That's right, Readers, the time is now! Yard sale season is upon us and life as we know it will never be the same. I'm talking early mornings, standing in line at every denomination of church in the city, digging through bins boxes and sometimes trash cans, and finding the most phenomenal deals EVER! Can you stand it? The excitement is almost overwhelming isn't it?!
Dragging every bargain home, whether it's from a sale or the curb (know what I'm sayin' V?) is my obsession. Hell, it's what haunts me, a possible missed treasure is the stuff my nightmares are made of. (And I'm totally serious, I have recurring nightmares about missing out on fabulous finds, it's just not right.)
Monday, April 27, 2009
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
He Never Runs Out Of Jokes...Cause He Doesn't Know Any
I've noticed a trend in age 5-7 year old boys. They don't get the knock-knock joke. I believe I've met one or two that did, but for the most part the concept is completely lost on them. Example of standard joke telling by DJ:
DJ: Knock-knock!
AJ: Who's there?
DJ: TREE-CAR!
AJ: Tree-car who?
DJ: .............
Example 2:
DJ: Knock-knock!
AJ: *sigh* Who's there?
DJ: BASKET-HOUSE!
AJ: Basket-house who?
DJ: Ummm, I forgot.
DJ: Oh wait! I know! KNOCK-A-DOODLE!!
Yes, I know, these are stellar jokes, when's his book coming out, right? Would you believe me if I told you makes them up entirely by himself? He was even so kind as to entertain his cousin with them during spring break 2 weeks ago. She was completely perplexed, but was happy to laugh at him when he would manically break down after completing one of his "jokes". That's the other thing I've noticed. The less sense they make, the funnier they are. Clearly, a knock-knock joke is at it's best when there is one made up word, and at least one nonsense word. All I can do really is roll my eyes and go with it. They say laughing at yourself is good for you and my kid laughs insanely and often. He's sure to be the healthiest person in the family.
DJ: Knock-knock!
AJ: Who's there?
DJ: TREE-CAR!
AJ: Tree-car who?
DJ: .............
Example 2:
DJ: Knock-knock!
AJ: *sigh* Who's there?
DJ: BASKET-HOUSE!
AJ: Basket-house who?
DJ: Ummm, I forgot.
DJ: Oh wait! I know! KNOCK-A-DOODLE!!
Yes, I know, these are stellar jokes, when's his book coming out, right? Would you believe me if I told you makes them up entirely by himself? He was even so kind as to entertain his cousin with them during spring break 2 weeks ago. She was completely perplexed, but was happy to laugh at him when he would manically break down after completing one of his "jokes". That's the other thing I've noticed. The less sense they make, the funnier they are. Clearly, a knock-knock joke is at it's best when there is one made up word, and at least one nonsense word. All I can do really is roll my eyes and go with it. They say laughing at yourself is good for you and my kid laughs insanely and often. He's sure to be the healthiest person in the family.
New Trend: Plastic Grass
What's my newest hobby, you ask. Why it's pulling multitudes of dandelions and violets from my lawn...by hand. I can't spray anything on them, I'm currently in the midst of my last desperate attempt at reseeding. So, daily, I'm off to look and see what the rain has spawned fresh in my lawn. It's a losing battle and it's getting more hopeless hourly as the leaves are just about to pop, forever shading the little seeds making it impossible for them to open. My house is destined to be the only one on the block with the small patchy clumps of grass and lots of blowing dirt. I mean, Vader and I busted our butts on our anniversary last year trying to smooth out the lawn, getting it ready for seeding, to no avail. We changed tactics and thought we'd wait until early spring to try again, when the sun can actually touch the lawn, but the tree is not cooperating with my grand plan. Right now, I'm really liking the idea of the fake grass like they use in Arizona. Actually, real grass is bad for our air and water, in the spirit of Earth Day today, I'm completely advocating fake grass. It might have just a little something to do with the fact that I can't grow any, but inspiration takes many forms.
Monday, April 20, 2009
I Don't Sleep On The Job, Even On Vacation
Consistent. On vacation, at home, at least we can say, I'm consistent. It's just I don't want to let anybody down, don't want my kids to think I'd lay down on the job of getting what's right and fair.
What's my daughter's favorite thing?
"When mommy has a conniption fit."
Why?
"Because she always gets her way."
Damn straight.
In Arizona, we had a little issue at the Ikea eatery. We went for a quick dinner in their cafeteria as a family. Involved were my parents, my sister and her family, and then myself and the kids. There was a bit of a misunderstanding between the lovely greeter downstairs who gave us dinner coupons, the cafeteria server, the cafeteria cashier, and me. Of course as fate would have it, I was in line first. The misunderstanding was going to cost me a whole lot more money than I was willing to spend. After much gesturing, waving around of my hands, exclaiming about fine details being ignored by staff and etc, I was given my way. This in turn positively affected my parents and sister, who were also given my way. And a supervisor never even had to be called.
"What did you say to her?", my dad wanted to know. I don't even know what to say about that, apparently he hasn't talked to my daughter who could tell him that I always get my way when I have a conniption. Or it could be that waving my hands up to the heavens was enough to scare the poor cashier into thinking that I had some contract with God and He would strike her blind if she didn't find a way to get rid of me. Overall, it was a pretty minor conniption, very easily executed and I wish someone had videotaped it so that I could learn from it. Then I can apply those same techniques to my next conniption to perhaps shorten the time from explaining whatever random problem is on my mind to having said problem ultimately fixed.
