Monday, January 29, 2007
CRAP
Apparently the new skin is not working well and I am now having publishing problems. So yes, there is a reason you keep seeing the same post published and pulled hundreds of times. The darn preview no longer works and I can't tell if I've made any improvement until I publish. This sucks.
We Take Pleasure in the Little Things
"Hey Mommy, wanna know somefing weally funny? I'm pooped means you is tired! Bahahahaha!"
"Where did you learn that?"
"Dragon Tales on PBS Kids."
"Where did you learn that?"
"Dragon Tales on PBS Kids."
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Everything I Know About HTML I Learned in 1996
Please forgive me as I try to ditch the ugly template I never really liked and can no longer stand.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Thursday, January 11, 2007
I Demand the Return of My Living Room
Back in early December J and the Cracker hauled out all the Thomas crap and began construction on their biggest project ever. Over a period of weeks I watched the affected area of my living room grow. At first it was really cute to watch them, my two sons, discussing layout changes and playing trains, but as days turned into weeks it the damn thing kept spreading out and the cuteness faded long before their interest.
"Is it okay if I take this down?"
"NOOOOO!" "NO MOMMY NO!"
Arugh.
"Well, couldja kinda rework things a little, maybe move the roundhouse and the engine wash so that there's a path into the bedroom?"
"Uh, no! Do you know how long it took us to come up with this configuration?"
Sadly, I do.
(multiple nights in the preceding weeks)
"I'm going to bed, wink wink."
Picking my way around the above-mentioned obstacles I realize that my loving husband has not made a move.
"You coming?"
"I can't."
"Huh?"
"I think I may have figured out how to fix blah blah blah! You see the way it is now, blah blah blah, you get forced in this direction blah blah blah can't turn around to go back to blah. So I'm thinking that if can rework blah blah then blah blah and blah blah flow!"
(He looks up at me, big ass smile, oh so pleased with the plan.)
"Are you fucking kidding me? Sex! You'd rather play trains by yourself in the dark than have sex?"
"I'll be there in a little while."
"What you're not getting is that this is a limited time offer."
Yesterday I had one of my I've-had-it! moments and I declared (to no one other than myself) the branch lines of Sodor relocated to a more out of the way location where I will not trip over them quite so often.
Compounding my frustration is the fact that we have an actual playroom off our living room. (In the model they called it the formal dining room, but I find I love my family more when I'm not cleaning food off carpet.) When you walk into our home the first thing you see is the living room ahead of you. It isn't until you get halfway down the entry hall that you realize there is a playroom on your left as well. I like it like that: the toys are all in his reach, I can keep track of him from the LR or the kitchen, but you cannot see the chaos from the front door.
So why isn't it in the playroom? Because the configuration spans 8 feet, 2 inches by 7 feet, 1 inch.
Welcome to my nightmare.
Not even daring to take a breath I ever so carefully, section by section, begin moving the land of Sodor from one end of the living room to the other, cursing myself that I did not remember to first take a few digital pictures in case I accidentally rip it all apart and cannot figure out how to get it back together just so. Simultaneously I applaud myself for not buying more track for them at Christmas.
(Even with my 50% any one item at Michael's coupon I just could not bring myself to spend $1/inch for a few curved pieces.) (Most of our track is generic Imaginarium BOGOHO or the retired plastic yet compatible "Interactive Thomas" I bought on clearance 2 years ago at Target and later at Ross for a few pennies an inch.)
I move it to the corner recently vacated by our holiday tree. Crap, it doesn't even really fit there either. Should have measured first.
I spend the next hour wiggling it around the LR, a little to one side then the other, trying to figure out if minor adjustments will suddenly open up a fat path for foot traffic.
No.
Pissed and mentally exhausted, I get up and look around. Hmmm...maybe if I move the couch and the big chair...
Forty-five minutes and no solution later my mind yells out "WFT are you doing rearranging your living room furniture for Thomas and Friends? This is bullshit! You have totally lost your mind woman! (But, on the plus side, maybe I'll leave it this way for the night. Having the couch smack dab in front of the TV like that would give us a much clearer shot for throwing Pirate's Booty at the President during his address. Decisions, decisions...)
"Is it okay if I take this down?"
"NOOOOO!" "NO MOMMY NO!"
Arugh.
"Well, couldja kinda rework things a little, maybe move the roundhouse and the engine wash so that there's a path into the bedroom?"
"Uh, no! Do you know how long it took us to come up with this configuration?"
Sadly, I do.
(multiple nights in the preceding weeks)
"I'm going to bed, wink wink."
Picking my way around the above-mentioned obstacles I realize that my loving husband has not made a move.
"You coming?"
"I can't."
"Huh?"
"I think I may have figured out how to fix blah blah blah! You see the way it is now, blah blah blah, you get forced in this direction blah blah blah can't turn around to go back to blah. So I'm thinking that if can rework blah blah then blah blah and blah blah flow!"
(He looks up at me, big ass smile, oh so pleased with the plan.)
"Are you fucking kidding me? Sex! You'd rather play trains by yourself in the dark than have sex?"
"I'll be there in a little while."
