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
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
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!
Sunday, August 20, 2006
TreasAAH!
LOOT BROUGHT BACK FROM THE HOMELAND
COPPER PIGGY MOLD
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?"
"No."
"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."
"No."
BACK TO THE LOOT...
TRUCKS, BUT NOT JUST ANY TRUCKS
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.
HIDE ME FROM THE PLAYMOBIL
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:
MOMMA'S GOT A BRAND NEW PURSE
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.
OKAY, SO HERE'S WHAT I DIDN'T GET, AND IF IT WEREN'T FOR THE PURSE I'D BE REALLY REALLY SAD
DANSKO PROFESSIONAL IN DALMATION
Swoon.
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.
COPPER PIGGY MOLD
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?"
"No."
"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."
"No."
BACK TO THE LOOT...
TRUCKS, BUT NOT JUST ANY TRUCKS
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.
HIDE ME FROM THE PLAYMOBIL
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:
MOMMA'S GOT A BRAND NEW PURSE
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.
OKAY, SO HERE'S WHAT I DIDN'T GET, AND IF IT WEREN'T FOR THE PURSE I'D BE REALLY REALLY SAD
DANSKO PROFESSIONAL IN DALMATION
Swoon.
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
CRASHBOOMBANG!
Lazy Mommy in the other room: Are you okay?
Cracker: Yes Mommy!
Lazy Mommy in the other room: Be careful!
(Two minutes later)
CRASHBOOMBANG! CRASHBOOMBANG!
(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.
Lazy Mommy in the other room: Are you okay?
Cracker: Yes Mommy!
Lazy Mommy in the other room: Be careful!
(Two minutes later)
CRASHBOOMBANG! CRASHBOOMBANG!
(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
Not-Bob
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.)
(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 G-parents...giving 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.
System.
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:
corkscrews
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!
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 G-parents...giving 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.
System.
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:
corkscrews
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!"
"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!"
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Breaking the Rules
So you knew I was totally going to buy one, right? With a little online checking I found it at Overstock.com, Costco online, and Amazon. For just under $18.00 including shipping I totally had to have one. One of the Amazon reviewers said they bought one in Target, but I didn't find them online and our closest Target is little.
Now I totally realize the numerous downsides of such a device when your child is small...
The Cracker is still in a crib. He climbs IN, but won't climb OUT. Why? Hell if I know. But why would we screw with a good thing? (Insert one of my favorite lines here: If you wake him you take him.) He climbs everything else. He is A CLIMBER. But since he's still perfectly happy, or rather when he's perfectly UNHAPPY and doesn't want to nap/go to bed but doesn't do anything except scream from what we like to call baby jail, it's nice knowing that he won't escape. (Knock on wood.) So a smoke alarm with my voice yelling "Wake up (insert Cracker's real name here)! Wake up! There's a fire! Get your ass up!" isn't going to do much except wake him up and confuse the shit out of him. But we still use our baby monitor, so if the alarms don't go off on our side of the house, it might just wake my ass up.
Another downside: a little kid, say under the age of 6 or 7, may get scared and hide. So then you have to go looking for them, IN A FIRE, that is, until they are old enough to understand your family fire plan AND actually follow instructions under stress.
Next downside is that if you have child proof locks on your doors to prevent escaping they need to be old enough to be able to figure out how to unlock them in an emergency. We have locks on 2 of 3 of our best non-window exits because if he could, the Cracker would take himself outside every time I turn my back. I know this because he's already done it. (Story time!) We had already installed a lock on the sliding glass door, but I wasn't yet in the habit of remembering to use it. (It's on the track up top so that he can't reach.) Now the way the house is set up is garage, laundry, kitchen, breakfast nook with sliding glass door all in a nice straight line. I was in the laundry room, door to kitchen open, with a perfect view. But I bent down to transfer clothes from the washer to dryer for all of 90 seconds and didn't see or hear him unlock the sliding door, then the screen, and then close them both to conceal the evidence. A few minutes later, after I was done with the laundry transfer and back in the kitchen, I saw a streak out the window. What the heck? I thought it was a dog or maybe a burglar. No, IT WAS MY CHILD, MY THEN NOT QUITE 3 YEAR OLD, RUNNING AROUND THE BACKYARD HAVING A GREAT OLD TIME. Yeah, that's right, I didn't even realize he was gone. HOLY SHIT. Let your mind wander with the implications of that one. I didn't know he was GONE.
