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!"


Last Thursday night it was jumping on the 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.


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.
(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.)

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! 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!

Sunday, August 20, 2006




J's response: You're going to put a pig with nipples on the wall?

(HELLO?! It like totally matches our copper bottomed pans!)

Me, last holiday season, at Williams Sonoma: Do you have copper molds?*
Employee avec stick in ass: WE, don't sell, JELL-O products. Try WALMART.

(Well apparently, like, Sur La Table does, so I stick my tongue out at you nine months too late from the sanctuary of my own home. So there! And no link for you!)

*Which reminds me of the time that J decided to try to get me an anniversary gift. Out of complete desperation and lack of imagination (he'd tried nothing and was all out of ideas) he made his first stop Hallmark. Because, you know, Hallmark reminds him of getting laid, because every time he gets me a card, which is maybe once every 3 years, he does.

So the ladies took pity and gave him a handy dandy wallet thing stating that "pottery and copper" are the traditional 8th anniversary gifts. Score!

(Yeah, I had to look up what anniversary it was. Like I'd know.)

So J headed down to Williams Sonoma and asked for assistance locating something copper for his old lady. They showed him All-Clad, and not the copper bottomed stuff, the fully copper stuff.

"Yeah. Do you have something...umm...maybe that's not $300 dollars?"

"Did you know that the make pans that cost $300 dollars!? For like just a single little pan!?"
"Yeah. We sold that stuff when I worked at Crate & Barrel."
"Holy shit! Wait...holyshit! Our pans have copper looking stuff on the bottom too! Am I making grilled cheese on $300 pans? Is that why you get so mad when I burn one?"
"No, I get mad because you don't care AND because you leave it for me to try to scrub (for hours) back from the grave. (And then I end up having to toss it anyway.)
"Phew! I was sweating!"
(Really? Because I'm not. I was sweating when I was trying to save the darn thing, but now I'd say I'm more...umm...steaming?)

So what did I get for our 8th wedding anniversary?

"Will you give me head?"

Apparently J thinks that he gets credit for the idea even if he brings nothing home. (He tried and failed. What do you think he was going to do? Try again? No.)

"But he got you a card, right? He was AT Hallmark."



Nana, amazing woman that she is, has fully embraced and excelled at shopping for boy toys. She rocks.

This semi comes complete with forklift (which stores at the rear...see the red one on the back of the blue truck? AND (wait for it...) a little teeny tiny little pallet. Even I want to play with it.


Okay, so this isn't what he got. This was 50 bucks, and I was the one spending. (Nana wasn't around.) What he got was a green recycle bin (tee hee hee...a little one just like our stinky big one, with WHEELS!...aww) that included a refuse worker, a cat, tiny (already lost) fish carcass, a broom and a shovel for $3.99.

The Cracker is IN LOVE. The recycle bin is "so sweet!"

And now for the pièce de résistance:


Cheap AND imported!

(This totally helps the fact that my once unique Crocs are now mainstream.)
(They also had hot pink.)

Response from one day (today) on the town has been very positive, though I got tired of being approached after a while because I had a lot of errands and no time for Starbucks. And then there was a guy restocking at Walmart who said "Hahaha...does it spill out money or just water? BAHAHAHAHA! (I am the funniest motherfucker ever!!!)" The coworker he was trying to impress was not amused.




But alas, sigh, they are discontinued and I can't find them anywhere online new. (A pair just popped up on Ebay today, but they look much more yellow and the person who is selling them said they were too big, so I fear the size might be off on that particular pair.) I originally found them in this great clog shop I love that's been there forever and all they had left was a 36 and a 40. I'm 99.9% sure I need a 39, but the 40s were way too big.

These shoes? OMG how I yearn for these shoes. I am devastated that I didn't find them earlier. I have been looking for good looking closed back cow print clogs for years (no kidding...I don't joke about fugly shoes) and these weren't cow, but they were perfect. Comfy, black and white animal print, but not zebra.

I didn't walk away from the clog shop empty handed. I did pay way too much (even for full price) for an exact duplicate of my all time favorite Birki's that were discontinued 4 years ago that broke a few months back. I'd show them to you, but then you'd see that one of my all time favorite most worn pair of shoes is totally bland color wise, and you'd no longer respect me.

My mom also ordered me a new pair of Keen Seattles in Olive from REI, because both my red and black ones are so stinkydisgustingnasty from over wear that I can't wear them anymore unless I know for sure that no one will ever make me take off my shoes and I can shower immediately upon taking them off.

As much as I love shoes, I don't normally get more than a couple of pairs a year so this was pretty big for me, or even this much other good loot because I am a cheap bastard. (Well, except for the shoes.) So I'll live.

It's only complete silence that I fear


Lazy Mommy in the other room: Are you okay?

Cracker: Yes Mommy!

Lazy Mommy in the other room: Be careful!