"What you're not getting is that this is a limited time offer."
Yesterday I had one of my I've-had-it! moments and I declared (to no one other than myself) the branch lines of Sodor relocated to a more out of the way location where I will not trip over them quite so often.
Compounding my frustration is the fact that we have an actual playroom off our living room. (In the model they called it the formal dining room, but I find I love my family more when I'm not cleaning food off carpet.) When you walk into our home the first thing you see is the living room ahead of you. It isn't until you get halfway down the entry hall that you realize there is a playroom on your left as well. I like it like that: the toys are all in his reach, I can keep track of him from the LR or the kitchen, but you cannot see the chaos from the front door.
So why isn't it in the playroom? Because the configuration spans 8 feet, 2 inches by 7 feet, 1 inch.
Welcome to my nightmare.
Not even daring to take a breath I ever so carefully, section by section, begin moving the land of Sodor from one end of the living room to the other, cursing myself that I did not remember to first take a few digital pictures in case I accidentally rip it all apart and cannot figure out how to get it back together just so. Simultaneously I applaud myself for not buying more track for them at Christmas.
(Even with my 50% any one item at Michael's coupon I just could not bring myself to spend $1/inch for a few curved pieces.) (Most of our track is generic Imaginarium BOGOHO or the retired plastic yet compatible "Interactive Thomas" I bought on clearance 2 years ago at Target and later at Ross for a few pennies an inch.)
I move it to the corner recently vacated by our holiday tree. Crap, it doesn't even really fit there either. Should have measured first.
I spend the next hour wiggling it around the LR, a little to one side then the other, trying to figure out if minor adjustments will suddenly open up a fat path for foot traffic.
No.
Pissed and mentally exhausted, I get up and look around. Hmmm...maybe if I move the couch and the big chair...
Forty-five minutes and no solution later my mind yells out "WFT are you doing rearranging your living room furniture for Thomas and Friends? This is bullshit! You have totally lost your mind woman! (But, on the plus side, maybe I'll leave it this way for the night. Having the couch smack dab in front of the TV like that would give us a much clearer shot for throwing Pirate's Booty at the President during his address. Decisions, decisions...)
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Google Me
I know I suck. The last month has been a flurry of illness, birthdays, get to the dentist/optometrist before the end of the year appointments, travel, record breaking snow and a little more illness. I just logged in and found a bunch of posts I don't remember even writing that I never published. (See below.)
Ahh! The holidays!
But I am here now, thank you notes not even started, inspired by the fact that I just checked for the first time in forever what searches have brought people's asses to my blog and found a fairly good one: renuzit room spray with a penis on the can.
Sweet.
(You can't see it, but I am swelling with pride. At press time I am the third link down on the first page. The first page!)
I originally got the idea from DGM. (Except don't follow the link yet, because then mine really suck in comparison.) Sometimes I will spend way too much time getting as far as page 20-something before I give up trying to find how "super glue locks rock-hard" brought them here of all places. It's amazing how quickly these things get buried if I don't check them, like, that day.
And for the most part the search terms aren't all that weird: I get a surprising number of hits from shoes I've mentioned, though the majority are along the lines of "poo stained panties" which has lead me to conclude that there isn't a lot of graphic potty training vents on the net. Shame.
Most of my favorites are from Ask.com, where I am/was supposedly a good resource to answer:
Where can I find Aloe Vera gel and how to use it on hair?
Will a jell dildo go through airport security?
Where can i find a monkey hitting himself in the head?
The inside of my belly button has a red rash and burning feelin (no G, which somehow makes it better)
And a few of the other stranger ones:
Sugar ants in dirty laundry
32A July (Thank you...that would be my old bra size)
why adults and teenagers would wear diapers on purpose
sex w/pumpkins
male bedroom finished in animal print
unpotty training
rash from alberta spruce
Ahh! The holidays!
But I am here now, thank you notes not even started, inspired by the fact that I just checked for the first time in forever what searches have brought people's asses to my blog and found a fairly good one: renuzit room spray with a penis on the can.
Sweet.
(You can't see it, but I am swelling with pride. At press time I am the third link down on the first page. The first page!)
I originally got the idea from DGM. (Except don't follow the link yet, because then mine really suck in comparison.) Sometimes I will spend way too much time getting as far as page 20-something before I give up trying to find how "super glue locks rock-hard" brought them here of all places. It's amazing how quickly these things get buried if I don't check them, like, that day.
And for the most part the search terms aren't all that weird: I get a surprising number of hits from shoes I've mentioned, though the majority are along the lines of "poo stained panties" which has lead me to conclude that there isn't a lot of graphic potty training vents on the net. Shame.
Most of my favorites are from Ask.com, where I am/was supposedly a good resource to answer:
Where can I find Aloe Vera gel and how to use it on hair?
Will a jell dildo go through airport security?
Where can i find a monkey hitting himself in the head?
The inside of my belly button has a red rash and burning feelin (no G, which somehow makes it better)
And a few of the other stranger ones:
Sugar ants in dirty laundry
32A July (Thank you...that would be my old bra size)
why adults and teenagers would wear diapers on purpose
sex w/pumpkins
male bedroom finished in animal print
unpotty training
rash from alberta spruce
Sunday, December 31, 2006
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Monday, December 25, 2006
Happy Holidays!*
(*Becuase the "The War on Christmas" makes me giggle.)
