What turns you on?

I am already an online gaming widow, but I still can't help but get turned on by the idea of J taking that electric guitar of his and starting a band. This is just a fantasy. Because if he ever made me into a band widow I'd kick him. Hard.

Years ago I innocently came up with a new name for J's favorite music genre: Semi Angry Adult Contemporary. It was the subtitle to a mix CD that I named "Pissed On." (Know you, better to be pissed off than pissed on? I am so lame.) This is what they'd play. And a little more contemporary stuff too. You know, anything from the 1990s. (For the record, I am 28 and J is 31? I could do the math, but it's 5 o'clock somewhere.) You know the kind of music I'm talking about if you ever wore Docs or were turned on by ripped flannel. Yes, the Seattle grunge thing. Know what I wore? Ripped jeans made for someone 50 pounds bigger than me (Oh wait! My current size!) Docs, with a frumpy skirt or dress OVER the jeans. And because I lived in label conscious California, it wasn't just any frumpy dress you could pick up at the Paccholi store even though we had plenty of those around. No, I wore frumpy dresses and skirts from LAURA FRIGGIN ASHLEY. (That really is her middle name btw.) Ooh! Don't forget the little black over priced wallet from Pacific Sun with a heavy weight dog chain attached. You know, in case anyone tried to steal you library card and babysitting money? I may have gone to public school, but most of the kids were much more concerned with the fact that the brand new $40K car they'd gotten for their 16th birthday was the wrong color.

Why bring this up now? Last night while the Cracker was still sobbing because an elderly neighbor (that he normally loves) had the balls to wave at him on our walk to the mailbox, it hit me. I named the fantasy band!

Cubed. Except you wouldn't spell it out, just have a little superscript 3.

Okay, you're not laughing. But I swear it's clever! J is an Engineer, not super nerdy, but still an Engineer. And when he's not at home in front of his gaming computer, he's in a cube.

J nearly peed his pants, which is good, because while we still find each other outrageously snort-Coke-out-your-nose funny, even our oldest and dearest friends are starting to just nod uh huh and ignore our messages.

"So some dork would go into a music store and say I'm looking for Cubed, but it's not under the Cs?"
"Ohmygod! Yes!"
"And the lowly clerk would be like Get the hell out of my store!"
"You are so my soul mate!"

And the clever part is that the last word anyone would ever use to describe me is nerd, but J has rubbed off on me a little. My dad is also an Engineer. And while I'm bored, I can follow his technical conversations better than any other Engineer's wife I know. I can even ask meaningful questions and accurately point out a stupid mistake made by a tech in the lab before J has the chance to tell me.

Rather than use and, because and parentheses a million time like I normally do (it’s they typing diahreah I can’t seem to shake…you know, being able to type faster than you can think) here’s a list to paint you a picture of my sexy man:

-tall and thin with glasses
-1 tattoo soon to become 2
-looks like he could jump on a mountain bike and go jump piles of dirt with the pros
-can name a Phish song
-watches The Daily Show, South Park, Simpsons, Family Guy
-enjoys the occasional microbrew
-pierced his ear cartilage in a romantic date with me back in 1996, which has since grown out. It was his first carilage piercing, my second, also now grown out.
-which brings me to finds my nose piercing sexy
-favorite t-shirt is a tie between Optimus Prime (from the Transformers) drawn ghetto style and one that says Engineerd
-wears Birkenstocks (no black socks, thank God)
-played Ultimate Frisbee in college
-most importantly, has social skills

And the stuff I've already mentioned:
-plays electric guitar
-listens to Semi Angry Adult Contemporary
-online gaming phreak

Sadly, he still can't always be left to dress himself. Most days the Cracker and I are up before he is (which of course makes me curse him) but on the rare occasion he's dressed and gone before I am up, he always makes a Engineer fashion no-no.

The last one? Ooh...this was good.

Beige shoes.
Black and charcoal stripped socks.
Dark brown seuded dress pants.
Shiny black belt.
Wife beater.
Light gray distressed polo shirt, and distressed as in not a work shirt because brand new it still looked like a river rock had wailed on it

And now for the cherry: he's a red head!