Now since we're now off on a tangent, let's just continue.
When my parents came to visit last month, I had my dad (with J supervising) put a lock on the front door too, up high. The Cracker has been able to manipulate the lower preexisting locks on it for months now, but hasn't gotten it open on his own yet because he can't figure out which is lock and which is unlock and there are two locks to get through. So he stands there, locks one, unlocks the other, and is unable to make a getaway for cookies and Tootsie Rolls (ahh! Choking hazard! Stop giving them to him without asking me!) at the neighbors. (The neighbor with the dog I am constantly dog sitting.) Now he could easily unlock the new one too, but even with a stool (and he's tried, oh he's tried, and he knows what a stool is for) he's not yet tall enough. Phew!
So my beautiful SIL had this problem a few years back, when perfect nephew was around the Cracker's age. They lived in an apartment complex and he'd just unlock the door and let himself out without asking. Snuck, really, if we want to get technical. At the time I was disgusted and shocked by her solution, but now that I'm a parent I think it was genius. They didn't know if they couldn't install hardware, they were renters and moving out soon anyway, so she used BEARS. Yes, bears, as in the animal. Their area is well known for bears, coming to raid your garbage, and so she told him that if he went out alone that the bears would get him. And he was scared shitless of bears, so it totally worked.
You do what you gotta do to keep your kid safe.
Back to the smoke alarm, why would I buy one now? Because when he is old enough, which will be in just a few short years, I'll probably have forgotten all about it. Or, I will remember as I'm counting sheep and desperately trying to fall asleep, and not want to get out of bed, turn on the internet, shop around, and then buy one.
I'll let you know what a worthless piece of crap it is when it arrives in 5-10 days.
Now I totally realize the numerous downsides of such a device when your child is small...
The Cracker is still in a crib. He climbs IN, but won't climb OUT. Why? Hell if I know. But why would we screw with a good thing? (Insert one of my favorite lines here: If you wake him you take him.) He climbs everything else. He is A CLIMBER. But since he's still perfectly happy, or rather when he's perfectly UNHAPPY and doesn't want to nap/go to bed but doesn't do anything except scream from what we like to call baby jail, it's nice knowing that he won't escape. (Knock on wood.) So a smoke alarm with my voice yelling "Wake up (insert Cracker's real name here)! Wake up! There's a fire! Get your ass up!" isn't going to do much except wake him up and confuse the shit out of him. But we still use our baby monitor, so if the alarms don't go off on our side of the house, it might just wake my ass up.
Another downside: a little kid, say under the age of 6 or 7, may get scared and hide. So then you have to go looking for them, IN A FIRE, that is, until they are old enough to understand your family fire plan AND actually follow instructions under stress.
Next downside is that if you have child proof locks on your doors to prevent escaping they need to be old enough to be able to figure out how to unlock them in an emergency. We have locks on 2 of 3 of our best non-window exits because if he could, the Cracker would take himself outside every time I turn my back. I know this because he's already done it. (Story time!) We had already installed a lock on the sliding glass door, but I wasn't yet in the habit of remembering to use it. (It's on the track up top so that he can't reach.) Now the way the house is set up is garage, laundry, kitchen, breakfast nook with sliding glass door all in a nice straight line. I was in the laundry room, door to kitchen open, with a perfect view. But I bent down to transfer clothes from the washer to dryer for all of 90 seconds and didn't see or hear him unlock the sliding door, then the screen, and then close them both to conceal the evidence. A few minutes later, after I was done with the laundry transfer and back in the kitchen, I saw a streak out the window. What the heck? I thought it was a dog or maybe a burglar. No, IT WAS MY CHILD, MY THEN NOT QUITE 3 YEAR OLD, RUNNING AROUND THE BACKYARD HAVING A GREAT OLD TIME. Yeah, that's right, I didn't even realize he was gone. HOLY SHIT. Let your mind wander with the implications of that one. I didn't know he was GONE.