(And yes, I really need to learn to use Photoshop, which I even own, so that I won't revert to back to Paint. Hand drew the eyes and nose on the cards I sent, but I wish I could have used a mini carrot instead.)
(And yes, I really need to learn to use Photoshop, which I even own, so that I won't revert to back to Paint. Hand drew the eyes and nose on the cards I sent, but I wish I could have used a mini carrot instead.)
You Say Farolito, I Say Luminaria
(And if you're not overly familiar with the Southwest you say "WTF?")
(And if you're my husband, you just call them "flaming bags o poo.")
So what the heck are farolitos/luminarias/fbops? From dictionary.com: "A votive candle set into a small, decorative paper bag weighted with sand and placed in a row with others along a walkway, driveway, or rooftop as a holiday decoration."
(Or you can buy electric ones with clear C9 Christmas lights and plastic bags from Walmart.)
This year I made J and the Cracker take me to Santa Fe on Christmas Eve so we could do the Farolito Walk.
Wow! Even J was impressed, and he was not all that thrilled to go hang outdoors past sunset with temps in the teens when he could be inside playing computer games. It was that amazing.
So we walked, we drank ponche, sang some carols, did the ooh and ahh thing. We even came across a Papa Noel who was giving out Beanie Babies to all the kids just cause he was cool like that.
The Cracker was gifted a bald eagle, which he insists is a penguin because of it's black and white and not a panda and not a zebra. (Go figure: he was so totally over Happy Feet after the first hour.)
There are bonfires every where, which they call luminarias locally (it's all very confusing) so that you can stop and defrost while making chit chat.
J's favorite unexpected highlight of the evening was the college-aged female PETA protestors who were very cold in Christmas themed lingerie. (Sorry, no pics.)
There is a great article in this December's Sunset Magazine (different than the link above and not on the web) with great pics. I highly recommend going, even if, according to my neighbors who have recently migrated from the Golden State, Santa Fe is filled with "assholes from Berkeley" (Snort.)
(And if you're my husband, you just call them "flaming bags o poo.")
So what the heck are farolitos/luminarias/fbops? From dictionary.com: "A votive candle set into a small, decorative paper bag weighted with sand and placed in a row with others along a walkway, driveway, or rooftop as a holiday decoration."
(Or you can buy electric ones with clear C9 Christmas lights and plastic bags from Walmart.)
This year I made J and the Cracker take me to Santa Fe on Christmas Eve so we could do the Farolito Walk.
Wow! Even J was impressed, and he was not all that thrilled to go hang outdoors past sunset with temps in the teens when he could be inside playing computer games. It was that amazing.
So we walked, we drank ponche, sang some carols, did the ooh and ahh thing. We even came across a Papa Noel who was giving out Beanie Babies to all the kids just cause he was cool like that.
The Cracker was gifted a bald eagle, which he insists is a penguin because of it's black and white and not a panda and not a zebra. (Go figure: he was so totally over Happy Feet after the first hour.)
There are bonfires every where, which they call luminarias locally (it's all very confusing) so that you can stop and defrost while making chit chat.
J's favorite unexpected highlight of the evening was the college-aged female PETA protestors who were very cold in Christmas themed lingerie. (Sorry, no pics.)
There is a great article in this December's Sunset Magazine (different than the link above and not on the web) with great pics. I highly recommend going, even if, according to my neighbors who have recently migrated from the Golden State, Santa Fe is filled with "assholes from Berkeley" (Snort.)
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Friday, December 22, 2006
Just Stop Talking, Like Right Now
I hate vomiting and I try not to do it often. My kid? So NOT a barfer. The virus that hit me the night of December 1st was the first real can't-keep-water-down since Christmas Break 1996.
(Have you seen that Seinfeld?)
Dictionary police: I used the word "virus"...didja see? Know what I hate more than people who use the word virus when they've been throwing up and/or having diarrhea and say "flu" is the people who correct them.
"Wow, you don't sound so good. You okay?"
"Getting there. I got the flu and haven't even been able to even keep down ice chips for 3 days. It sucks."
"Nenenenoooo! That's not the flu! The flu is res-pi-ra-tory. You had a virus!"
Assholes.
(Have you seen that Seinfeld?)
Dictionary police: I used the word "virus"...didja see? Know what I hate more than people who use the word virus when they've been throwing up and/or having diarrhea and say "flu" is the people who correct them.
"Wow, you don't sound so good. You okay?"
"Getting there. I got the flu and haven't even been able to even keep down ice chips for 3 days. It sucks."
"Nenenenoooo! That's not the flu! The flu is res-pi-ra-tory. You had a virus!"
Assholes.
The Coolest Shit Ever!
when you're three.
This was taken, by request, as Mommy's car got new shoes so that the Cracker could take a copy to "sharing" aka Show and Tell.
This was taken, by request, as Mommy's car got new shoes so that the Cracker could take a copy to "sharing" aka Show and Tell.
