few months back a car full of teenagers taught the Cracker that if you bend your arm at the elbow, make a fist pointed towards the sky and pump it that some truckers will honk for you.
We live and breath trucks...how could I have forgotten this one?
At school on Tuesday they husked corn. Very cool! (And then it was the only part of snack, Cracker's favorite part of school, that he wouldn't eat. No surprise...my veggie boy has always been skeptical of corn. He eats pretty much every other yellow food including peppers. Eating corn no longer tops my list of concerns.)
So yesterday morning I'm loading the dishwasher and the Cracker is chatting away a mile a minute and I'm not even kind of listening. I finish up and realize that he cannot stop laughing. Instead of interrupting I pretend to keep on working and do a little eavesdropping.
"Knock knock. Whose dere? A snik! (snake) Who? A SNIK FALL DOWN! BAWHAHAHAHA!"
So it's the worst knock-knock joke ever, but it's totally my favorite.
(In case you can't feel it, my heart is melting. I stupidly thought that knock-knock jokes weren't funny until at least 4. I still have so much to learn.)
The Cracker's other favorites which he thinks are almost as funny:
"Knock knock. Whose dere? MEEE!!!"
"Knock knock. Whose dere? Apple! Who? Dis apple need a bath!"
(The last one I know is an original...he made it up while I was slicing apples.)
This school thing is going to be really good for us.
(Anyone out there have a good knock-knock joke for me?)
J, since we're not very religious: "I'm going to teach our kids to say gesundheit instead of bless you."
Me: "Great idea honey! (I love foreign languages.) I'm going to read and sing to our kids in Spanish and Italian all the time! And maybe French too, though my pronunciation sucks, but I'll get better! I'll take a refresher course!"
And then you have kids. And somewhere between smelling all wets spots "Is that pee? Why yes it is" and kissing invisible boo-boos and cursing yourself for once again for neglecting to put Elmo Band-Aids on the shopping list, well, you forget a few of them along the way.
That's where just being out in the world becomes handy.
A few months back a car full of teenagers taught the Cracker that if you bend your arm at the elbow, make a fist pointed towards the sky and pump it that some truckers will honk for you.
We live and breath trucks...how could I have forgotten this one?
At school on Tuesday they husked corn. Very cool! (And then it was the only part of snack, Cracker's favorite part of school, that he wouldn't eat. No surprise...my veggie boy has always been skeptical of corn. He eats pretty much every other yellow food including peppers. Eating corn no longer tops my list of concerns.)
So yesterday morning I'm loading the dishwasher and the Cracker is chatting away a mile a minute and I'm not even kind of listening. I finish up and realize that he cannot stop laughing. Instead of interrupting I pretend to keep on working and do a little eavesdropping.
"Knock knock. Whose dere? A snik! (snake) Who? A SNIK FALL DOWN! BAWHAHAHAHA!"
So it's the worst knock-knock joke ever, but it's totally my favorite.
(In case you can't feel it, my heart is melting. I stupidly thought that knock-knock jokes weren't funny until at least 4. I still have so much to learn.)
The Cracker's other favorites which he thinks are almost as funny:
"Knock knock. Whose dere? MEEE!!!"
"Knock knock. Whose dere? Apple! Who? Dis apple need a bath!"
(The last one I know is an original...he made it up while I was slicing apples.)
This school thing is going to be really good for us.
(Anyone out there have a good knock-knock joke for me?)
We are nothing if not polite
Scene at Target yesterday
Target dude hands me my bags, I say: "Thank you!"
Target dude turns to next customer.
"MOMMYMOMMYMOMMY! DAT MAN NO SAY YOUSE IS WECOME! YOUSE IS WECOME! DAT MAN NO SAY YOUSE IS WECOME!"
Target dude turns red: "You're welcome, Ma'am."
God I hate being called Ma'am.
Target dude hands me my bags, I say: "Thank you!"
Target dude turns to next customer.
"MOMMYMOMMYMOMMY! DAT MAN NO SAY YOUSE IS WECOME! YOUSE IS WECOME! DAT MAN NO SAY YOUSE IS WECOME!"
Target dude turns red: "You're welcome, Ma'am."
God I hate being called Ma'am.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Pumpkin Love
(Wait for it, wait for it..............sex with pumpkins mentioned.)
Pumpkin update = not so good.
First off we had a bad ass hail storm last week that did some major damage to both p-kins and vine. The two biggest p-kins weathered it pretty well, but a bunch of babies lost chunks.