The other issue I have, that I just couldn't get away from even on vacation 2000 miles away, the need to Swiffer. I really didn't have enough time for it, but I did take one afternoon where I put some real quality time into Swiffering the tile at my sister's house. I went through like 5 or 6 Swiffer cloths and eradicated lots of pet hair and major dust bunnies. I wished I could've done more, but I can't tell you the joy I felt every single time I would then walk past the knickknacks in the corners knowing that dust bunnies were no longer making their homes there. Swiffering....it's good for the soul.
What's my daughter's favorite thing?
"When mommy has a conniption fit."
Why?
"Because she always gets her way."
Damn straight.
In Arizona, we had a little issue at the Ikea eatery. We went for a quick dinner in their cafeteria as a family. Involved were my parents, my sister and her family, and then myself and the kids. There was a bit of a misunderstanding between the lovely greeter downstairs who gave us dinner coupons, the cafeteria server, the cafeteria cashier, and me. Of course as fate would have it, I was in line first. The misunderstanding was going to cost me a whole lot more money than I was willing to spend. After much gesturing, waving around of my hands, exclaiming about fine details being ignored by staff and etc, I was given my way. This in turn positively affected my parents and sister, who were also given my way. And a supervisor never even had to be called.
"What did you say to her?", my dad wanted to know. I don't even know what to say about that, apparently he hasn't talked to my daughter who could tell him that I always get my way when I have a conniption. Or it could be that waving my hands up to the heavens was enough to scare the poor cashier into thinking that I had some contract with God and He would strike her blind if she didn't find a way to get rid of me. Overall, it was a pretty minor conniption, very easily executed and I wish someone had videotaped it so that I could learn from it. Then I can apply those same techniques to my next conniption to perhaps shorten the time from explaining whatever random problem is on my mind to having said problem ultimately fixed.
The other issue I have, that I just couldn't get away from even on vacation 2000 miles away, the need to Swiffer. I really didn't have enough time for it, but I did take one afternoon where I put some real quality time into Swiffering the tile at my sister's house. I went through like 5 or 6 Swiffer cloths and eradicated lots of pet hair and major dust bunnies. I wished I could've done more, but I can't tell you the joy I felt every single time I would then walk past the knickknacks in the corners knowing that dust bunnies were no longer making their homes there. Swiffering....it's good for the soul.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Just Let Me Use My Words!
Here's another little burr in my side. I'm not even sure if it's politically correct, I haven't discussed this with my homosexual friends yet, but I don't appreciate the new commercials about "It's wrong to say things are gay."
I love words, I think I've made that perfectly clear in more than one of my posts here. Love them. One word I happen to like the sound of and like the feel of it when I say it is queer. I think it's so quaint, and reading it in books, like, "She gave him a queer look, he wasn't sure if she was angry with him or had just ate a bad clam.", makes me want to go out and use the word. Sadly, queer is associated with being a homosexual and saying to someone, "I love that little picture, it's queer, but I think it'd be cute in the hallway.", could be misinterpreted by people to think that I think it looks to be homosexual. Homosexual is the proper term. Not gay, queer, or other less desirable terms that I won't mention. These are all words that had actual meanings before they were re-interpreted as meaning homosexual. It ticks me off that people are spending money telling people to not use the word gay, when it's not being used in it's original meaning for their purposes either. You're darn right I see things that I would term gay. Things that are so bright and cheery that often times it borders on insipid. Like gaggingly happy. You know, blindingly bright flowered pants, my kids on a bike ride on their way to get ice cream, the Dick and Jane stories, Hello Kitty. Now, do I think any of these things are homosexual? Um, no, but I would love to be able to use the word gay about them, without being attacked as being some politically incorrect snob.
I certainly don't like any put downs for any group of people and I don't want my friends put down ever, so I agree gay shouldn't be used in a way that is inappropriate. I also have no problem with my homosexual friends being called gay, or calling them gay if this is what is preferable. I just don't like that gay has been so fully ingrained in our society as being a word with a single definition, that I can't even use the word in it's original form so that I can fully emphasize and detail my feelings about something in the most descriptive way possible. For godsakes, all I want to do is tell the world that my husband's left calf is queer. I certainly don't mean it's a homosexual calf....it's just so much skinnier than the other one, it's an oddity, truly the definition of queer if I ever saw one.
I love words, I think I've made that perfectly clear in more than one of my posts here. Love them. One word I happen to like the sound of and like the feel of it when I say it is queer. I think it's so quaint, and reading it in books, like, "She gave him a queer look, he wasn't sure if she was angry with him or had just ate a bad clam.", makes me want to go out and use the word. Sadly, queer is associated with being a homosexual and saying to someone, "I love that little picture, it's queer, but I think it'd be cute in the hallway.", could be misinterpreted by people to think that I think it looks to be homosexual. Homosexual is the proper term. Not gay, queer, or other less desirable terms that I won't mention. These are all words that had actual meanings before they were re-interpreted as meaning homosexual. It ticks me off that people are spending money telling people to not use the word gay, when it's not being used in it's original meaning for their purposes either. You're darn right I see things that I would term gay. Things that are so bright and cheery that often times it borders on insipid. Like gaggingly happy. You know, blindingly bright flowered pants, my kids on a bike ride on their way to get ice cream, the Dick and Jane stories, Hello Kitty. Now, do I think any of these things are homosexual? Um, no, but I would love to be able to use the word gay about them, without being attacked as being some politically incorrect snob.