Now since we're now off on a tangent, let's just continue.
When my parents came to visit last month, I had my dad (with J supervising) put a lock on the front door too, up high. The Cracker has been able to manipulate the lower preexisting locks on it for months now, but hasn't gotten it open on his own yet because he can't figure out which is lock and which is unlock and there are two locks to get through. So he stands there, locks one, unlocks the other, and is unable to make a getaway for cookies and Tootsie Rolls (ahh! Choking hazard! Stop giving them to him without asking me!) at the neighbors. (The neighbor with the dog I am constantly dog sitting.) Now he could easily unlock the new one too, but even with a stool (and he's tried, oh he's tried, and he knows what a stool is for) he's not yet tall enough. Phew!
So my beautiful SIL had this problem a few years back, when perfect nephew was around the Cracker's age. They lived in an apartment complex and he'd just unlock the door and let himself out without asking. Snuck, really, if we want to get technical. At the time I was disgusted and shocked by her solution, but now that I'm a parent I think it was genius. They didn't know if they couldn't install hardware, they were renters and moving out soon anyway, so she used BEARS. Yes, bears, as in the animal. Their area is well known for bears, coming to raid your garbage, and so she told him that if he went out alone that the bears would get him. And he was scared shitless of bears, so it totally worked.
You do what you gotta do to keep your kid safe.
Back to the smoke alarm, why would I buy one now? Because when he is old enough, which will be in just a few short years, I'll probably have forgotten all about it. Or, I will remember as I'm counting sheep and desperately trying to fall asleep, and not want to get out of bed, turn on the internet, shop around, and then buy one.
I'll let you know what a worthless piece of crap it is when it arrives in 5-10 days.
I Think We Need One of These
Parents are suckers.
So not surprisingly, the market is constantly flooded with new items that sound like a must have for today's modern parent. But in reality they suck. And if you take a moment to think about it before grabbing your credit card you'll be glad you did.
One such example from around the time of a baby Cracker was the Pee-pee Teepee. A must have for the mother of all little boys? Ummm...sounds good, but NO. Now I don't know about your kid, but when my baby peed, even in a laying down position, his wee-wee jumped to attention (yes, instant erection style) and the force with which he emptied his bladder caused pee to shoot across the room, go through the mini blinds, hit the window, stream down to finally pool up in the window sill. (This why we moved the changing table away from the window. He couldn't even begin to reach for the deadly blind cords yet, but I was tired of cleaning pee off the miniblinds.) If my dad was in the room during a diaper change he'd scream "COVER THE SHOOTER! COVER THE SHOOTER!"
Normally we were just really fast. Okay, I was really fast. J...not so much. Maybe it's because I had the breastmilk and he had useless man nipples*, but the Cracker maybe peed on me once. J? Oh so many times! (Snort.) So the Pee-pee Teepee? How the heck would it have not become a projectile? And if it had stayed in place, then the pee would have streamed down his sides and now I would have had to have given him a bath. (I seriously doubt the thing has any real absorbency.) So what J did was simply lay a cloth diaper over that area. Cheaper. Easy to put in place. (Cause if you're cleaning a monster poo and have to lift the kid up to get underneath, is a Pee-pee Teepee staying put? I think NOT.) Cloth diapers are washable; heavy enough to hold a wee in place yet absorbent enough to soak up the pee. Clever? Well he is an Engineer.
So after such a scorching review of a product I've never used or even seen in real life, what I do need?
This.
It's a smoke alarm, not yet (widely) available, that uses your voice to wake your child in case of fire. I found out about it this morning from who else but my 2am-know-it-all-internet-mommy friends.
Okay, so why? Here's the article. Even better, here's a video from an NBC station.
At first I was thinking phony bologna. But then I thought back to the times our smoke alarms did go off, and the more I thought the more I remembered that this didn't happen just once, but many times back in our old apartment. And I remember how shocked I was that the loudest most annoying sound ever didn't make a sleeping Cracker wake up screaming. Or even wake up. He was only 2 and a half when we moved out, but this happened so many times and he never ever stirred. Seriously.