Stupid hail.
A few days later I discovered the tiniest, nastiest looking little white worms entering my pumpkins through the little hail holes. Eew! Yuck! Eew!
Stupid worms.
On the plus side, the hail damaged ones are still growing. And I have a bunch of new baby p-kins, the vine is still getting longer and I'm getting even more new flowers. And tonight I finally dragged myself to Lowes where two nice people helped me find the best pesticide for the worms. Tomorrow I will spray.
The two biggest happiest p-kins appear to have stopped growing bigger once they hit cantaloupe size. I'm was really hoping for some biggies, but what can I ask from a vine that planted itself and is growing on last year's Christmas tree? At this point if I end up with anything I'll be happy. This was all too good to be true.
Now for the sex:
Last week a very sad me, counting my pumpkins before they'd erupted, whined to my dad about how large numbers of flowers had started drying up and falling off, producing no fruit.
"Oh, they most not have gotten pollinated."
Stupid bees!
"Ugh! It's because they love the flowers in my front yard."
"Well that's okay! You can pollinate them yourself."
(Silence. Millions of visuals streaming before my eyes, none of which I am going to mention to my own father.)
"Like...uh...blow on them or something?"
"No, find something small and rub them gently."
Are we really having this discussion?
"Like a something-I-can't-remember now."
"Or a Q-tip?"
"Sure, that would work too. Just open them up and use the lightest touch."
"Seriously???"
So there I was, a few nights later, in my patch, in the dark (yeah...I don't know the back fence neighbors well enough yet, and none of them have window coverings) Q-tip in one hand, flashlight in the other, making pumpkin love.
Seriously.
No luck.
Finally I take my problems to the all knowing internet. Here's what I found: P-kin vines have both male and female flowers, and of course male flowers will not produce fruit, so it's not only not my fault but beyond my control.
Dude. Why didn't I know this? I took Bio, and...well...it's totally logical.
In fact male flowers only last a day. BUT I need to catch them right away so I can collect their pollen for my girls before the bees do. Suggestion? Stalk the bastards out the night before they open and tie baggies over them so the bees won't steal their goods by 5am. And while you don't need to fertilize your girls before sunrise, on the other hand this person does it between 7:30 and 9am.
I hate morning sex, any kind.
And if you think I'm making this shit up, here you go: first hit on Goggle search for pumpkin + flower + pollinate.
Seriously.
Pumpkin update = not so good.
First off we had a bad ass hail storm last week that did some major damage to both p-kins and vine. The two biggest p-kins weathered it pretty well, but a bunch of babies lost chunks.
Stupid hail.
A few days later I discovered the tiniest, nastiest looking little white worms entering my pumpkins through the little hail holes. Eew! Yuck! Eew!
Stupid worms.
On the plus side, the hail damaged ones are still growing. And I have a bunch of new baby p-kins, the vine is still getting longer and I'm getting even more new flowers. And tonight I finally dragged myself to Lowes where two nice people helped me find the best pesticide for the worms. Tomorrow I will spray.
The two biggest happiest p-kins appear to have stopped growing bigger once they hit cantaloupe size. I'm was really hoping for some biggies, but what can I ask from a vine that planted itself and is growing on last year's Christmas tree? At this point if I end up with anything I'll be happy. This was all too good to be true.
Now for the sex:
Last week a very sad me, counting my pumpkins before they'd erupted, whined to my dad about how large numbers of flowers had started drying up and falling off, producing no fruit.
"Oh, they most not have gotten pollinated."
Stupid bees!
"Ugh! It's because they love the flowers in my front yard."
"Well that's okay! You can pollinate them yourself."
(Silence. Millions of visuals streaming before my eyes, none of which I am going to mention to my own father.)
"Like...uh...blow on them or something?"
"No, find something small and rub them gently."
Are we really having this discussion?
"Like a something-I-can't-remember now."
"Or a Q-tip?"
"Sure, that would work too. Just open them up and use the lightest touch."
"Seriously???"
So there I was, a few nights later, in my patch, in the dark (yeah...I don't know the back fence neighbors well enough yet, and none of them have window coverings) Q-tip in one hand, flashlight in the other, making pumpkin love.
Seriously.
No luck.
Finally I take my problems to the all knowing internet. Here's what I found: P-kin vines have both male and female flowers, and of course male flowers will not produce fruit, so it's not only not my fault but beyond my control.
Dude. Why didn't I know this? I took Bio, and...well...it's totally logical.