Even as a teenager, I've never found most of the Hollywood leading men attractive. Brad Pit...no. Tom Cruise, in Top Gun, before the creepiness...hell no. Dermot Mulroney, who almost ruined Wedding Date for me, and who keeps popping up in every chick flick I rent lately...oh so creepy! In the world of music...New Kids on the Block? Wise beyond my years on that one.

Which brings me now to my short list of men I find attractive:
Topher Grace
Sharif Atkins
Matt Czuchry
Billy Joe Armstrong (now there's a guy who can pull off eye makeup!)
Patrick Dempsey (but who doesn't love him now?)
UPDATING TO ADD --> Jon Stewart (how the heck did I forget him??? I love this man!)
Hugh Jackman
Colin Firth

And because of the last two, whom J has decided are British because they have non-American accents, he tells everyone that I love Hugh Grant. Eew...no.

The Big Three

It happened. I survived. We partied the following Sunday.

Everything went well except the food. Normally when we have people over, I make more than any of our guests could possibly eat. Then try as we might to finish it over the next few days I still end up tossing most of it. This time I decided to cut back, but sadly the poor dad who served himself last ended up not getting a hot dog, which he would have liked, and then a bunless hamburger. To make matters worse, all the kids had a hamburger bun, had taken a bite, and then left it for trash. And we even had a last minute cancellation from a family of four. Wow, I really goofed.

Then there was the cake situation. The Cracker and I couldn't choose between a Tonka Truck cake or the Little People Farm cake, so instead we ordered a small one of each instead of one big one.

There were two Tonka construction cakes to choose from, one lame one, one cool one. So I steered him towards the non-lame one and they of course made the lame one. It still had trucks though, so the Cracker was happy with it. Me, however, I was disappointed. You see, the cool one looked like something Martha Stewart's handlers would have done. The other one was just kinda tacky. (The frosting was unnatural and very scary looking.) AND they spelled his name wrong. Fine. Whatever. So they brought out the LP cake. It was LP, but instead of being a farm theme, it was general "Little People Have a Birthday Party" themed. And this did matter, because the Cracker loves LP and he loves farms. When we placed the order a few days earlier in person with the decorator she even checked to make sure that they had the right pieces, the cow, the farmer, and then put them in a bag with our name on it. Sigh.
















The guy at the bakery felt bad. The order forms were right in front of him, and he could see that they were indeed the wrong cakes and that his name was spelled wrong on the truck cake. He didn't do the decorating, the woman who took our order 2 days earlier did. Ugh. Me? I excell at baking, even creative decorating, but for some reason I have never been able to do anything decent with a tube of frosting. So the nice man offered to try to fix it. He got the right figurines, made balloons into trees, and generally did the best he could. Then he gave me a free Chai and knocked the customization fee off the price of the cakes. I almost hugged him.

Other than that, all went well. The Cracker got amazingly thoughtful gifts, and had a great time with his peeps.

The funniest darn thing I've seen in a long time

You'll appreciate it if you've ever had anyone in your life who likes video games a little too much. (Raising hand here!) It starts out a little slow, but stick with it. I guarentee it's worth it.

Tripod performing "Make You Happy Tonight"

Potty Update

3 pees, 1 poo, all in the same day!

First Movie, Part 2

Well, we did it. We took the Craker to see his first big screen flick.

The short version was it was a success.

And if you care to keep reading, the L-O-N-G version: since J and I don't date anymore, I had forgotten how darn expensive it can be to go to the movies at night. Tickets for 3 (no kiddie discounts? WTF! He's 2! Doesn't the world owe me something for nothing?) and J didn't want to share popcorn with him. It cost like a gazillion dollars. And while we skimp on the drinks and J and I share a miniscule drink along with really salty snacks, you just can't skimp on the popcorn. I mean it was his first time. And he's never had popcorn before, because of the whole you can choke and die thing.