Often, it wasn't me burning something in the kitchen, but a neighbor. (Okay, yes, a few times it was probably me.) However, with such thin crappy walls every time the smoke detectors went off it would take a frantic few seconds of running around to realize that it was downstairs or next door. It was that loud.**
We can still make all the noise in the world outside his bedroom door and he won't wake up; our obnoxious door bell won't wake him either. As long as the obnoxious noise isn't our voices because then he's awake in an instant.
So I need me one of these.
(Sucker.)
*Man nipples...are they useless? One of my girls swears that something like 40% of men have the ability to lactate successfully if the were given the right hormone supplements. J wouldn't try. Sometimes he's such a wiener.
**And I didn't just them assume it was safe. Of course I still checked it out.
So not surprisingly, the market is constantly flooded with new items that sound like a must have for today's modern parent. But in reality they suck. And if you take a moment to think about it before grabbing your credit card you'll be glad you did.
One such example from around the time of a baby Cracker was the Pee-pee Teepee. A must have for the mother of all little boys? Ummm...sounds good, but NO. Now I don't know about your kid, but when my baby peed, even in a laying down position, his wee-wee jumped to attention (yes, instant erection style) and the force with which he emptied his bladder caused pee to shoot across the room, go through the mini blinds, hit the window, stream down to finally pool up in the window sill. (This why we moved the changing table away from the window. He couldn't even begin to reach for the deadly blind cords yet, but I was tired of cleaning pee off the miniblinds.) If my dad was in the room during a diaper change he'd scream "COVER THE SHOOTER! COVER THE SHOOTER!"
Normally we were just really fast. Okay, I was really fast. J...not so much. Maybe it's because I had the breastmilk and he had useless man nipples*, but the Cracker maybe peed on me once. J? Oh so many times! (Snort.) So the Pee-pee Teepee? How the heck would it have not become a projectile? And if it had stayed in place, then the pee would have streamed down his sides and now I would have had to have given him a bath. (I seriously doubt the thing has any real absorbency.) So what J did was simply lay a cloth diaper over that area. Cheaper. Easy to put in place. (Cause if you're cleaning a monster poo and have to lift the kid up to get underneath, is a Pee-pee Teepee staying put? I think NOT.) Cloth diapers are washable; heavy enough to hold a wee in place yet absorbent enough to soak up the pee. Clever? Well he is an Engineer.
So after such a scorching review of a product I've never used or even seen in real life, what I do need?
This.
It's a smoke alarm, not yet (widely) available, that uses your voice to wake your child in case of fire. I found out about it this morning from who else but my 2am-know-it-all-internet-mommy friends.
Okay, so why? Here's the article. Even better, here's a video from an NBC station.
At first I was thinking phony bologna. But then I thought back to the times our smoke alarms did go off, and the more I thought the more I remembered that this didn't happen just once, but many times back in our old apartment. And I remember how shocked I was that the loudest most annoying sound ever didn't make a sleeping Cracker wake up screaming. Or even wake up. He was only 2 and a half when we moved out, but this happened so many times and he never ever stirred. Seriously.
Often, it wasn't me burning something in the kitchen, but a neighbor. (Okay, yes, a few times it was probably me.) However, with such thin crappy walls every time the smoke detectors went off it would take a frantic few seconds of running around to realize that it was downstairs or next door. It was that loud.**
We can still make all the noise in the world outside his bedroom door and he won't wake up; our obnoxious door bell won't wake him either. As long as the obnoxious noise isn't our voices because then he's awake in an instant.
So I need me one of these.
(Sucker.)
*Man nipples...are they useless? One of my girls swears that something like 40% of men have the ability to lactate successfully if the were given the right hormone supplements. J wouldn't try. Sometimes he's such a wiener.
**And I didn't just them assume it was safe. Of course I still checked it out.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Week In Review
And what a week it's been! Since there isn't enough time in the world to rant about all of it, here's a synopsis:
My neighbors are driving me insane.