Saturday, December 16, 2006
Sucks to Be Him
So we're in Colorado at J's dad's house when I spot this dude out the window last night.
(That's a purple volleyball net complete with carabiner.)
Poor guy is local celebrity and has my FIL's house on his daily rounds. The powers that be have decided to just leave him alone as he'll be shedding his antlers soon anyway.
(That's a purple volleyball net complete with carabiner.)
Poor guy is local celebrity and has my FIL's house on his daily rounds. The powers that be have decided to just leave him alone as he'll be shedding his antlers soon anyway.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Presenting my Niece
Due 5.4.07
My SIL M and I think she totally looks like a girl already. I'm off to shop! I've been waiting until the official word which arrived just a few hours ago. M feels very strongly about NO YELLOW! and NO GREEN! just pink or blue. Seeing as M and I both have boys we need to get cracking on wardrobe. Fun!
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Tales from the Homeland
Did you hear about the new milk campaign that was pulled after just a day in SF?
Seems that cookie-scented ads in bus shelters are not only offensive to those with allergies (that one I get) but to homeless people who can't afford to buy cookies.
Sometimes I really do miss life in the Bay Area...
Seems that cookie-scented ads in bus shelters are not only offensive to those with allergies (that one I get) but to homeless people who can't afford to buy cookies.
Sometimes I really do miss life in the Bay Area...
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
How to lose 9lbs in less than a day!
A big, fat, nasty virus.
On the plus side, for a few days I actually weighed less than my DL says, which, is like, something I never thought would happen, and wouldn't have except that I'd lost real weight a few months back.
So once I'm back to my normal self I think I need to go get a new license and knock that weight down by at least 10, maybe 15, okay how about an even 20lbs. Because when the cops are putting out APBs for women I seriously think it's DL weight + 10-20, doncha think?
On the plus side, for a few days I actually weighed less than my DL says, which, is like, something I never thought would happen, and wouldn't have except that I'd lost real weight a few months back.
So once I'm back to my normal self I think I need to go get a new license and knock that weight down by at least 10, maybe 15, okay how about an even 20lbs. Because when the cops are putting out APBs for women I seriously think it's DL weight + 10-20, doncha think?
Friday, December 01, 2006
More Than Meets the Eye
"I want to watch Tubbies."
"How about we watch Transformers instead?"
"No, I want to watch Tubbies."
"Daddy doesn't want to watch Teletubbies. How about Voltron!"
The Cracker shakes his head no.
"Monsters, Inc?"
"No Daddy. I not like those movies."
"But they're cartoons."
"Cartoons is not for kids. They's for Daddies!"
2001
2002 (Heidi 2006 called and wants those arms back)
2003
2004 (He can't wear this shirt now unless he's got pants on "because it matches" his leg tatt. See 2006 picture)
2005 (J's Saabatron after battling Idiot Driver's Ford F150) 
2006
"How about we watch Transformers instead?"
"No, I want to watch Tubbies."
"Daddy doesn't want to watch Teletubbies. How about Voltron!"
The Cracker shakes his head no.
"Monsters, Inc?"
"No Daddy. I not like those movies."
"But they're cartoons."
"Cartoons is not for kids. They's for Daddies!"
2001
2002 (Heidi 2006 called and wants those arms back)
2003
2004 (He can't wear this shirt now unless he's got pants on "because it matches" his leg tatt. See 2006 picture)
2005 (J's Saabatron after battling Idiot Driver's Ford F150) 
2006
Ex Californian attempts to make snowman
out of less than an inch of snow to placate her son.
Those would be raisin eyes and Russian Sage arms.
Those would be raisin eyes and Russian Sage arms.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
I'm sorry but I've had too much wine
and this is really funny.
"Why would anyone stick their penis in a can???"
"Because it's one size fits all!"
(Insert a very pregnant pause) "Still..."
"Why would anyone stick their penis in a can???"
"Because it's one size fits all!"
(Insert a very pregnant pause) "Still..."
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Gay Penguin Dreams and Stranger Things
A few weeks back I was racking my brain trying to come up with a small, inexpensive, nonplastic yet meaningful gift for the Cracker. The last thing he needs is anything more in his toy room, yet he is my baby and dammit I want to get him *something* for Christmas. Finally inspiration struck: a friend for Not-Bob!
(The only thing we planned on getting him was his very own copy of the controversial and banned And Tango Makes Three which I'm pretty sure won't be at our local library. And before you warn us of it's hidden political agenda that's the reason we're buying it.)
For those of you who haven't met him, Not-Bob is a stuffed horse I casually picked when we were visiting Colorado back when the Cracker was a mere 3 months old that has become the Cracker's constant companion. Specifically he's his fav-o-wit "bed fwend" which is what the Cracker has named all the stuffed animals he likes to sleep with. (Seriously, his idea, not ours, but it gives us a good chuckle.)
As far as the origin of the name Not-Bob, after dozens of nope-try-again-Moms I suggested Bob. Shaking his head in you-are-such-an-idiot disgust he informed me "No Mom! Bahb is not a horse! Bahb is a BUILDER!" But Not-Bob? Now that was a hilarious and perfect name in his humble opinion.