Being taking-our-2-year-old-to-the-movies virgins, we didn't anticipate the fact that Cracker, at a mere 29lbs, would not be heavy enough to keep the seat from trying to fold up on him. We get into the theatre early and immediately we can see that this is going to be an issue for the entire flick. Right before George comes on, I spot a woman a few rows behind me with a little kid and some sort of booster seat. "Wow, that's great!" I tell her. "Where did you get that? Can you rent them here, or did you bring it from home? We totally need one of those!" Instead of being a sympathetic mommy colleague she is disgusted with my total-idiot-taking-my-2-year-old-to-the-movies-virgin-self. "They are right there!" and she points off behind her. "Where?" Ugh. "Right THERE, NEAR THE DOOR!" Huh? What? Where? So after getting up and surfing through the crowd I find no less than 100 of these magic boosters right inside the door waiting to be used and for free. I literally must have tripped over them on the way in. But still, it is so much to ask that veterans not look down at the rest of us? We've all been that mom once.

Now the seat folding on my child problem...solved. And while he's not too happy about sitting, the popcorn is buttery gold, and he's having the time of his life even if he doesn't want to be there.

But then, the movie starts, and the Cracker is immediately in love with Curious George. Infatuated. Total success! He doesn't blink, he doesn't twitch, he doesn't move...at all. J and I get bored and start waving fingers in front of his face. The only sign he's still alive is that he strains his neck to the side because we're obstructing his view of the gigantic screen.

On the way home what does he ask to eat? Nananas. The one fruit he has never really taken to. But hey, if it's good enough for a monkey...

First Movie, Part 1

Me: J, I've thought of the perfect thing that we can do tonight as a family!
J: Huh?
Me: I've thought of the perfect thing that we can do tonight as a family!
J: Okay...
Me: And you can even SLEEP the entire time and still get credit!
J: Okay... (scared now)
Me: We can take the Cracker to see his first movie! Curious George!
J: Isn't this opening weekend?
Me: (Mumbling)
J: Didn't it just open this week?
Me: ALL THE MOMS ON THE INTERNET ARE DOING IT! I'm so excited that I'm getting in the mood.
J: Get your coat.

For all of you on pins and needles

We got the magic call today...we're enrolled officially in preschool for the fall! It was a terrible, exhaustive search, and I actually thought it might kill me. After every visit to a promising candidate I'd get terribly disappointed, thinking that maybe what I had in mind just wasn't out there. And then I found IT, the preschool of my dreams! And then I spent weeks wondering if they'd have room for us, and what the heck would I do if they didn't? The only thing that kept me sane was the fact that we were first in line on the list for new students.

All this for 2.5 hours a day 2 days a week. Sheesh.

BUT WE'RE IN! WE'RE IN!

(Now my deposit check just better not get lost in the mail...)

Best New Phrase of the Week

"HAY GUCK" as in a truck that transports hay...duh.

According to the Cracker, cows and "orses" eat hay, but no one else at the "E-I-E-O" does.

And for those of you who didn't already know, ducks are NOT birds. They're DUCKS. They swim in the water, but they do not fly because they are not birds and they are not airplanes. And if you happen to see a duck fly as the Cracker has on numerous occasions, well, you deny it over and over, because who likes to be wrong?

And so our newest expression is "When ducks fly!"

Pie?

Breakfast is always yogurt since my dear son still refuses to drink milk. YoBaby, our brand of choice, comes packaged in three different flavor combos: apple and blueberry, pear and peach, or banana and vanilla. The Cracker decided a few months back that he only eats banana and vanilla.

So every morning I ask for Your Majesty's choice...banana or vanilla, pronounced by the Cracker as "nanana" and "fower" (because you know vanilla is a flower and not just a bean, or at least there is a picture of a flower on the package, so go with me on this one.) Usually we start with "nanana" and then move to a "fower" and then for #3 it's totally up in the air. But this morning I was told "No nanana, no fower. Me...eat...pie!" Yeah, I don't think so.

There is no pie in my house. The only time there is ever pie in my house is when my parent's visit twice a year. Other than that, you will not find pie here. J doesn't like pie, and I don't want to eat a whole one myself. My tushie doesn't need that.

Toddlers never forget. It's pretty creepy.