This particular set of neighbors have been home only 5 weeks since January 1st.* The rest of that time (except for the time I lied and changed the dates of when I'd be gone so that I wouldn't have to do it) I have been their dog and house sitter, which means going to their house a minimum of twice a day, and keeping the Cracker from breaking anything in their knick knack museum of a house. They never come home when they say they will. They said they'd be gone 3 days this time. Now it's going to be 2-3 months. I am leaving town in two weeks and will have to find another neighbor to guilt into the job. I also have the pleasure of hand watering their front and back yard for 45 minutes/night. I either have to do it during the dinner hour or in the dark because it has to be done after the heat of the day. And as a nice bonus for my hard work: I also found a black widow in their yard and then had to go to the store to buy something to kill it and then actually kill it so it wouldn't kill the dog. I also go to the post office for them, occasionally have to hang around waiting for UPS for them, buy more dog food because they didn't anticipate they'd be gone so long, fill the dog's prescription, oh the list just goes on and on.
*(Another neighbor is keeping track because if it continues he's considering reporting them to animal control even though I am always there. It's just not fair to the dog.)
I am trying to knock off some more of the landscaping.
It's going ever so slowly because it is too damn hot. I work 15 minutes and then take a 10 minute break, not because I'm tired or sore, but because I'm sweating so much I can't hold a shovel and my sunscreen is dripping into my eyes. We have no shade yet, which is what I'm working on. We live at a high altitude which means really strong UV rays, it's close to 100 degrees, and The Cracker undoes everything I do by helping. And he asks constantly if not only he can help, but his trucks too, when I've already told him yes and he's working on a task. The landscaping? It's all up to me, which isn't bad because I LIKE doing it, but it's going soo slow. I'm about to give up again at least until Fall because being out there for 4 hours and getting 30 minutes of work done once I've undone all the Cracker's hard work is getting a little depressing.
The Cracker is driving me nuts.
We are spending, minimum, 4 hours a day outside, but it's not enough. At least an hour in the morning, usually closer to two, then from 5-8:30pm, sometimes later. He has decided to start throwing tantrums again, and try as I might, time outs are not working. I've tried reasoning with him: "If you yell and kick and scream every time we have to go inside, Mommy isn't going to take you outside anymore." And even though he understands Advanced Physics, his look tells me he doesn't understand this. Every moment we aren't outside?
"Me go play ouside now. Bye!"
"No. It's too hot."
"No is hot. Is cold! Is snow-ging!"
"It is not snowing."
"Is raining?"
"No it's not raining."
"Me no go play ouside?"
"No."
"Me go dog's house? Dog eat?"
"No, we are not going to feed the dog."
"Me go give dog treats? Bones! Bones, Mommy, bones!"
"No we are not going to go give the dog bones."
"Me take dog for walk?"
"No we are not going to take the dog for a walk now."
"Me go dog's house waber fowers?"
"No we are not going to go water their yard."
"Me go outside get mail?"
"No we are not going to go get the mail."
"Me go Home De-po? Buy fowers?"
"No we are not going to Home Depot to buy plants."
"Mommy and me go red ball house (his name for Target) and buy me gucks?"
"I don't buy trucks. Nana does."
"Oh."
repeat
My other neighbors are driving me even nutsier.
A different neighbor, one who is certifiable, who I have been avoiding, started coming around again. He wants me to be his mother. He is late 50s, unemployed and severely depressed. He says I am his only friend. He invites himself over and tries to hang out with me all day. And if I dare do anything while he says the same few sentences over and over, like make my kid a sandwich for lunch, he asks me to stop and give him my full attention. Friday he not only caught me getting in the car, out of the car, and then rang the doorbell 5 times asking if he could come in, to which I said I could give him 15 minutes each time, but it wasn't good enough and now I've sent him into another funk. He sulked home and planted his ass right back in the lazy boy he has in his garage watching my house so he could pounce if I took out the trash. "I want to tell you a story!" "Well I always have 15 minutes." "But I want to tell you all of it now!" "It's a really bad day for me. Can you give me a few highlights?" "That's not enough. It's a really long story." Sulks off. Holy shit...a short story is a minimum of two hours. And before you think I'm a total bitch for telling him 15 minutes, let me tell you that dozens of times he's been at my house for 6 hour stretches. Once you say yes, or don't kick him out, he's there until after dark. And he is scary, unstable scary. Those stories for later.