Insanely pleased with myself for coming up with the perfect gift, I took off the next day while the Cracker was in school to find a friend in town. (Must have instant gratification. And I don't want to pay shipping.) But to be just right, it couldn't be just any old stuffed horse, it had to be the same company, the same model. We need soft, and we need washable.
Ahh...the thrill of the chase! Just as I was getting started my mom called. When I told her about my quest she reminded me that they sell them at Barnes & Noble. Jackpot! Before I picked him up from school I had found a full-size friend at B&N and a mini-sized friend at our only locally owned toy store. Woo hoo! A family, and for just $14!
But, of course, it was bound to get out of hand. Nothing is ever simple when it comes to my mom and I, but luckily for me my intown shopping resources are very limited. My mom, however, just outside of San Francisco, could simply not help herself and bought two full-sized friends the same day. (No, she doesn't need a life...she has one: buying toys for the Cracker.) But before she could tell me, I was at home on the net where I was searching for more mini horses. Babies! Gotsta have at least one more baby! (And besides, they are only $5.99 = pretty harmless.) And of course I immediately fell in love with this little guy from Not-Bob's former home who we will eventually have to have. The but is that my itchy credit card finger refuses to pay $6.95 shipping (at least for now) for a $5.99 horse that weighs just ounces. And to justify it I start to think that maybe I should just buy two. This guy is awfully cute too, and the Cracker will delight in telling us over and over how he's a horse that looks like a cow, just like our neighbor's black and white spotted cat.
(Small inexpensive token is becoming collector status. But I've been good, so far.)
So I'm resisting and I'm resisting and I am actually able to keep a Christmas surprise a secret for once. (Other secrets = no problem. But if I have a Christmas gift that I am excited to give you? Really bad track record.) (And that would be my mom's fault. My paternal grandmother would send me my gift and my mother would encourage me to carefully slice the tape and open it the second I got home from school. Then she'd retape and remind me to act surprised in front of my Dad, who is no dummy but knew there was no stopping her.)
And then last night, right before bed, a sick little Cracker barfed. And because he was sick and sad and pathetic he had was clutching his best bud ever so tightly when it happened...
Not-Bob was sporting really stinky vomit.
Now really, what was I to do? It was late! And he was sick! And just as much as he needed to go to bed, Not-Bob need a bath or two or three. So I reached into the stash.
"I want Not-Bob!"
"I know you do honey, but he is sick too and he really needs a bath. But before he went into the washing machine he asked if you could do him a favor."
That stopped the crying. "Huh?"
"Not-Bob asked for your help."
"Mommy?"
"Yes?"
"Not-Bob is not a weal horse. He's PRETEND. Oh, and horses don't talk. Horses NEIGH."
Stop being so damn smart and logical and go with me here. "He has a new friend who is very lonely and scared of the dark. Do you think you could let him sleep with you tonight?"
"Not-Bob has a fwend!"
"Of course he does! Would you like to meet him?"
And just as I'd hoped, the Cracker was instantly attached.
I rock.
"He needs a name you know. Can you think of a good name for him?"
"Hmmmm...hmmm.........let's see........ummmm......ummmmmm......ummmmm............NO."
"Okay, well, ummm...how about Charlie?"
"Chaw-wie? Chaw-wie! Yes! I love it!"
So without further ado I present you with Charlie
(And his still-a-secret posse)
The Cracker has now decided he wants more friends for Not-Bob and Charlie.
(Score.)
"Honey, we don't have anymore. Only one friend came to visit." (Hehehe!)
"Dats okay Mommy. I tell San O Cause, and San O Cause will come down! down! down! the fi-place and bwing Not-Bob and Chaw-wie more horse fwends. And San O Cause will eat cookies I make for him and Not-Bob and his lots of fwends will eat hay and apples. Oh, and cawwots too."
Damn I'm having fun.
(The only thing we planned on getting him was his very own copy of the controversial and banned And Tango Makes Three which I'm pretty sure won't be at our local library. And before you warn us of it's hidden political agenda that's the reason we're buying it.)
For those of you who haven't met him, Not-Bob is a stuffed horse I casually picked when we were visiting Colorado back when the Cracker was a mere 3 months old that has become the Cracker's constant companion. Specifically he's his fav-o-wit "bed fwend" which is what the Cracker has named all the stuffed animals he likes to sleep with. (Seriously, his idea, not ours, but it gives us a good chuckle.)
As far as the origin of the name Not-Bob, after dozens of nope-try-again-Moms I suggested Bob. Shaking his head in you-are-such-an-idiot disgust he informed me "No Mom! Bahb is not a horse! Bahb is a BUILDER!" But Not-Bob? Now that was a hilarious and perfect name in his humble opinion.
Insanely pleased with myself for coming up with the perfect gift, I took off the next day while the Cracker was in school to find a friend in town. (Must have instant gratification. And I don't want to pay shipping.) But to be just right, it couldn't be just any old stuffed horse, it had to be the same company, the same model. We need soft, and we need washable.