3

WARNING: Sentimental Mommy Post

Before the Cracker was born the number 3 never had any significance in my life - it was just another number. If you had pushed me about the number 3 I would have told you about how my aunt gave me an "I'm Three" necklace for my third birthday (Carrie Bradshaw style) which instantly became one of my most prized possessions until I accidentally swallowed it. My poor mom actually had to watch for it to pass, dig it out, disinfect it with only God-knows-what and give it right back to me. (And of course it was still one of my most prized possessions because what 3 year old would care that it had been part of a number 2.)

But all that changed when after 42 weeks and 1 day of gestation, the Cracker entered the big wide world on 3.30.2003.

And tonight it hit me, really hit me...my little boy, gulp, is about to turn 3.

I feel like crying.

Adult birthdays are supposed to be hard. The grand majority of the population either ignores them or gets depressed. But I never realized how hard this birthday was going to be.

Subconsciously, I realize I've been preparing for it since mid October. Two weeks after he officially turned 2 1/2 I changed from "he's almost 2 1/2" to "he's going to be 3." Nice strangers would kindly inquire "oh, when's his birthday?" Me: "Umm...March." Crazy lady! Doesn't she know that's 5 months from now?

I am a stay-at-home mom. Not right for everyone, but right for us. 99% of his awake time has been spent with me. The Cracker is unrequitedly attached to only four people in the world...me, J, and his grandparents Nana and Pappy. The end result is that those four people are his world, and he and I are best friends.

We don't hire babysitters. Money spent on childcare thus far...$0, no kidding. (Admittedly, not the healthiest thing we've ever done for our marriage, but we've still got the love.) We have no family in town. Including dragging J on an all day trip through Ikea, we've probably had 5 dates since he was born, most of which have lasted less than 4 hours. Locally, when I've needed help, my mommy friends will have him over for a play date. Those adults though, in his mind, are his friend's moms, not his friends.

You get the idea, right?

Suddenly he's almost 3, and man, that's depressing. It's not that I want to wish him all the way back to infancy permanently. Those times were precious, so sweet and dreamy, and I'd never trade those memories for anything. But honestly, toddlerhood kicks their ass. Watching a little person search so hard to find out who they want to be, all the while having an unbreakable sense of self, knowing exactly who they are in that moment. (Hmmm...we're going to story time at the library? I think I'll wear my $2.99 red plastic fireman's hat, a Thomas the Tank t-shirt under my chicken costume from last Halloween, and my bear slippers. Yup, that works!)

So as he runs full steam through toddlerhood, constantly chasing after independence, he always comes back to me looking for grounding when the world gets too big and scary. I'm not just his mother; I'm his tour guide, his constant companion, and occasionally the big cheese that gives him time-outs. Hell, in the eyes of an almost 3 year old I actually know it all, or can at least fudge a damn good answer. But still, more than anything, we are best friends. Flame me for saying it, but it's the strongest bond you'll ever experience and if you haven't been there for yourself there just isn't any way to explain it to you. And I know how lucky I've been. At the adventurous age of almost 3, it's rare to find a little guy who still *needs* insane numbers of hugs, kisses and at least an hour of pure unadulterated cuddle time each day. No matter what gets him down a hug from me always solves it.

So what makes me sad about 3 is that I know this time is coming to an end. As much as I want to deny it with my whole heart, I know that in another 3 years, when he's 6, I will no longer be his best friend. My little boy will no longer try to stall my leaving for 45 minutes of alone time at the grocery store with a thousand "bye-bye mommas" and an even greater number of hugs and kisses. Instead of my cutting it off with "I love you with all my heart...you're making me laugh! But I'm really leaving now...Seriously! I am! Just as soon as I stop laughing and get one last hug" I'll be the one trying to squeeze out another moment.

And that breaks my heart.

The Potty Update

A few nights ago, after a bath, the Cracker was running around nekkid for all of 5 minutes while we hunted down all the junk it takes to get the Cracker to bed.

*diaper
*diaper insert for extra absorbency
*waterproof pants (no leaks here!)
*jammies
*undershirt
*socks
*tooth brush
*tooth paste
*vitamins
*clean-ish sippy cup of water
*favorite blankie, aka night-night blankie
*favorite stuffed animals
*blankies for favorite stuffed animals

Normally one of us gets it together while the other watches him in the bath, but we were both far too lazy.