I certainly don't like any put downs for any group of people and I don't want my friends put down ever, so I agree gay shouldn't be used in a way that is inappropriate. I also have no problem with my homosexual friends being called gay, or calling them gay if this is what is preferable. I just don't like that gay has been so fully ingrained in our society as being a word with a single definition, that I can't even use the word in it's original form so that I can fully emphasize and detail my feelings about something in the most descriptive way possible. For godsakes, all I want to do is tell the world that my husband's left calf is queer. I certainly don't mean it's a homosexual calf....it's just so much skinnier than the other one, it's an oddity, truly the definition of queer if I ever saw one.
Such Disappointments
I generally try to be a positive person. I'm happy, I love life, I enjoy good humor and love sassy sarcasm. Some weeks just give you more than you can take though. Here is a short list of things that are currently ruining my life.
1. Lying Liars who lie.
2. Teachers who insist your child can't read, yet admittedly aren't personally involved in teaching them said skill.
3. The dissolving of the best church sale ever.
4. The gradual increased suckiness of the 2nd best church sale ever.
5. The most gorgeous, softest, thickest, bake sale sugar cookies ever...tasting like mouse turds.
6. My lawn.
Don't feel better about yourselves Liars, just because you're in a list of six things vexing me. You're still at the top of the list and won't be leaving anytime soon, like ever.
Late addition:
How in the hell did I forget number 7??
7. Hover Moms
That's just bullshit.
1. Lying Liars who lie.
2. Teachers who insist your child can't read, yet admittedly aren't personally involved in teaching them said skill.
3. The dissolving of the best church sale ever.
4. The gradual increased suckiness of the 2nd best church sale ever.
5. The most gorgeous, softest, thickest, bake sale sugar cookies ever...tasting like mouse turds.
6. My lawn.
Don't feel better about yourselves Liars, just because you're in a list of six things vexing me. You're still at the top of the list and won't be leaving anytime soon, like ever.
Late addition:
How in the hell did I forget number 7??
7. Hover Moms
That's just bullshit.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Literal To A Fault
As I've mentioned in a previous post, A & D have had some issues with understanding race. It actually has caused some problems in their development. They didn't understand all their colors until they were in kindergarten.
D would hear that his daddy was black, but he sees his dad as he really is, not in terms that are commonly used to describe people of color. Knowing that his dad is black, all things brown are called black. Ipso facto...all things black must be brown.
Me: D, go and grab your black shoes and your backpack so we can get to school.
D returns with brown shoes and backpack.
Me: D, I said go and get your black shoes, those are brown.
D: (Very patiently with me) No, mommy...these are black.
Me: Okay, get your other black shoes then.
D: I don't have any other black shoes, I have some brown shoes though.
Let me just tell you, it usually turned into a "Who's On First" performance until I understood that he matched his shoes to his dad. He was just so confused about it. By the time he was nearing the end of kindergarten, he could name black and brown things, but it would be like, "This is black right, no brown, no black...right?" Just think of growing up your whole life thinking that cats are called dogs and then having to retrain your brain that those are in fact cats, not dogs. That's what it was like for my kids because they knew black people, weren't usually black.
They finally got their colors straightened out, but it doesn't stop the confusion as evidenced by D in The St. Patrick's Day Revelations post. When A was in 2nd grade they were doing a section in Social Studies on the Civil Rights movement. We were talking about it on the way to school one day.
A: And Rosa Parks was supposed to give up her seat on the bus!
Me: Well, there were a lot of unfair things. Not only couldn't black people keep their seats on the bus, they couldn't drink from the same drinking fountains, or eat at the same restaurants.
A: That is so sad, mommy. At least it didn't happen to anyone I know.
Me: No, you probably don't know anyone.
A: Yeah, I'm glad I don't know any black people.
Me: A! You know tons of black people.
A: Who!
Me: Um, your DAD! Your grandparents, Mrs. Smith, Jabari, Khayari....
A: WHAT!?
She was blown away and sadly, she cried a little. She argued with me a little that it couldn't be because all of these people were light brown, dark brown, or tannish. It didn't help that all the photos of it....were in black and white. I explained that during the Civil Rights leaders decided the best thing to do was to call themselves black to make it perfectly clear what exactly whites were afraid of, the color of their skin. She was disappointed they didn't choose brown, but she was also really devastated that relatives of people she knew were treated unfairly. In the beginning, to her, this happened to a group of people that she had no ties to in any way, you might as well have been telling her that this was a Civil Rights movement for monsters and dinosaurs because she didn't know any and didn't think she ever would.
Luckily, A is mostly straightened out now. D, well, I'm sure we still have work to do with him. There's lots and lots of work to do with D yet. Oh so much work....
D would hear that his daddy was black, but he sees his dad as he really is, not in terms that are commonly used to describe people of color. Knowing that his dad is black, all things brown are called black. Ipso facto...all things black must be brown.
Me: D, go and grab your black shoes and your backpack so we can get to school.
D returns with brown shoes and backpack.
Me: D, I said go and get your black shoes, those are brown.
D: (Very patiently with me) No, mommy...these are black.
Me: Okay, get your other black shoes then.
D: I don't have any other black shoes, I have some brown shoes though.
Let me just tell you, it usually turned into a "Who's On First" performance until I understood that he matched his shoes to his dad. He was just so confused about it. By the time he was nearing the end of kindergarten, he could name black and brown things, but it would be like, "This is black right, no brown, no black...right?" Just think of growing up your whole life thinking that cats are called dogs and then having to retrain your brain that those are in fact cats, not dogs. That's what it was like for my kids because they knew black people, weren't usually black.