In fact male flowers only last a day. BUT I need to catch them right away so I can collect their pollen for my girls before the bees do. Suggestion? Stalk the bastards out the night before they open and tie baggies over them so the bees won't steal their goods by 5am. And while you don't need to fertilize your girls before sunrise, on the other hand this person does it between 7:30 and 9am.
I hate morning sex, any kind.
And if you think I'm making this shit up, here you go: first hit on Goggle search for pumpkin + flower + pollinate.
Seriously.
View
This is why I love where I live. The only thing that would make it better, of course, is if this was the view from inside my house and not my yard. But hey, I'm not complaining.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Monday, September 04, 2006
Done deal.
Friday night we headed to the evil mall to find J a new pair of shoes. For work. Believe you me, MUCH harder than it sounds.
Black. We were looking for black. For work.
Everything with laces is a "bowling" shoe.
He wants clogs. Backless ones. For work.
"Ummm...ummm...honey? Your coworkers are uber conservative. They already think you're a big fat hippy."
(The "funny" you made that very morning about making bongs in shop class?* We're lucky the cops haven't showed up at the house searching for drugs. Yet.)
"You want promotions. Let's not rub your perceived hippiness in their faces, k? Do you see anything you like with a back, maybe?"
Wannabe helpful sales guy not helping: "How about these!"
Black Dankso clogs.
Dude, go a-way.
After exhausting all the granola shoe stores AND the department stores we went to the athletic shoe stores. Maybe just a new pair of Nike's in gray? That's pretty much what we're replacing after all. He was just looking for something more professional this time around.
Dude, we had no idea how UNhip hop we were. Where have all the normal running shoes gone???
Finally ended up at REI. He'll be getting these. No one had them in town in black.
We did not however leave the mall empty handed. I just had to wander into Old Navy, and it was there that the Cracker found his Halloween costume all by his little self. AND THERE ARE SOUND EFFECTS.
We are going to be a monkey this year.
Not my first choice, but at least it isn't a cartoon superhero. (I know, I know, that's next year, isn't it? From Walmart, and it's going to fall apart the first time he tries it on. Sigh.) It's okay, but I kinda don't like the fluffy legs. Might have to get a pair of brown tights and fiddle with it. Monkeys don't have big loose skin on their legs.
All his costumes thus far have been ON. Because I am lazy. And I always find the good costumes too late.
So here's last year's, which they have again this year, of course.
See the stupid legs?
So here's what I did...I bought him tights. J made a stink about it, but it was all in good fun and he didn't really care.
Now those are some nice legs!
So what I had liked (and is actually available in his size):
Lil' Lederhosen
First problem, not warm enough for Halloween night. Because here, in October, it will be warm during the day (too warm for heavyish costumes) but cold at night.
Second problem, what do I tell him he is? His friends are running around as animals, rescue workers and superheroes, and he is...German???
(And you must understand that while my name is Heidi, I am not German. Neither J or I have any German ancestry that we are aware of. The Cracker's names are Scottish, Welsh, British and Irish, depending on who you ask.)
(That is why we don't tan. At least not easily.)
Also kinda cute and different: a pilgrim.
(Did I really just say that?)
And Robin Hood. He looks so good in brown and green, and it has tights already, and a darn cute little hat.
But we are a monkey. And we've been wearing it every day since it came home with us Friday night. He's in love. How can I say no to that?
*He didn't.
Black. We were looking for black. For work.
Everything with laces is a "bowling" shoe.
He wants clogs. Backless ones. For work.
"Ummm...ummm...honey? Your coworkers are uber conservative. They already think you're a big fat hippy."
(The "funny" you made that very morning about making bongs in shop class?* We're lucky the cops haven't showed up at the house searching for drugs. Yet.)
"You want promotions. Let's not rub your perceived hippiness in their faces, k? Do you see anything you like with a back, maybe?"
Wannabe helpful sales guy not helping: "How about these!"
Black Dankso clogs.
Dude, go a-way.
After exhausting all the granola shoe stores AND the department stores we went to the athletic shoe stores. Maybe just a new pair of Nike's in gray? That's pretty much what we're replacing after all. He was just looking for something more professional this time around.
Dude, we had no idea how UNhip hop we were. Where have all the normal running shoes gone???
Finally ended up at REI. He'll be getting these. No one had them in town in black.
We did not however leave the mall empty handed. I just had to wander into Old Navy, and it was there that the Cracker found his Halloween costume all by his little self. AND THERE ARE SOUND EFFECTS.