So, the Cracker is running around nekkid, goes into our office/music room, and turns on J's keyboard and starts to play. (Totally sidetracking here, but oh my God, I just have to tell you how cute it is! He sings too! Current favorites include his own version of the alphabet song, Old McDonald Had a Farm, and an original piece about Nana and Pappy going home on an airplane.) Anyway, after a minute of playing he just lets loose and starts peeing on the carpeted floor...the carpet in our 7 month old house. I let out a yelp, and he immediately stops. "Sweetie, we pee on the potty, not on the floor!" With a serious face he says "Uh oh. Oh no Momma. (And now giggling) Eeeew!"

And, of course, I am totally out of Resolve since the cats have been gacking all friggin week, forcing me to unearth the steam cleaner from the disaster we call our garage. (But we can get both cars in, a feat of which we are immensely proud.)

We quickly usher him to his own little potty, and after a few minutes of funny faces and deep thought, he finishes what he started. "Mommy is so proud of you! You went pee in the potty! Hooray!" And of course, if you pee in the potty at my house, you get a cookie. "J, where is that box of vanilla wafers? I have to give him a cookie! Right now! He went pee on the potty! Where are they? Find them!" "Uh, I ate them..." And so, out of desperation, we gave him an Oreo. Nothing like giving your child a cookie right before bed with the only natural ingredient being sugar, don't cha think?

Sadly, as with the two previous pees in the potty since October, it was just another isolated achievement.

And that, my friends, is this month's potty update.

Picture

The Cracker, November 2005

I've been trying to post this picture under the main title, but gosh darnit it's been harder than it sounds. For now it's just going to have to live here.

Accessories for the Modern Man

In Cracker news, today was day 8 of his bike helmet phase. Oh yes, it IS what you're imagining. We were getting dressed for a dinner party last Friday night when Cracker spotted his dusty old bike helmet high atop a forgotten shelf in our closet. "Ooh! Hat! MINE!" This is the same helmet that he screamed bloody murder at the sight of only a year ago and absolutely refused to allow in the same room as his head.

But 8 days ago...well...he feel in love, and I can hardly blame him. It is bright yellow, covered with cows and dogs and cats, and that's the reason I bought it. He wears it every waking minute, every where we go. (I draw the line at wearing it to bed for obvious safety reasons.) And it can't just be resting on his head...you have to secure it *tightly* with the chin strap fully fastened. Just thinking about it makes me want to cough up a furball.


Mouse Sporting Helmet

Like everything else toddler, it happened hard and fast, replacing wearing safety goggles on top of his head backwards. Try to picture that.

I figure we've got another week of this before it becomes last season too. Then maybe the curious shoppers at our Costco will stop asking me what type of head injury he has.

Oh, and the funniest part is the reaction of his peers. You should see their little faces when we meet them for a play date in our helmet: fear, curiousity, wonder, acceptance and finally admiration, all in a matter of seconds.

Corie, the Chosen One

Poor sweet Corie receives countless solicitations by snail mail. Today it was an American Express card. Last week it was the University of Phoenix, a Discover card (preapproved for platinum) and AARP.

Corie is a C-A-T.

A few years ago I had a revelation: list our phone number under one of our cat's names. Brilliant really. No paying for an unlisted number, know instantly if it's a solicitor, people who know you can still look you up, and give your friends a giggle every time her name shows up on their caller ID. Corie was the most obvious choice, as our other two cats are named Tigger and (Tinker)Belle. And just in case you're wondering, I am not a Disney freak. It just accidentally happened this way.

Junk mail is one of my biggest pet peeves. United Airlines sends credit card apps to J on an average of once a week, no kidding. When are they going to take the hint!

Another Windy Day

Cracker and I decided it was high time to check out the library in our new town. Our favorite library is now quite the haul since we moved. How far? So far I'd have to pack snacks.