They finally got their colors straightened out, but it doesn't stop the confusion as evidenced by D in The St. Patrick's Day Revelations post. When A was in 2nd grade they were doing a section in Social Studies on the Civil Rights movement. We were talking about it on the way to school one day.
A: And Rosa Parks was supposed to give up her seat on the bus!
Me: Well, there were a lot of unfair things. Not only couldn't black people keep their seats on the bus, they couldn't drink from the same drinking fountains, or eat at the same restaurants.
A: That is so sad, mommy. At least it didn't happen to anyone I know.
Me: No, you probably don't know anyone.
A: Yeah, I'm glad I don't know any black people.
Me: A! You know tons of black people.
A: Who!
Me: Um, your DAD! Your grandparents, Mrs. Smith, Jabari, Khayari....
A: WHAT!?
She was blown away and sadly, she cried a little. She argued with me a little that it couldn't be because all of these people were light brown, dark brown, or tannish. It didn't help that all the photos of it....were in black and white. I explained that during the Civil Rights leaders decided the best thing to do was to call themselves black to make it perfectly clear what exactly whites were afraid of, the color of their skin. She was disappointed they didn't choose brown, but she was also really devastated that relatives of people she knew were treated unfairly. In the beginning, to her, this happened to a group of people that she had no ties to in any way, you might as well have been telling her that this was a Civil Rights movement for monsters and dinosaurs because she didn't know any and didn't think she ever would.
Luckily, A is mostly straightened out now. D, well, I'm sure we still have work to do with him. There's lots and lots of work to do with D yet. Oh so much work....
Bustin' My Butt
Well, the kids are quite thrilled with themselves as spring break quickly approaches. I hardly have the time for looking forward to it with all the work that it entails for me. I despise wishing away time, but I can't help but say that it'll be wonderful when it gets here and all this work can stop for a week and I can relax with my kids. Except for feeding them, bathing them, dressing them, the cleaning up after them, and disciplining them. It's gonna be great....
I will say that I have been doing a few things for myself, like exercising. I've already lost all but 2 of the winter warmth pounds that I put on. I think my despicable "spot" is gone, I haven't seen it for awhile anyway and my butt is getting in shape. I'm just having problems with what I've always had problems with...isn't there any exercise for shrinking boobs? Seriously, if anyone out there knows of one, I'm desperate, but I'm also not holding my breath. Why are there all sort of ads for belly fat and ab tightners....for gods sakes, my boobs are as big as my head, who's got a product for that? I'd buy that one in bulk. All I know is that I've gotta hurry up and find something, I'm 35 now, in another 10 years....they aren't going to be sitting so pretty anymore.
I will say that I have been doing a few things for myself, like exercising. I've already lost all but 2 of the winter warmth pounds that I put on. I think my despicable "spot" is gone, I haven't seen it for awhile anyway and my butt is getting in shape. I'm just having problems with what I've always had problems with...isn't there any exercise for shrinking boobs? Seriously, if anyone out there knows of one, I'm desperate, but I'm also not holding my breath. Why are there all sort of ads for belly fat and ab tightners....for gods sakes, my boobs are as big as my head, who's got a product for that? I'd buy that one in bulk. All I know is that I've gotta hurry up and find something, I'm 35 now, in another 10 years....they aren't going to be sitting so pretty anymore.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Revelations On St. Patrick's Day
Well, last week was St. Patrick's Day. Being that no one in mine or Vader's family is Irish or Catholic, it gets pretty much ignored at our house. So, in keeping with tradition, St. Paddy's Day was Tuesday as usual in the J household. We don't even bother wearing green, why would we....see above.
Poor D came home with stories of children being pinched for not wearing green (luckily he didn't or else the principal and I would be having another lovely chat) and he just couldn't understand why that would happen. I told him that was so tacky and I couldn't explain why that would happen either, for goodness sakes, even the people I know that wear green and celebrate the day don't know what St. Patrick is the patron Saint of. So anyway, in the midst of my explanation and why we don't wear green or celebrate the day, (which maybe I would celebrate the day if I knew what fantastically wonderful thing St. Patrick did for all of humanity) he wanted to know where his ancestors were from. A agreed, she knew some, but she wanted to know more. It was wonderful, my kids, wanting to know about their history.
So, first I explained that they are a little more than 1/4 Dutch. A adds, "From you, right mommy?" I say, "Correct A", she's so clever. Then I explain that they are both 1/2 African. Holy shit, stop the presses! D yells at me, "Whaaat?!" Covers his mouth, bouncing around in his booster seat, extreme joy coming from every pore of his body. He's thrilled, he's excited, he's totally feelin' his roots. He shouts at me again, "FROM WHO!!!!?" Now, it's very hard to keep a straight face, but god, you gotta love the innocence of this kid, he's frickin' clueless. He looks excitedly over at his sister, who to her credit is keeping a straight face and being very nice, and loudly whispers to her, "Can you believe this?!" He starts clapping as I tell him that he's African through his dad's side of the family. His response, just this, "Wow!", in utter awe. (To you Readers who know Vader and may not have noticed, as my son clearly hasn't.....Vader is black.)