Ahh...the thrill of the chase! Just as I was getting started my mom called. When I told her about my quest she reminded me that they sell them at Barnes & Noble. Jackpot! Before I picked him up from school I had found a full-size friend at B&N and a mini-sized friend at our only locally owned toy store. Woo hoo! A family, and for just $14!
But, of course, it was bound to get out of hand. Nothing is ever simple when it comes to my mom and I, but luckily for me my intown shopping resources are very limited. My mom, however, just outside of San Francisco, could simply not help herself and bought two full-sized friends the same day. (No, she doesn't need a life...she has one: buying toys for the Cracker.) But before she could tell me, I was at home on the net where I was searching for more mini horses. Babies! Gotsta have at least one more baby! (And besides, they are only $5.99 = pretty harmless.) And of course I immediately fell in love with this little guy from Not-Bob's former home who we will eventually have to have. The but is that my itchy credit card finger refuses to pay $6.95 shipping (at least for now) for a $5.99 horse that weighs just ounces. And to justify it I start to think that maybe I should just buy two. This guy is awfully cute too, and the Cracker will delight in telling us over and over how he's a horse that looks like a cow, just like our neighbor's black and white spotted cat.
(Small inexpensive token is becoming collector status. But I've been good, so far.)
So I'm resisting and I'm resisting and I am actually able to keep a Christmas surprise a secret for once. (Other secrets = no problem. But if I have a Christmas gift that I am excited to give you? Really bad track record.) (And that would be my mom's fault. My paternal grandmother would send me my gift and my mother would encourage me to carefully slice the tape and open it the second I got home from school. Then she'd retape and remind me to act surprised in front of my Dad, who is no dummy but knew there was no stopping her.)
And then last night, right before bed, a sick little Cracker barfed. And because he was sick and sad and pathetic he had was clutching his best bud ever so tightly when it happened...
Not-Bob was sporting really stinky vomit.
Now really, what was I to do? It was late! And he was sick! And just as much as he needed to go to bed, Not-Bob need a bath or two or three. So I reached into the stash.
"I want Not-Bob!"
"I know you do honey, but he is sick too and he really needs a bath. But before he went into the washing machine he asked if you could do him a favor."
That stopped the crying. "Huh?"
"Not-Bob asked for your help."
"Mommy?"
"Yes?"
"Not-Bob is not a weal horse. He's PRETEND. Oh, and horses don't talk. Horses NEIGH."
Stop being so damn smart and logical and go with me here. "He has a new friend who is very lonely and scared of the dark. Do you think you could let him sleep with you tonight?"
"Not-Bob has a fwend!"
"Of course he does! Would you like to meet him?"
And just as I'd hoped, the Cracker was instantly attached.
I rock.
"He needs a name you know. Can you think of a good name for him?"
"Hmmmm...hmmm.........let's see........ummmm......ummmmmm......ummmmm............NO."
"Okay, well, ummm...how about Charlie?"
"Chaw-wie? Chaw-wie! Yes! I love it!"
So without further ado I present you with Charlie
(And his still-a-secret posse)
The Cracker has now decided he wants more friends for Not-Bob and Charlie.
(Score.)
"Honey, we don't have anymore. Only one friend came to visit." (Hehehe!)
"Dats okay Mommy. I tell San O Cause, and San O Cause will come down! down! down! the fi-place and bwing Not-Bob and Chaw-wie more horse fwends. And San O Cause will eat cookies I make for him and Not-Bob and his lots of fwends will eat hay and apples. Oh, and cawwots too."
Damn I'm having fun.
Monday, November 27, 2006
Where Has the Time Gone?
Once in a blue moon when I'm tired and lazy but can't get myself into bed and feel like doing something yet nothing on the computer I go back and search for old pictures taken around this time a previous year. Now that the Cracker has been around a few years it's always quite the trip. It one of the few things that makes me feel old.
11.22.2003
11.22.2003
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Not just snacks anymore
Ever been so tired that you just forget everything? Things you've known for years, but in the moment that formerly useless trivia become actually useful your brain just completely fails you?
Like that we could be using Cheerios and Fruit Loops to teach aim?
Why oh why did I totally forget this? Must have been that all of my available resources today (twice today) went to destroying evidence that my son peed on the wall/seat/back of a public toilet.
And the floor. Don't forget the floor.
(I am going to make myself learn to pee standing up. I am never sitting my bare ass down on a public toilet again.)
So what was my excuse yesterday? How about that occasionally the Cracker will ask to take a bath when he's actually already very clean at a most inopportune time and my promise of later isn't NOW so he pees on himself on purpose in hopes that he will get to play with his tub friends?
Actually I think it's amazing I even know who I am anymore, even if I don't know the difference between a pumpkin and a honeydew.
So in my eternal quest to have a child fully able to take care of his own waste needs I've forgotten a few things along the way. Sue me.
The thing you have to realize is that this potty training thing hasn't been a black and white matter. Really, truly, the whole thing is gray. Lotsa gray. I came into this figuring that you're either potty trained or you're not.
Oh no.
And it's been going on since approximately 18 months.
STEP 1: Matching the word to the receptacle.
STEP 2: Agreeing to sit on it.