Luck was on our side, and parked next door was a fire truck, complete with firemen. I had no sooner lured him away with the promise of finding Bob the Builder books when we spotted a tractor working at the park bordering the library. Ironically, the friendly tractor operator was named Bob. Cracker has yet to understand that some names, unlike his own, are common. Bob on a tractor, huh? He sure didn't LOOK like Bob the Builder.

Once inside we learned that they carry NO BOB THE BUILDER BOOKS. A little disappointing, but still a great library. However, we found what I think are some even better alternatives: Martson's Big Rigs and a series called Machines @ Work that had a volume for every vehicle imaginable. Of the latter, Cracker recommends Buses, followed by Cherry Pickers and Rescue Helicopters. But if you're only going to get one, make it Buses.

A Perfect Afternoon

Those of you with little people know that there are good days and not-so-good days. I am happy to report that today was an splendiferous day! I'm still beaming from ear to ear.

Cracker and I ventured out into the evil wind to Home Depot to pick up a specialty lightbulb. Now, HD is the closest retail store to our house, and for some reason I'll never understand, I always point it out to him as we drive by. Boy does my boy love the orange box giant! And so with great pride I must share that the newest addition to his vocabulary is Home Depot. Unlike his other recent and very clear new words, this one needs context since it's a little off. At first I thought he was saying elbow, but no, "Ho Bobo" is indeed HD. He can say home and he can say house clearly, but putting that together with depot is hard, ya know? Currently, the only other business he verbally acknowledges is Starbucks, which is "Momma tea! Momma tea! TEA!" (Venti black iced tea, no shaking, no sweetener. I'm an old school tea drinker.)

In Cracker's mind, Ho Bobo far outranks traditional toddler favorites like the zoo. I mean they've got forklifts, men with tool belts, garden hoses and nozzles (waber!) not to mention an amazingly large selection of faucets and potties on display. Awesome! While we were checking out the hoses Ho Bobo started playing General Public's I'll Take You There. (You may remember it from the movie Threesome, LOL.) IMHO, a very odd choice for their play list. Cracker immediately dropped the light bulbs (they're doing fine, thank you) and started busting a move. This doesn't happen often...the song has to really speak to him, and apparently fake Jamaican rap does. He was shaking his tushie, doing his funny baby strut dance with violent head bobbing...the whole enchilada. I couldn't help but join in, and of course I know most of the words. Probably shouldn't admit that, should I? We were just so in the moment that I didn't notice until the song was over that there were two bewildered male Ho Bobo employees watching us. At least they'll have something to talk about on break now.

When we got home we were tired and cold, so Cracker and I curled up together in my bed and feed each other Parmesan Goldfish crackers. I was laying down, the comforter pulled up to my chin, and Cracker was sitting on top of J's pillow covered to his waist. I had this perfect view of his angelic toddler face from below, and it was such a beautiful moment. He fed me, I fed him, and we giggled when we both reached into the bag at the same time. J came home and was like "You're letting him eat crackers in our bed, and on my side?" Not mad, just wondering what ever possessed his crazy wife to do this. (Even if you excuse the crumbs we have all white bedding, so everything shows.) I made him lay down with us and immediately even his nonoverlyemotional self saw the magic too.

Absolutely splendiferous.

Disclaimer

I am a Stay at Home Mom, to a toddler. I have lost the ability to produce coherent, well constructed and to-the-point thoughts in the adult world. It doesn't happen to all SAHMs, but it happened to me. I will not hide the fact by cleverly attempting to stylize my writing and ignoring punctuation purposely in order to fool you. Basically, don't expect poetic perfection, because they'll be none of that here.

This is my first blog, and for the most part it will be a mommy blog. I've never actually had a real career other than mommy to the amazing Cracker, nor do I long for one. I am completely fulfilled.

My politics are liberal. I don't like W, never have, never will, but we can still be friends even if you do. I am not going to try to convert you, but you may notice my liberalness occasionally slipping in. Be who you are and I'll be who I am.

Lastly, for the sake of aniniminity against any www weirdoes, I will refer to my son as The Cracker. No, it isn't his real name, but I didn't pull it out of my arse either. Those of you how know us in RL get the connection. J is my husband. We've been married 8 years.

Nuff said.