For some reason my children have a very different view of race than I or really anyone expect from them. I think for Vader and I, we know that there are other points of view out there, but we don't really notice them and certainly don't focus on them. Our relationship is based on so many other things besides color, that our kids have picked it up and see absolutely everyone as equals in every way. I feel lucky that we have a very normal, perfectly happy life without serious complications that other couples in our situation had even 20-30 years ago. Anyway, I'm sure I'll be writing about some of the other issues my children have had learning about race, it's interesting and honestly, funny. You wouldn't think that a mixed race household would have complications explaining about race to their children...unfortunately, I think it's really that we're having to teach them that where they see no differences, others do. In a way, that's kind of sad.
Poor D came home with stories of children being pinched for not wearing green (luckily he didn't or else the principal and I would be having another lovely chat) and he just couldn't understand why that would happen. I told him that was so tacky and I couldn't explain why that would happen either, for goodness sakes, even the people I know that wear green and celebrate the day don't know what St. Patrick is the patron Saint of. So anyway, in the midst of my explanation and why we don't wear green or celebrate the day, (which maybe I would celebrate the day if I knew what fantastically wonderful thing St. Patrick did for all of humanity) he wanted to know where his ancestors were from. A agreed, she knew some, but she wanted to know more. It was wonderful, my kids, wanting to know about their history.
So, first I explained that they are a little more than 1/4 Dutch. A adds, "From you, right mommy?" I say, "Correct A", she's so clever. Then I explain that they are both 1/2 African. Holy shit, stop the presses! D yells at me, "Whaaat?!" Covers his mouth, bouncing around in his booster seat, extreme joy coming from every pore of his body. He's thrilled, he's excited, he's totally feelin' his roots. He shouts at me again, "FROM WHO!!!!?" Now, it's very hard to keep a straight face, but god, you gotta love the innocence of this kid, he's frickin' clueless. He looks excitedly over at his sister, who to her credit is keeping a straight face and being very nice, and loudly whispers to her, "Can you believe this?!" He starts clapping as I tell him that he's African through his dad's side of the family. His response, just this, "Wow!", in utter awe. (To you Readers who know Vader and may not have noticed, as my son clearly hasn't.....Vader is black.)
For some reason my children have a very different view of race than I or really anyone expect from them. I think for Vader and I, we know that there are other points of view out there, but we don't really notice them and certainly don't focus on them. Our relationship is based on so many other things besides color, that our kids have picked it up and see absolutely everyone as equals in every way. I feel lucky that we have a very normal, perfectly happy life without serious complications that other couples in our situation had even 20-30 years ago. Anyway, I'm sure I'll be writing about some of the other issues my children have had learning about race, it's interesting and honestly, funny. You wouldn't think that a mixed race household would have complications explaining about race to their children...unfortunately, I think it's really that we're having to teach them that where they see no differences, others do. In a way, that's kind of sad.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
No Time For You, Readers
Have you noticed? I'm posting my Issues, so much less frequently now, Readers. It's that time of year again, time to spend every waking moment outside....or Swiffering. Well, the Swiffering I do anyway, but I'm getting the spring cleaning urge and the Swiffering has been taken up a notch.
I haven't baked anything chocolate in weeks, can you believe it?? I'm getting outside and doing activities, like bike riding and walking. I just want to feel the sun and warm air, I don't want to miss a minute of it. (By warm air I mean anything over 38 degrees, by the time it gets to 45, break out the shortsleeves. I've gotten used to 9 degrees, 45 is a flippin' heat wave.) But also, I do know it's time to lose that roll around my middle. What kept me warm in the winter, doesn't look so cute in a swimsuit in the summer.
I also find other reasons to get outdoors, like putting clothes on the line, raking, jump-starting the dead battery on my van for the 100th time. None of these things leave a lot of time for writing about issues that are currently plaguing me, or about other people's extreme tackiness making me feel better about myself. (Admittedly, the latter is my favorite.)
I will tell you this though, I'm going to the Barbie Mini-Convention tomorrow. Now, I'm quite sure I'll have wonderful stories to tell about the interesting characters that I'll see. I'll be inside a big hotel all day tomorrow, so I'm going to miss being outdoors. It's times like this that I think I should take up smoking, so that I have a reason to go outside and just stand for like 5 minutes. It's spring in Michigan, Readers, desperate times call for desperate measures.
I haven't baked anything chocolate in weeks, can you believe it?? I'm getting outside and doing activities, like bike riding and walking. I just want to feel the sun and warm air, I don't want to miss a minute of it. (By warm air I mean anything over 38 degrees, by the time it gets to 45, break out the shortsleeves. I've gotten used to 9 degrees, 45 is a flippin' heat wave.) But also, I do know it's time to lose that roll around my middle. What kept me warm in the winter, doesn't look so cute in a swimsuit in the summer.
I also find other reasons to get outdoors, like putting clothes on the line, raking, jump-starting the dead battery on my van for the 100th time. None of these things leave a lot of time for writing about issues that are currently plaguing me, or about other people's extreme tackiness making me feel better about myself. (Admittedly, the latter is my favorite.)
I will tell you this though, I'm going to the Barbie Mini-Convention tomorrow. Now, I'm quite sure I'll have wonderful stories to tell about the interesting characters that I'll see. I'll be inside a big hotel all day tomorrow, so I'm going to miss being outdoors. It's times like this that I think I should take up smoking, so that I have a reason to go outside and just stand for like 5 minutes. It's spring in Michigan, Readers, desperate times call for desperate measures.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
50, Really? Can't We Make It Like 10?