(Two minutes later)

(Followed by sound of metal hitting hard flooring and spinning to a stop)

Cracker: Mommy!

Lazy Mommy contemplates getting up, heart rate accelerating ever so slightly but not breaking into a sweat: Yes?

Cracker: Me is otay.............again.

Saturday, August 19, 2006


The Cracker and Not-Bob, May 2006
(Yes, he's still a blondie, but his hair is wet as it was nearly 100 degrees out and I didn't think it was all that worth it to piss him off with a hair dryer.)

I'm Baaack

Since it's an ungodly hour I'll make this quick.

I just returned a few hours ago from a visit with my parents (aka perfect Grandparents) in freeze your ass off in August foggy California. I can't for the life of me tell you when I left except that it was last week the same night that the news broke about the whole terror plot thing. I know this because we couldn't get our luggage. No one was getting luggage, and it is a pretty darn friggin big airport which meant not a pretty sight. Instead they sent out some poor woman to with a megaphone to tell thousands (pretty sure I'm not exaggerating on this one) of people overflowing the luggage carousels that they couldn't get our luggage unloaded because everyone had been re-ass-igned to outgoing duties so that they could get planes off the ground. It was hours. And of course, we didn't know that afternoon why, just that it sucked.

I wasn't too worried about the coming back today, just because the Cracker and I qualify in my book as seasoned travelers. In his 3 years, 4 and a half months the Cracker has experienced 39 take offs and landings. (Yes, I've kept track.) Tonight's trip? Paid for with our frequent flier miles, which ain't bad when we've only been actually buying him seats since he turned 2 and could no longer go for free. And of course I count each take off and landing because not only have most of our flights been direct (minus two trips to Hawaii paid for by the above credit where credit is due here, which required 3 t and l's each way) but except for Hawaii where J came along too I have done all of these BY MYSELF. And of course, when J did come, he was totally useless. That means installing the car seat (or gate checking it last minute when they didn't have an extra seat and he was a lap babe) and keeping him totally happy 39 times. That totally counts.

I have a system. (It involves a Maclaren with double it's weight limit, a car seat and all the necessary take-on crap to keep a kid amused with a 30 second attention span stuffed into one barely fits under the seat carry on. Quite the delicate balance.) And damn I am good. I float through the airport with ease, toddler and all, and it's friggin graceful. I bring too much checked baggage too, but I still make it look so damn easy. There was even the time last October when the Cracker chewed off the nub the only pacifier I had with me on the way to the airport which meant going from 24-7 use to none on a plane and I still didn't have a single issue.

No shit.


Tonight, hell no.

Check in was horrible. The lines were long, out the door and to the curb long, and one asshole after the next kept cutting until I got all bitch ass on them. And as I attempt to shelf check with the little computer I find that I can't access the Cracker's reservation so we have to get a person, which is, like, not easy.

Then my parents remind an overtired Cracker that they won't see him for a whole 'nother 3 weeks. And he's 3. So he I had to carry him kicking and screaming through long ass security lines while he struggles as hard as possible to get out of my arms and make a break back to a watching Nana and Pappy who he thinks love him more than I do because they let him stay up until midnight. And he's had a runny nose the entire time we've been gone, I'm wearing black, he's wearing black, and so we're now both wearing a lot of visible snot. And then he saw everyone taking off their shoes and he flipped. I'm still holding him, he's squirming, the snot is not helping my grip, and he's screaming bloody murder style "ME NO TAKE OFF MY YOUSE!!! (youse = shoes) MY YOUSE!!! MY YOUSE!!!" 30lbs dangling over my only free arm, he's bent in half and pretty much upside down, but has still some how managed to grab a hold of both of his feet and isn't about to let go of his youse. Miraculously I didn't drop him on his head, and still managed to get my laptop out of it's case, take off my belt, get the big ass bag up on the x-ray thinger, and the car seat, take off my own shoes, collapse the stroller and whip it up, and then peel his fingers off his shoes one by one and get the suckers off while he kicks me in the shins and knees me in the stomach. (Hurray for flabby abs!) And then the belt stops. It reverses at a frightful speed, all my stuff gets knocked around and comes as close to falling off as possible with out actually falling off, and then repeats as soon as I have it all unclumped again. AND THEN the x-ray lady yells at me, telling me I'm holding up the line by not shoving my stuff through faster. Hello Biotch. I am standing there, waiting for the last person's stuff to move forward enough so mine can go through, but it can't yet unless I start piling it on top of the previous person's crap. "THE BELT DOESN'T SUCK IT UP! YOU NEED TO FEED IT IN!!!" Fuck you. There is an inch of space between my first item and the item in front of it, and I haven't walked us through the metal detector yet because I'm waiting for her to get that shit out of my way. "It's not mine." "IT DOESN'T MATTER! YOU'RE HOLDING UP THE LINE!!!"

Go buy a dildo. Seriously. Get laid.