We are going to be a monkey this year.
Not my first choice, but at least it isn't a cartoon superhero. (I know, I know, that's next year, isn't it? From Walmart, and it's going to fall apart the first time he tries it on. Sigh.) It's okay, but I kinda don't like the fluffy legs. Might have to get a pair of brown tights and fiddle with it. Monkeys don't have big loose skin on their legs.
All his costumes thus far have been ON. Because I am lazy. And I always find the good costumes too late.
So here's last year's, which they have again this year, of course.
See the stupid legs?
So here's what I did...I bought him tights. J made a stink about it, but it was all in good fun and he didn't really care.
Now those are some nice legs!
So what I had liked (and is actually available in his size):
Lil' Lederhosen
First problem, not warm enough for Halloween night. Because here, in October, it will be warm during the day (too warm for heavyish costumes) but cold at night.
Second problem, what do I tell him he is? His friends are running around as animals, rescue workers and superheroes, and he is...German???
(And you must understand that while my name is Heidi, I am not German. Neither J or I have any German ancestry that we are aware of. The Cracker's names are Scottish, Welsh, British and Irish, depending on who you ask.)
(That is why we don't tan. At least not easily.)
Also kinda cute and different: a pilgrim.
(Did I really just say that?)
And Robin Hood. He looks so good in brown and green, and it has tights already, and a darn cute little hat.
But we are a monkey. And we've been wearing it every day since it came home with us Friday night. He's in love. How can I say no to that?
*He didn't.
F.D.O.S.
First Day of School.
Tomorrow.
Yikes.
I'll admit it...I'm bummed. Preschool, even at two days a week, marks the end of an era.
School.
It's the beginning of an end, and if it weren't in his best interests, I wouldn't send him at all.
Yup, call me selfish. I couldn't care less. I'd rather have him with me.
I know I want more "me" time, but not like this.
(Crazy woman.)
No more waking up late, lazily eating breakfast, doing what ever the heck we feel like doing when ever the heck we feel like doing it.
God I hate schedules.
And what the heck will I do with myself? (Besides go to Starbucks.)
My baby is going to have an outside life, a life at school
That's really weird.
The biggest blow? In less than two short years it will be Kindergarten, full day Kindergarten. With uniforms (public school...we think it's weird and that it sux) and backpacks and lunchboxes. And eventually homework.
Yuck.
Where have the last 3 years and 5 months gone?
Tomorrow.
Yikes.
I'll admit it...I'm bummed. Preschool, even at two days a week, marks the end of an era.
School.
It's the beginning of an end, and if it weren't in his best interests, I wouldn't send him at all.
Yup, call me selfish. I couldn't care less. I'd rather have him with me.
I know I want more "me" time, but not like this.
(Crazy woman.)
No more waking up late, lazily eating breakfast, doing what ever the heck we feel like doing when ever the heck we feel like doing it.
God I hate schedules.
And what the heck will I do with myself? (Besides go to Starbucks.)
My baby is going to have an outside life, a life at school
That's really weird.
The biggest blow? In less than two short years it will be Kindergarten, full day Kindergarten. With uniforms (public school...we think it's weird and that it sux) and backpacks and lunchboxes. And eventually homework.
Yuck.
Where have the last 3 years and 5 months gone?
Thursday, August 31, 2006
I Declare Shenanigans
(August 21st)
So while visiting the wonderous Nana and Pappy (formerly know as Mom and Dad) the Cracker always gets away with a list of things that would send him to time out at home. And, okay, I admit it...I kind of allow it. As long as he knows my rules and follows them with me and he doesn't know that I know he knows he's getting away with it when I'm not around I let it slide. I want him to have fun, and I want them to be able to spoil him. Bedtime is a classic example: with us a strict 9pm. (Unless we have guests, in which case we are lazy and always end of regretting not putting him to bed on time as soon as he starts a serious meltdown and swear to never do that again. And then we do.) With the G-parents bedtime is closer to midnight, or whenever he falls asleep standing up. We always take naps at home, but while on vacation I'll let it slide. (I tell myself it's his vacation too.)
The corker is that I often find my dad letting him do things I *never* would have been allowed to get away with in a million years, sometimes right in front of me.
"But he's a little boy!"
Okay.
Last Thursday night it was jumping on the bed...at 10:50pm. My mom was freaking. For her, even for the world's most perfect grandchild, this was not acceptable behavoir. I was hoping that my dad had him cuddled up winding him down, but I was enjoying a Grey's rerun and was happy to let anything going on on the other end of the house slide for another few minutes until it ended at 11.