Other other neighbors, my next door neighbors, who seemed like nice, reasonable folk, maybe aren't.
I consulted with my know-it-all-2am-internet mommy friends, and they agreed. This was not cool.
They asked to borrow my wheelbarrow. I bought it in February, loaned it out to other neighbors, came back unharmed. Sat in my yard when it was here. The only sign of use was a few smudges in the paint, but no scratches. So when it was asked to be borrowed by these people, I said sure. I told them I'd need it back in a few days for stuff I needed to do. They wouldn't give it back. Had to ask numerous time. (They were mid project. Screw my project.) Ask again, 10 days after I needed it back. Wife tells me to jump their fence, and IF I can find it, then she'll open the gate so I can get it out. Find it like this...
Mixed concrete and chemicals in it. (A nice neighbor found out for me...I was too shocked to say ask, and she was pissed that she had to open the gate.) No thank you, no sorry we held it captive. Where you still see paint it's completely detached from the metal and is a sneeze away from blowing off. The brown stuff? Not dirt, but RUST. BUT THAT'S WHAT WHEELBARROWS ARE FOR, RIGHT???
J is working 12+ hour days. The Cracker is goofing off talking to himself when he's supposed to be napping, even though he can't stop yawning. The Cracker is also starting to find trouble.
I used to be able to sit him in front of Elmo or Tubbies and know he wouldn't move for the first ten minutes. Jump in the shower, barely use soap, and then get back out just as his attention was weaning. Now nothing works, and a minute alone equals trouble. I had to take a shower the other day, had to, and so I dared leave him alone for 10 minutes. This is what he did to the fire place...
(Take a moment for me, would you, and click on the picture for a full sized version. Then you'll get the idea.)
That would be Lorna Doone cookies, which he used a stool to get, and then sucked on them to make them nice and gooey, and then painted the fireplace screen. It took me a few minutes to figure it all out. I had just dusted that area a few days before, and for the life of me I could not figure out how a few days of new dust was looking more like crumbs, that is, until I found the BOX hidden in one of his favorite hiding places. Sweet kid that he is, he even closed the cupboard from which he extracted them. Maybe showering is overrated.
Saturday night, just as I was preparing a cup of tea to go with a little blogging, I found 3 ants on my kitchen floor. Half dead already from the poison outside, but still alive.
That meant freaking out, rewashing the kitchen floor (which I had washed the day before but only wet Swiffered that night, spraying around the outside of the house in the dark, cleaning everything cleanable, vacuuming the whole house even though I just had that afternoon. But I had to, because now we had ANTS! I also asked J, nicely, if he could contain the Cracker when he ate so as not to have food around everywhere. Just as I finally had everything to my satisfaction after hours of panicked cleaning, he gave the Cracker a handful of tortilla chips and sent him walking through the house with them. HELLO MOTHERFUCKER! "Oops. I'm sorry." And he was. But did he offer to revacuum since I'd just spent an hour making sure the carpets were crumb free? No. He went off to play computer games. No sex for him!
And that's just a sample of why there hasn't been any blogging around here. Forgive me?
My neighbors are driving me insane.
This particular set of neighbors have been home only 5 weeks since January 1st.* The rest of that time (except for the time I lied and changed the dates of when I'd be gone so that I wouldn't have to do it) I have been their dog and house sitter, which means going to their house a minimum of twice a day, and keeping the Cracker from breaking anything in their knick knack museum of a house. They never come home when they say they will. They said they'd be gone 3 days this time. Now it's going to be 2-3 months. I am leaving town in two weeks and will have to find another neighbor to guilt into the job. I also have the pleasure of hand watering their front and back yard for 45 minutes/night. I either have to do it during the dinner hour or in the dark because it has to be done after the heat of the day. And as a nice bonus for my hard work: I also found a black widow in their yard and then had to go to the store to buy something to kill it and then actually kill it so it wouldn't kill the dog. I also go to the post office for them, occasionally have to hang around waiting for UPS for them, buy more dog food because they didn't anticipate they'd be gone so long, fill the dog's prescription, oh the list just goes on and on.