The kids and I went on a bit of a trek this weekend. I packed up their portable CD players (I'm sorry but portable music players are always going to be Walkmans to me, I don't care how it dates me.) and their little CD library cases and off we went. DJ found some CDs that I bought him when he was younger, the 50 Favorite Kids Singalongs. He was amazed and so thrilled with them, they were like brand new again. He's happy as a little clam singing along;
"....j k l m neno p coo r s..."
It made me realize that at this age it's fine for him to enjoy this CD and sing along, but it won't last much longer. Just 3 short years from now he'll be 10 and he will no longer be so amazed by The Ants Go Marching.
"....oooh, remender the Blah Blah Black Sheep song mommy....."
Of course, it's possible he will still be in love with this CD at the age of 10, maybe he will still enjoy singing along at the top of his lungs. If this in fact happens, I'll tell you who won't be thrilled. That would be his sister, AJ, at the age of 13. If there is anybody that is going to be far too cool for Mary Had A Little Lamb it will be her. There's no way that she's going to put up with his ruining her reputation with his nerdy choice in music. Clearly, she would have good reason to put her mad karate skills to use and be forced to karate chop his face in order to shut him up. In the meantime he's completely oblivious to what the future could bring and is perfectly happy to sing along;
"....mahwollee mahwollee mahwollee, life is but a dreammmmmah!"
"....j k l m neno p coo r s..."
It made me realize that at this age it's fine for him to enjoy this CD and sing along, but it won't last much longer. Just 3 short years from now he'll be 10 and he will no longer be so amazed by The Ants Go Marching.
"....oooh, remender the Blah Blah Black Sheep song mommy....."
Of course, it's possible he will still be in love with this CD at the age of 10, maybe he will still enjoy singing along at the top of his lungs. If this in fact happens, I'll tell you who won't be thrilled. That would be his sister, AJ, at the age of 13. If there is anybody that is going to be far too cool for Mary Had A Little Lamb it will be her. There's no way that she's going to put up with his ruining her reputation with his nerdy choice in music. Clearly, she would have good reason to put her mad karate skills to use and be forced to karate chop his face in order to shut him up. In the meantime he's completely oblivious to what the future could bring and is perfectly happy to sing along;
"....mahwollee mahwollee mahwollee, life is but a dreammmmmah!"
Sunday, March 8, 2009
I Was So Proud....And Then I Wasn't
Oh, Vader. Vader, Vader, Vader. He's learning, but so slowly it's like taking your fingernail down the chalkboard one inch at a time. (Yes, I know a very dated reference as chalkboards really don't exist anymore and no one probably knows what it is or why it's bad to take fingernails down it.) He has had a bit of a problem in his past with speeding tickets and every once in a while that past becomes the present, much to my chagrin. Knowing this, when he got a speeding ticket 2 weeks ago, it took him a week just to tell me about it. He fully expected my usual carrying on about him needing to get a second job to pay for his apparent recreation because otherwise we were going to have to sell the house due to the increased insurance costs not to mention the cost of the ticket. Further carrying on is how I can't trust him to ever drive my kids anywhere, I'm going to buy one of those smart cars Ford's been talking about in order to keep his foot level on the pedal, and how he's just used up his whole birthday and or Christmas present depending on the time of year it is. But I saved it, in part because he's heard it all before and it's old, but also because of the amazing thing he said about the ticket.
He told me he felt just awful and that he did a stupid thing and it's so stupid he didn't even want to tell me. Then as he's telling me he got a speeding ticket, (for speeding up to make a light), he tells me that he's been trying so hard, and he's been setting his cruise on his long drives to and from work to make sure he doesn't speed on the freeway, and that this was a stupid, ridiculous, time-wasting, money-wasting thing to do. Now, Readers, I've been married to this man for 11, almost 12 years. I've known him for 15 years, and there have been numerous tickets in those 15 years, let me tell you. Never once has he ever talked about how stupid and out of line he is for getting the ticket. Never. Clearly, I was nothing short of flabbergasted.
There is usually a tirade out of his mouth starting with;
Speed limits are ridiculous, why would they make a car able to go 120, but limit you to 70?
I'm just going the speed of traffic, everyone is going over. (Of course he's flying past them all.)
Lights take too long, everyone knows how to stop and go.
Yellow means go like hell.
And basically, most driving laws don't apply to him and should be done away with altogether.
So, though I told him I was frustrated by the setback and the upcoming cost of it ($125), I felt that he was upset enough with himself that I knew he would be much more aware and this would hopefully be the final step for him to quit driving like an asshole. I didn't carry on, I didn't threaten, I didn't even stop speaking to him for a week (he never actually notices anyway). I felt so proud of him.
Then I lost it.
Knowing the cost of the ticket, I told him to wait until the next payday, I was going to get paid, he was going to get paid, we'd pay it with a check instead of a credit card. So, he comes home one night before the pay days. He is setting up the Wii and I pay no attention. AJ is like, "Wow, did you get a new game daddy." I stop dead in my tracks, "What?" AJ loves this center of attention crap. "Look", she says, "Daddy got a new Need For Speed game. It cost $30." She looks at me expectantly. Vader doesn't look at me, clearly he's forgotten our heart to heart talk and how we're going to be frugal to pay for HIS FU*KING TICKET. Now we're paying for HIS FU*KING GAME TOO?! I stare at him and wait, arms folded of course, hoping like hell I look foreboding. He says, without looking at me, "It's used, I have 7 days to return it." I'm pissed, I decide to go to the library. He's parked behind me and so I take his car. I find an ATM w/d slip from the day before for $20. I was gone and he was off work so clearly he needed cash for some form of recreation. I start adding it up in my head. That's $50 of the $125 he's just wasted. I can't take it anymore. I storm back home and point to the game and just kind of menacingly whisper (cause that's all the anger in my throat will allow me to do), "Tomorrow." before stomping out of the room.