STEP 3: Understanding what it's for.
STEP 4: Learning to recognize the urge.
STEP 5: Before the urge hits.
STEP 6: Being able to sit still long enough.
STEP 7: Actually agreeing to.
STEP 8: Trying more than occasionally.
STEP 9: Learning to accept that you must stop what you are doing to do business, even if what you were doing was more fun because it always is.
STEP 10: And care that dry pants are preferable to wet ones.
STEP 11: How to hold it.
Followed in no particular order by: dry during awake time, dry during nap time, dry all night long, doing it on the command of your mother, taking care of business all by yourself, and (the one thing I most look forward to) poo in porcelain.
"Ms. X is finally potty trained!"
"Wow! That's great! I can't wait for the Cracker to be there."
"It's the best! You're going to love it! It has changed my life!"
"So how is that going overnight? Is she still sleeping through or does she get up to pee often? Do you get up with her? Does she go back to sleep right away?"
"Oh no, she's only DAY trained."
"Oh. How about naps?"
"Mmmm...she's dry maybe once a week?"
"Uh huh. And what about poo?"
"Oh no, she won't poo in the potty! She asks for a diaper and then does it in that!"
"Okay...well it must be nice to not have to think about it, for her to just go when she needs to."
"Oh no no no! If I don't make her try every hour she has an accident."
???
In the last two months we've made the following pee related progress:-Pee standing up.
-Which lead to (woo hoo!) being able to urinate in potties other than our own at home without a special stool or ring.
But best of all:-Hold our own penis while peeing. (Okay, this is really new and really big. Yes, he made us hold it. And we did because we are first time suckers. Even J. And now that it's on the Internet everyone I have ever known knows. Why did I tell everyone? Because I never knew that this was even a possibility, that one day I would be holding a 3 year old penis while it peed. Did you know that???)
Which brings us now to aim. Aim is next. Hi ho Cheerios!
Monday night, when I really needed some adult alone me time, so I went to the grocery store down the hill to buy milk. Woot.
And after I was done I found myself sitting in my car in the parking lot with the engine running, enjoying the peace and quiet, admittedly not really wanting to go home yet when my cell rang.
"Umm...how would you go about sucking up dirty water if the bathroom...uh...flooded? Do we have special towels for that?"
"No. Use the steam cleaner. Just turn it on and the default is sucking mode. Wait...the bathroom flooded?"
"Yeah."
"Is it bad?"
"Yes."
"How bad?"
"Are you on your way home?"
"Yes, I'll leave right now."
"Okay, I'll just wait for you then."
And the good news is that it was the first time the Cracker tried to take care of business by himself!
The bad news is that I had spent the whole day cleaning, that my parents were arriving for a Thanksgiving inspired visit the next day, and now there was soggy toilet paper floating in pee water in the bathroom, running down the carpeted hall, under closet doors, etc. Not a puddle, A FLOOD. INCHES OF WATER. OUT THE BATHROOM AND DOWN THE HALL.
So happy I cleaned all damn day long.
And J totally knew what the Cracker was doing. But instead of being like me and sneaking into the hall outside the bathroom to listen and observe he just stayed where he was. Even when, in his own words, the Cracker started screaming "Daddy! Daddy! UH OH! OH NO! DADDY HELP ME! TOO MUCH PEE!!! TOO MUCH PEE!"
Oh yeah, and before that, the sound of rushing water.
When he finally got there he found my dear child holding the lid down and trying valiantly to stop the water with his little hands.
"Wow, sucks you have to clean the bathroom again."
"Did you at least give him a bath?"
"No, but I guess that would be a good idea."
You think?
(If don't already own one, buy a damn steam cleaner. Best purchase of my life. Not only can it be used as a wet/dry vac in a pinch, but you can steam clean you carpets to your hearts content. Quite useful in my line of work.)
Like that we could be using Cheerios and Fruit Loops to teach aim?
Why oh why did I totally forget this? Must have been that all of my available resources today (twice today) went to destroying evidence that my son peed on the wall/seat/back of a public toilet.
And the floor. Don't forget the floor.
(I am going to make myself learn to pee standing up. I am never sitting my bare ass down on a public toilet again.)
So what was my excuse yesterday? How about that occasionally the Cracker will ask to take a bath when he's actually already very clean at a most inopportune time and my promise of later isn't NOW so he pees on himself on purpose in hopes that he will get to play with his tub friends?
Actually I think it's amazing I even know who I am anymore, even if I don't know the difference between a pumpkin and a honeydew.
So in my eternal quest to have a child fully able to take care of his own waste needs I've forgotten a few things along the way. Sue me.
The thing you have to realize is that this potty training thing hasn't been a black and white matter. Really, truly, the whole thing is gray. Lotsa gray. I came into this figuring that you're either potty trained or you're not.
Oh no.
And it's been going on since approximately 18 months.
STEP 1: Matching the word to the receptacle.
STEP 2: Agreeing to sit on it.
STEP 3: Understanding what it's for.
STEP 4: Learning to recognize the urge.
STEP 5: Before the urge hits.
STEP 6: Being able to sit still long enough.
STEP 7: Actually agreeing to.