*(Another neighbor is keeping track because if it continues he's considering reporting them to animal control even though I am always there. It's just not fair to the dog.)
I am trying to knock off some more of the landscaping.
It's going ever so slowly because it is too damn hot. I work 15 minutes and then take a 10 minute break, not because I'm tired or sore, but because I'm sweating so much I can't hold a shovel and my sunscreen is dripping into my eyes. We have no shade yet, which is what I'm working on. We live at a high altitude which means really strong UV rays, it's close to 100 degrees, and The Cracker undoes everything I do by helping. And he asks constantly if not only he can help, but his trucks too, when I've already told him yes and he's working on a task. The landscaping? It's all up to me, which isn't bad because I LIKE doing it, but it's going soo slow. I'm about to give up again at least until Fall because being out there for 4 hours and getting 30 minutes of work done once I've undone all the Cracker's hard work is getting a little depressing.
The Cracker is driving me nuts.
We are spending, minimum, 4 hours a day outside, but it's not enough. At least an hour in the morning, usually closer to two, then from 5-8:30pm, sometimes later. He has decided to start throwing tantrums again, and try as I might, time outs are not working. I've tried reasoning with him: "If you yell and kick and scream every time we have to go inside, Mommy isn't going to take you outside anymore." And even though he understands Advanced Physics, his look tells me he doesn't understand this. Every moment we aren't outside?
"Me go play ouside now. Bye!"
"No. It's too hot."
"No is hot. Is cold! Is snow-ging!"
"It is not snowing."
"Is raining?"
"No it's not raining."
"Me no go play ouside?"
"No."
"Me go dog's house? Dog eat?"
"No, we are not going to feed the dog."
"Me go give dog treats? Bones! Bones, Mommy, bones!"
"No we are not going to go give the dog bones."
"Me take dog for walk?"
"No we are not going to take the dog for a walk now."
"Me go dog's house waber fowers?"
"No we are not going to go water their yard."
"Me go outside get mail?"
"No we are not going to go get the mail."
"Me go Home De-po? Buy fowers?"
"No we are not going to Home Depot to buy plants."
"Mommy and me go red ball house (his name for Target) and buy me gucks?"
"I don't buy trucks. Nana does."
"Oh."
repeat
My other neighbors are driving me even nutsier.
A different neighbor, one who is certifiable, who I have been avoiding, started coming around again. He wants me to be his mother. He is late 50s, unemployed and severely depressed. He says I am his only friend. He invites himself over and tries to hang out with me all day. And if I dare do anything while he says the same few sentences over and over, like make my kid a sandwich for lunch, he asks me to stop and give him my full attention. Friday he not only caught me getting in the car, out of the car, and then rang the doorbell 5 times asking if he could come in, to which I said I could give him 15 minutes each time, but it wasn't good enough and now I've sent him into another funk. He sulked home and planted his ass right back in the lazy boy he has in his garage watching my house so he could pounce if I took out the trash. "I want to tell you a story!" "Well I always have 15 minutes." "But I want to tell you all of it now!" "It's a really bad day for me. Can you give me a few highlights?" "That's not enough. It's a really long story." Sulks off. Holy shit...a short story is a minimum of two hours. And before you think I'm a total bitch for telling him 15 minutes, let me tell you that dozens of times he's been at my house for 6 hour stretches. Once you say yes, or don't kick him out, he's there until after dark. And he is scary, unstable scary. Those stories for later.
Other other neighbors, my next door neighbors, who seemed like nice, reasonable folk, maybe aren't.
I consulted with my know-it-all-2am-internet mommy friends, and they agreed. This was not cool.
They asked to borrow my wheelbarrow. I bought it in February, loaned it out to other neighbors, came back unharmed. Sat in my yard when it was here. The only sign of use was a few smudges in the paint, but no scratches. So when it was asked to be borrowed by these people, I said sure. I told them I'd need it back in a few days for stuff I needed to do. They wouldn't give it back. Had to ask numerous time. (They were mid project. Screw my project.) Ask again, 10 days after I needed it back. Wife tells me to jump their fence, and IF I can find it, then she'll open the gate so I can get it out. Find it like this...