And so it was done. And life was good again in the house of J.
He told me he felt just awful and that he did a stupid thing and it's so stupid he didn't even want to tell me. Then as he's telling me he got a speeding ticket, (for speeding up to make a light), he tells me that he's been trying so hard, and he's been setting his cruise on his long drives to and from work to make sure he doesn't speed on the freeway, and that this was a stupid, ridiculous, time-wasting, money-wasting thing to do. Now, Readers, I've been married to this man for 11, almost 12 years. I've known him for 15 years, and there have been numerous tickets in those 15 years, let me tell you. Never once has he ever talked about how stupid and out of line he is for getting the ticket. Never. Clearly, I was nothing short of flabbergasted.
There is usually a tirade out of his mouth starting with;
Speed limits are ridiculous, why would they make a car able to go 120, but limit you to 70?
I'm just going the speed of traffic, everyone is going over. (Of course he's flying past them all.)
Lights take too long, everyone knows how to stop and go.
Yellow means go like hell.
And basically, most driving laws don't apply to him and should be done away with altogether.
So, though I told him I was frustrated by the setback and the upcoming cost of it ($125), I felt that he was upset enough with himself that I knew he would be much more aware and this would hopefully be the final step for him to quit driving like an asshole. I didn't carry on, I didn't threaten, I didn't even stop speaking to him for a week (he never actually notices anyway). I felt so proud of him.
Then I lost it.
Knowing the cost of the ticket, I told him to wait until the next payday, I was going to get paid, he was going to get paid, we'd pay it with a check instead of a credit card. So, he comes home one night before the pay days. He is setting up the Wii and I pay no attention. AJ is like, "Wow, did you get a new game daddy." I stop dead in my tracks, "What?" AJ loves this center of attention crap. "Look", she says, "Daddy got a new Need For Speed game. It cost $30." She looks at me expectantly. Vader doesn't look at me, clearly he's forgotten our heart to heart talk and how we're going to be frugal to pay for HIS FU*KING TICKET. Now we're paying for HIS FU*KING GAME TOO?! I stare at him and wait, arms folded of course, hoping like hell I look foreboding. He says, without looking at me, "It's used, I have 7 days to return it." I'm pissed, I decide to go to the library. He's parked behind me and so I take his car. I find an ATM w/d slip from the day before for $20. I was gone and he was off work so clearly he needed cash for some form of recreation. I start adding it up in my head. That's $50 of the $125 he's just wasted. I can't take it anymore. I storm back home and point to the game and just kind of menacingly whisper (cause that's all the anger in my throat will allow me to do), "Tomorrow." before stomping out of the room.
And so it was done. And life was good again in the house of J.
A Leisurely Day In The Backyard? I Think Not
This past Friday, the weather was so nice that I just had to go out and clean up the yard. If I didn't hurry up and get it raked I would have to tear out my eyes from looking at it. So I did. I've been having furious bouts of guilt that AJ doesn't really get recess time during the winter, so I sent her out for a recess at the same time. I could only take her idle swinging for about 3 minutes and then my OCD took over. I needed that backyard clean and now. So, I sent her up to the tree house to sweep and clean it 'till it sparkled. That way I could then rake what she sent down. Now, luckily AJ has a bit of my OCD and she actually enjoys cleaning, so we made quick work of the back yard.
While we worked we talked a bit. One question she wanted to ask me was this, "Mommy? Are you good at multi-tasking?" Hello? There may be many a thing I'm not good at, but I'm a kick ass multi-tasker. I fu*king multi-task in my sleep. Knowing this of myself I decided to question if she knows what multi-tasking is because how could she even question this of me otherwise? She replies that she knows what it is and asks again if I'm good at it.
My reply, (while out of breath since I'm raking more intensely than before because I have no more time for raking as now I want to get clothes out on the line.), "AJ, if you live in this house you better know the answer to that. What do you think it's called when I talk on the phone while doing the dishes and cooking supper, all the while handing you plates to set the table with and sending your brother off to your dad to do his homework? Let's not even mention combining an OCD obsession of cleaning this yard, giving you a recess, making you clean during it, while giving you spelling words and planning out what's for supper. For gods sakes if moms couldn't multi-task, we'd have to get rid of the husbands once the babies were born cause god knows you can't take care of a husband, on top of everything else we do without being able to multi-task." And holy shit, kick my ass, frickin' point made and proven. Whew.
Perhaps AJ was just looking for a yes or a no answer. She really didn't have anything else to say to me about that.
While we worked we talked a bit. One question she wanted to ask me was this, "Mommy? Are you good at multi-tasking?" Hello? There may be many a thing I'm not good at, but I'm a kick ass multi-tasker. I fu*king multi-task in my sleep. Knowing this of myself I decided to question if she knows what multi-tasking is because how could she even question this of me otherwise? She replies that she knows what it is and asks again if I'm good at it.