Finally through, I piece us back together and my belt can't wait because everyone in line behind me has already seen my black lace Target panties the Cracker is still screaming, and still trying to get the hell away from me.

Finally get to the gate, which of course is in another time zone, and then find out it's delayed. And of course they lie about how delayed it is, so instead of taking him for a walk to keep him happy where we will have a view of airplanes unlike at this gate where there are people everywhere because the two planes leaving before ours at the same gate are also not yet in, we sit like chumps with no airplane view because I believe them every time they announce we'll be boarding in 20 minutes even though there is no plane, or even an announcement that the plane is on approach. Which now means there is no chance we'll get in before midnight.

We finally get on and grace is so not on my side. I preboard, but the regular no child with them people are sent on my heals since we are late. And so I hold everyone up as I try to break down the stroller and get my child to carry his own little bag which he insisted on bringing but now refuses to hold. We are blocking everyone. And remember the late part? I've got a car seat, the big ass bag of my own with all his stuff and a laptop. And then he decides to take off his jacket too.

Oh goodie. More things for me to hold.

I finally squeeze to one side just enough to let people by, but then we've actually got to get on, and I'm holding everything we've ever owned.

(And because I know you're wondering...what is in that gigantic carry on?
-beach trash paperback for me
-various hardcovers for him (why can't they make Tonka's version of Where's Waldo in paperback?)
-Night-night blankie, the Cracker's most prized possession, which was my most favorite as a toddler too. My mom made it for me in the most amazingly soft (and undboubtfully flammable though not polyester) 70s fabrics that you could never find now and if the airline lost it in our checked baggage we'd surely parish.
-The Cracker's favorite stuffed animal, a horse name Not-Bob. (He needed a name, and after at least a dozen which were deemed uncool enough for a horse that he uses as a body pillow between his legs and likes to pee on, I stupidly suggested Bob. In his mom-your-such-an-idiot voice was informed that "Bahb" is most certainly NOT a horse. He's a BUILDER. When Not-Bob isn't getting pissed on, the Cracker likes to hurl him by a hind leg at ceiling fans and ceiling mounted light fixtures. (And J was afraid that having "babies" even of the farm animal variety was too girly...)
-a fleece for us both
-a days worth of potty supplies including extra pants, in case we get stuck
-crayons and coloring book, which last all of 40 seconds
-one toy airplane, one toy truck or car, and one toy tow truck
-my purse
Yeah, that's it.)

So back to holding everyone up at the door. Now he doesn't feel like walking. (The kid who takes 3 mile hilly hikes and begs for more doesn't feel like it, so he doesn't. He wants me to carry him. You get this is NOT an option, right?) He just stands there. So I'm pleading "walk, damn you, walk" while we hold up boarding some more. Then I am already over anxious, trying to keep us moving, and our big ass Cowmooflage Marathon is stuck on something and I can't figure out what. Jeez, all I'm trying to do is make it to the second row. (SW open seating...I am their biggest fan.)

Once we're in our chosen row, he's happy. It's an airplane, so what's not to be happy about?

I already knew water would be a problem, since I took their word for it and didn't bring any bottled on board, which I have decided was a crock since they weren't checking. And the Cracker? It's really all he drinks. On a single two hour plane ride he will consume no less than 28 ounces. I am at the mercy of the drink service. (Dude, take the bottled water. They aren't looking at the gate. Sadly I'm not all that scared of airport security. What a rebel I am.)

Which reminds me...things YOU CAN bring aboard from checking with the TSA's site this morning:

cigar cutters
"up to 4 oz. of essential non-prescription liquid..including KY jelly"
and gel-filled bras.

And to think I went flat chested in a Target bra that matched the above mentioned panties when I could have worn Victoria Secrets.

Because of turbulence we are late placing our orders. And then they serve cute salty airplane shaped crackers first, and he eats both of our bags before drinks come around. And because I don't want to be a bother, even a pleading toddler asking for water won't make me actually ask. Screaming, maybe, but we don't scream on airplanes.

Thank God.

And I'm not going to get him airplane bathroom water no matter how desperate I am because EEW.

So the nice flight attendant fills up his 9 ounce sippy and he downs it in less than 30 seconds and hands it back with a "more please."

But she's gone.

So graceful? Not tonight. Not even kinda. I looked like the biggest, stupidest rookie ever, and I'm just hoping no one on the plane actually knew me.

I did acquire some fun new stuff on my trip that I will have to share with you later. Fun quirky stuff, and new shoes!

Friday, August 04, 2006

Not for Mixed Company

Early afternoon on our way to play Trains! and read People Magazine at Barnes & Noble

"Look Mommy look! Is Daddy's whore!"
"Ssss-tore. STORE!"
"Yes is Daddy's whore!"
"What STORE is Daddy's STORE?"
"Ummm...ummm...ummm...ummm...Bes(t) Buy! Bes Buy is Daddy's whore!"