Suddenly I heard my dad take him to the bathroom. Then my mom came by and all hell broke loose.
I tried to ignore it, there was only a few minutes left and it was the bomb episode, but I could hear my mom sounding panicked.
Crap.
Nana: IS IT ON THE BED?!
Pappy: No. It only got on him.
Ahh...probably just pee, and if not, they can handle a poo.
More panicked Nana sounds.
Okay, getting up now.
Me: Hey, everything okay?
Nana: HE BARFED!!!
Me: NO!
Pappy laughing: He's fine. Just got a little overexcited is all.
Me: MY KID DOESN'T BARF! OMG, DO YOU THINK HE'S SICK?
(leaving tomorrow for the plane ride home)
Pappy: No no no. He had a really big dinner, then drank a lot of water, and he's been jumping on the bed for quite a while... (More laughing) You should have seen his face! Hahaha! He had no idea what had happened! It was hysterical! Hahaha!
Me: OMG! Do you think he's sick? (Yes, I kept asking.)
Pappy: He's fine!
And he was.
So while visiting the wonderous Nana and Pappy (formerly know as Mom and Dad) the Cracker always gets away with a list of things that would send him to time out at home. And, okay, I admit it...I kind of allow it. As long as he knows my rules and follows them with me and he doesn't know that I know he knows he's getting away with it when I'm not around I let it slide. I want him to have fun, and I want them to be able to spoil him. Bedtime is a classic example: with us a strict 9pm. (Unless we have guests, in which case we are lazy and always end of regretting not putting him to bed on time as soon as he starts a serious meltdown and swear to never do that again. And then we do.) With the G-parents bedtime is closer to midnight, or whenever he falls asleep standing up. We always take naps at home, but while on vacation I'll let it slide. (I tell myself it's his vacation too.)
The corker is that I often find my dad letting him do things I *never* would have been allowed to get away with in a million years, sometimes right in front of me.
"But he's a little boy!"
Okay.
Last Thursday night it was jumping on the bed...at 10:50pm. My mom was freaking. For her, even for the world's most perfect grandchild, this was not acceptable behavoir. I was hoping that my dad had him cuddled up winding him down, but I was enjoying a Grey's rerun and was happy to let anything going on on the other end of the house slide for another few minutes until it ended at 11.
Suddenly I heard my dad take him to the bathroom. Then my mom came by and all hell broke loose.
I tried to ignore it, there was only a few minutes left and it was the bomb episode, but I could hear my mom sounding panicked.
Crap.
Nana: IS IT ON THE BED?!
Pappy: No. It only got on him.
Ahh...probably just pee, and if not, they can handle a poo.
More panicked Nana sounds.
Okay, getting up now.
Me: Hey, everything okay?
Nana: HE BARFED!!!
Me: NO!
Pappy laughing: He's fine. Just got a little overexcited is all.
Me: MY KID DOESN'T BARF! OMG, DO YOU THINK HE'S SICK?
(leaving tomorrow for the plane ride home)
Pappy: No no no. He had a really big dinner, then drank a lot of water, and he's been jumping on the bed for quite a while... (More laughing) You should have seen his face! Hahaha! He had no idea what had happened! It was hysterical! Hahaha!
Me: OMG! Do you think he's sick? (Yes, I kept asking.)
Pappy: He's fine!
And he was.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
What else?
Cracker's First Halloween, 2003
7 months old
Of course he was a pumpkin!
(Costume Old Navy, but instead of the loose fitting black fleece body suit underneath I did white wiggle pants and long sleeve shirt from Baby Gap. That was just lame of them.)
Two things I remember:
1) He was obsessed with his shoe laces and wouldn't look at me (or the camera) and this is one of the few pictures where you could see his face. I also attempted to take pictures outside of Whole Foods with their pumpkins but after I took away his shoes he decided that hay was even more fascinating.*
2) I was really hoping that he wouldn't fall off the bench. I made more than one quick save that day.
Shoe laces and hay? Where has the time gone? Every time I turned around today he had his face planted in his food coming up only to say: "Mommymommymommy! Look me! I is a dog!" I dare you to try convincing him otherwise.
* Here's another which I call "Pissed Off Pumpkin" (He was a little ticked that Mommy had taken him into her arms away from the hay.)
7 months old
Of course he was a pumpkin!
(Costume Old Navy, but instead of the loose fitting black fleece body suit underneath I did white wiggle pants and long sleeve shirt from Baby Gap. That was just lame of them.)