Mixed concrete and chemicals in it. (A nice neighbor found out for me...I was too shocked to say ask, and she was pissed that she had to open the gate.) No thank you, no sorry we held it captive. Where you still see paint it's completely detached from the metal and is a sneeze away from blowing off. The brown stuff? Not dirt, but RUST. BUT THAT'S WHAT WHEELBARROWS ARE FOR, RIGHT???
J is working 12+ hour days. The Cracker is goofing off talking to himself when he's supposed to be napping, even though he can't stop yawning. The Cracker is also starting to find trouble.
I used to be able to sit him in front of Elmo or Tubbies and know he wouldn't move for the first ten minutes. Jump in the shower, barely use soap, and then get back out just as his attention was weaning. Now nothing works, and a minute alone equals trouble. I had to take a shower the other day, had to, and so I dared leave him alone for 10 minutes. This is what he did to the fire place...
(Take a moment for me, would you, and click on the picture for a full sized version. Then you'll get the idea.)
That would be Lorna Doone cookies, which he used a stool to get, and then sucked on them to make them nice and gooey, and then painted the fireplace screen. It took me a few minutes to figure it all out. I had just dusted that area a few days before, and for the life of me I could not figure out how a few days of new dust was looking more like crumbs, that is, until I found the BOX hidden in one of his favorite hiding places. Sweet kid that he is, he even closed the cupboard from which he extracted them. Maybe showering is overrated.
Saturday night, just as I was preparing a cup of tea to go with a little blogging, I found 3 ants on my kitchen floor. Half dead already from the poison outside, but still alive.
That meant freaking out, rewashing the kitchen floor (which I had washed the day before but only wet Swiffered that night, spraying around the outside of the house in the dark, cleaning everything cleanable, vacuuming the whole house even though I just had that afternoon. But I had to, because now we had ANTS! I also asked J, nicely, if he could contain the Cracker when he ate so as not to have food around everywhere. Just as I finally had everything to my satisfaction after hours of panicked cleaning, he gave the Cracker a handful of tortilla chips and sent him walking through the house with them. HELLO MOTHERFUCKER! "Oops. I'm sorry." And he was. But did he offer to revacuum since I'd just spent an hour making sure the carpets were crumb free? No. He went off to play computer games. No sex for him!
And that's just a sample of why there hasn't been any blogging around here. Forgive me?
Sunday, July 16, 2006
Parents Can Be So Lame
7:30pm last night
"Daddydaddydaddy! You me and mommy too go eat cheese!"
"No, we're not going to eat cheese. We're going to Chinese."
"Cheese Daddy cheese!"
"No, Chi-nese."
"CHEESE!" (starting to get frustrated)
"NO, we're..."
"J, that's what he's saying. Give the kid a break."
"Oh!"
2:00pm today, Entering Target, where a browse through the toy aisles is always our last stop (if he behaves)
"Oh cars...oh gucks...whe are youse?"
2:15pm today, Target toy aisle
"Do you think Jonah would like this for his birthday?"
"Yes, is sweet."
"What did you say?"
"Is sweet!"
(Stunned Mommy.)
"Is COOL Mommy, COOL."
"Daddydaddydaddy! You me and mommy too go eat cheese!"
"No, we're not going to eat cheese. We're going to Chinese."
"Cheese Daddy cheese!"
"No, Chi-nese."
"CHEESE!" (starting to get frustrated)
"NO, we're..."
"J, that's what he's saying. Give the kid a break."
"Oh!"
2:00pm today, Entering Target, where a browse through the toy aisles is always our last stop (if he behaves)
"Oh cars...oh gucks...whe are youse?"
2:15pm today, Target toy aisle
"Do you think Jonah would like this for his birthday?"
"Yes, is sweet."
"What did you say?"
"Is sweet!"
(Stunned Mommy.)
"Is COOL Mommy, COOL."
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