STEP 8: Trying more than occasionally.
STEP 9: Learning to accept that you must stop what you are doing to do business, even if what you were doing was more fun because it always is.
STEP 10: And care that dry pants are preferable to wet ones.
STEP 11: How to hold it.
Followed in no particular order by: dry during awake time, dry during nap time, dry all night long, doing it on the command of your mother, taking care of business all by yourself, and (the one thing I most look forward to) poo in porcelain.
"Ms. X is finally potty trained!"
"Wow! That's great! I can't wait for the Cracker to be there."
"It's the best! You're going to love it! It has changed my life!"
"So how is that going overnight? Is she still sleeping through or does she get up to pee often? Do you get up with her? Does she go back to sleep right away?"
"Oh no, she's only DAY trained."
"Oh. How about naps?"
"Mmmm...she's dry maybe once a week?"
"Uh huh. And what about poo?"
"Oh no, she won't poo in the potty! She asks for a diaper and then does it in that!"
"Okay...well it must be nice to not have to think about it, for her to just go when she needs to."
"Oh no no no! If I don't make her try every hour she has an accident."
???
In the last two months we've made the following pee related progress:-Pee standing up.
-Which lead to (woo hoo!) being able to urinate in potties other than our own at home without a special stool or ring.
But best of all:-Hold our own penis while peeing. (Okay, this is really new and really big. Yes, he made us hold it. And we did because we are first time suckers. Even J. And now that it's on the Internet everyone I have ever known knows. Why did I tell everyone? Because I never knew that this was even a possibility, that one day I would be holding a 3 year old penis while it peed. Did you know that???)
Which brings us now to aim. Aim is next. Hi ho Cheerios!
Monday night, when I really needed some adult alone me time, so I went to the grocery store down the hill to buy milk. Woot.
And after I was done I found myself sitting in my car in the parking lot with the engine running, enjoying the peace and quiet, admittedly not really wanting to go home yet when my cell rang.
"Umm...how would you go about sucking up dirty water if the bathroom...uh...flooded? Do we have special towels for that?"
"No. Use the steam cleaner. Just turn it on and the default is sucking mode. Wait...the bathroom flooded?"
"Yeah."
"Is it bad?"
"Yes."
"How bad?"
"Are you on your way home?"
"Yes, I'll leave right now."
"Okay, I'll just wait for you then."
And the good news is that it was the first time the Cracker tried to take care of business by himself!
The bad news is that I had spent the whole day cleaning, that my parents were arriving for a Thanksgiving inspired visit the next day, and now there was soggy toilet paper floating in pee water in the bathroom, running down the carpeted hall, under closet doors, etc. Not a puddle, A FLOOD. INCHES OF WATER. OUT THE BATHROOM AND DOWN THE HALL.
So happy I cleaned all damn day long.
And J totally knew what the Cracker was doing. But instead of being like me and sneaking into the hall outside the bathroom to listen and observe he just stayed where he was. Even when, in his own words, the Cracker started screaming "Daddy! Daddy! UH OH! OH NO! DADDY HELP ME! TOO MUCH PEE!!! TOO MUCH PEE!"
Oh yeah, and before that, the sound of rushing water.
When he finally got there he found my dear child holding the lid down and trying valiantly to stop the water with his little hands.
"Wow, sucks you have to clean the bathroom again."
"Did you at least give him a bath?"
"No, but I guess that would be a good idea."
You think?
(If don't already own one, buy a damn steam cleaner. Best purchase of my life. Not only can it be used as a wet/dry vac in a pinch, but you can steam clean you carpets to your hearts content. Quite useful in my line of work.)
Saturday, November 25, 2006
The FINAL Pumpkin Update
Somebody knew and didn't speak up. (You suck.)
Or maybe you just believed me. (Don't do that.)
So let's take another look at my "pumpkins" shall we?
Now, tell me honestly, does that look like a pumpkin to you? First it was green, then yellow, and finally now past it's prime, white.
What if I cut it open?
In my defense, who knew you could grow nice looking melons out of a compost pile in the desert Southwest? This sure as hell isn't Florida folks. Wouldn't you think they'd grow best somewhere a tad more tropical? And I hardly ever buy melons or have them in our home because J is very allergic to them. If they are even in the vicinity of other fruit he ingests he is incapacitated for a good few hours. And it's quite the accomplishment to grow anything here except tumbleweed, so I know that these are not wild honeydew.
Ugh.
Or maybe you just believed me. (Don't do that.)
So let's take another look at my "pumpkins" shall we?
Now, tell me honestly, does that look like a pumpkin to you? First it was green, then yellow, and finally now past it's prime, white.
What if I cut it open?
In my defense, who knew you could grow nice looking melons out of a compost pile in the desert Southwest? This sure as hell isn't Florida folks. Wouldn't you think they'd grow best somewhere a tad more tropical? And I hardly ever buy melons or have them in our home because J is very allergic to them. If they are even in the vicinity of other fruit he ingests he is incapacitated for a good few hours. And it's quite the accomplishment to grow anything here except tumbleweed, so I know that these are not wild honeydew.
Ugh.
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