Two things I remember:
1) He was obsessed with his shoe laces and wouldn't look at me (or the camera) and this is one of the few pictures where you could see his face. I also attempted to take pictures outside of Whole Foods with their pumpkins but after I took away his shoes he decided that hay was even more fascinating.*
2) I was really hoping that he wouldn't fall off the bench. I made more than one quick save that day.
Shoe laces and hay? Where has the time gone? Every time I turned around today he had his face planted in his food coming up only to say: "Mommymommymommy! Look me! I is a dog!" I dare you to try convincing him otherwise.
* Here's another which I call "Pissed Off Pumpkin" (He was a little ticked that Mommy had taken him into her arms away from the hay.)
Signs of Fall
I have a pumpkin fetish, inherited from my mom. Every year, because they get pumpkins a few weeks earlier than we do, she buys me more than a few and then sends them off to La La Land PRIORITY MAIL.
We are sick.
(Mostly minis, but also sugar pumpkins, you know, the kind for baking?)
(My dad is a very understanding man.)
So when a little something squashy voluntarily started growing out of the compost pile six weeks ago I figured it was awesome because either it was A) a pumpkin vine or B) zucchini. Worst case scenario: I could make lotsa zucchini muffins for the Cracker if I could get over theygrewfromapileofrottingveggiesandfruit issue.
July 30th What is it? The suspense is going to kill me!
Ummm...so yeah, that's last year's Christmas tree it's growing on. We threw it in the backyard and then kinda forgot to get rid of it. Oops. It blew around the yard for a few months (we suck) before I decided that it would be a good improvised wall for the compost pile. Go me! But all is well because now it has a purpose. This was week two. (Week one not so interesting, just two leaves.)
August 25th Oh yeah baby! It's a vine alright!
In order to not have a beautiful vine grow on an ugly old brown Christmas tree I went to Home Depot and bought and clipper thingamabob made for cutting off dead tree branches and left just the trunk.
And flowers? Score! (Those become pumpkins ya know.)
Still August 25th Holy shit it's a pumpkin! (But for some reason it makes me have dirty thoughts. J says it's because it's fuzzy. I didn't know that pumpkins started out fuzzy.)
And it's so little and cute!
August 29th, SAME pumpkin 4 days later Guessing now that it's not the mini variety.
I have two this size, and quite a few tiny ones and a ton more flowers. The vine is still growing, and if it takes over the yard I will be thrilled.
Mom is making the rounds of every produce department in the county and is positive she will have something in the mail by the end of the week. She also got me 5 different varieties of seeds so that I can try for more. I plan on trying just one or two seeds from each and saving the rest for next year. Damn I'm excited!
We are sick.
(Mostly minis, but also sugar pumpkins, you know, the kind for baking?)
(My dad is a very understanding man.)
So when a little something squashy voluntarily started growing out of the compost pile six weeks ago I figured it was awesome because either it was A) a pumpkin vine or B) zucchini. Worst case scenario: I could make lotsa zucchini muffins for the Cracker if I could get over theygrewfromapileofrottingveggiesandfruit issue.
July 30th What is it? The suspense is going to kill me!
Ummm...so yeah, that's last year's Christmas tree it's growing on. We threw it in the backyard and then kinda forgot to get rid of it. Oops. It blew around the yard for a few months (we suck) before I decided that it would be a good improvised wall for the compost pile. Go me! But all is well because now it has a purpose. This was week two. (Week one not so interesting, just two leaves.)
August 25th Oh yeah baby! It's a vine alright!
In order to not have a beautiful vine grow on an ugly old brown Christmas tree I went to Home Depot and bought and clipper thingamabob made for cutting off dead tree branches and left just the trunk.
And flowers? Score! (Those become pumpkins ya know.)
Still August 25th Holy shit it's a pumpkin! (But for some reason it makes me have dirty thoughts. J says it's because it's fuzzy. I didn't know that pumpkins started out fuzzy.)
And it's so little and cute!
August 29th, SAME pumpkin 4 days later Guessing now that it's not the mini variety.
I have two this size, and quite a few tiny ones and a ton more flowers. The vine is still growing, and if it takes over the yard I will be thrilled.
Mom is making the rounds of every produce department in the county and is positive she will have something in the mail by the end of the week. She also got me 5 different varieties of seeds so that I can try for more. I plan on trying just one or two seeds from each and saving the rest for next year. Damn I'm excited!
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