My reply, (while out of breath since I'm raking more intensely than before because I have no more time for raking as now I want to get clothes out on the line.), "AJ, if you live in this house you better know the answer to that. What do you think it's called when I talk on the phone while doing the dishes and cooking supper, all the while handing you plates to set the table with and sending your brother off to your dad to do his homework? Let's not even mention combining an OCD obsession of cleaning this yard, giving you a recess, making you clean during it, while giving you spelling words and planning out what's for supper. For gods sakes if moms couldn't multi-task, we'd have to get rid of the husbands once the babies were born cause god knows you can't take care of a husband, on top of everything else we do without being able to multi-task." And holy shit, kick my ass, frickin' point made and proven. Whew.
Perhaps AJ was just looking for a yes or a no answer. She really didn't have anything else to say to me about that.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Spring...How I've Missed You
I know, I'm so disgraced, I haven't even written anything in March yet. I'm finally feeling better this week and I have so much to catch up on around the house. Then you add in the fact that we've had two days in a row in the 60s and really so little else holds meaning for me any longer. My ass belongs outdoors, scrubbing, cleaning, raking, sweeping, fixing, and just plain basking. Soaking it all up. Without. A. Coat. I'm going back out now, I'm gonna hang clothes on the line. Life is good.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Can't We Just Keep A Couple Impediments...For Laughs?
My friends China and V were lamenting with me the other day my decision to put DJ into speech classes. It's really ruining all our fun. D asked the other day if "cwap was a sweah wood" and could he say it. I almost told him yes just so I could hear him say cwap all the time. Sure, we have our classics that we'll always enjoy, like James Bombs, webbons for weapons, bideo games, churkboys for turquoise, and ED DAR 2 for R2 D2. But the problem is, we're not getting a lot of new stuff now that he's progressing in speech. We've had to resort to making things up that he'd say with his current speech problems...if he could swear. Like if he was suffering a little road rage, "That piece of cwap got a blinka? Fwickin' bastoad."
That may a touch more on the pathetic side if a 35 year old man talked that way though. I know no one would take him seriously, they'd be laughing their asses off. It's killing me, but I guess we'll stick with the speech therapy just to save some poor idiot being called a "cwap-ass potlicko", or "son of a whoah cocksucko".
That may a touch more on the pathetic side if a 35 year old man talked that way though. I know no one would take him seriously, they'd be laughing their asses off. It's killing me, but I guess we'll stick with the speech therapy just to save some poor idiot being called a "cwap-ass potlicko", or "son of a whoah cocksucko".
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
I Guess It Could Be Worse, He Could've Washed Them Down With Beer
Let us reminisce a little longer, Readers. Two years ago, shortly after the whole house had recovered from the dreaded strep 1.0, my husband decided to take the kids sledding. He went with a few friends from the neighborhood, so some of you Readers will be able to relive this cherished memory with me. My husband, the good dad that he is, took darling 8 year old A, and little 5 year old D to the local sled hill. It was a good day for sledding so the sled hill was quite busy. There were kids of all ages, including some 10-12 year old boys. Some of them were taking their sleds and standing on them going down the hill. Clearly, they weren't gifted, but they are adolescent boys, it's to be expected. D and A had received new saucer sleds for Christmas, so that's what they brought to the hill. My husband thought that standing on the sleds looked like fun, and shoot, everyone else was doing it. So he took the new saucer sleds and proceeded down the sled hill....standing. Lo and behold...he fell....hard. Definitely not gifted, and he can't fall back on, "But I'm only a 10 year old boy, I'm required to try and crack my skull open no less than 2 times per year."
When they made it home, there was anguish, there was pain, and on my part, there was much laughter. In truth, I had a hard time feeling sorry for him. I asked if he noticed the difference in age 10 versus 33, if not, did he notice the difference in weight, 100 lbs versus 220 lbs. This was not funny to my husband. He was able to walk, albeit with a limp, but we figured he'd be fine in a few days.
So the next morning he woke up at 4:30am like usual and when he went to get out of bed....he fell. He tried to stand, he fell, he howled, he crawled back to the bed. His leg wouldn't bend, this was bad, really bad. We quickly determined he needed to call in to work since there was no way he would be able to drive (or even get out of bed), he needed crutches to get around, and finally, he needed to see a doctor. Our doctor was clearly the correct one to go to as she just had the exact same thing happen to her...only with skis, not standing on a frickin' saucer sled. I was pleased that her reaction to the sled was similar to mine, a snicker followed by asking him how old he is. Anyway, she knew exactly what to do for his ailing knee.
Now, you would think that this would've been more than enough crap from him. I mean it lasted for over a week and cost a great deal of money by the time the medical bills came due. But no, Readers, this was not to be the end of his bullshit. I had no idea I would have to continue to monitor him just so he didn't kill himself.
The doctor prescribed 2 prescriptions. Prescription strength Ibuprofen for the swelling and Tylenol 3 with Codeine for the pain if he needed it. She gave us instructions and sent us on our way. This is where things went terribly wrong. I underestimated my ability to scare the shit out of my husband with the whole overdose lecture 2 months previous. He clearly didn't learn a lesson from the night spent in the bathroom or from my lecture and he certainly didn't listen to the doctor. Later, at home, I see him opening his pill bottles and I question if he is in pain. No, he feels fine he says. Then I look at what he's doing. He's clearly lost his mind. He still believes that in order to heal, he has to take all the medicine. He's been taking his Ibuprofen and 2 Tylenol 3 pills every 4 hours. I just march up to him, grab the Tylenol bottle out of his hand, grab the pills out of his other hand, head right for the bathroom and flush the whole fu*king mess of them once and for all. I'm yelling at him down the stairs about him doing his damnedest to kill himself and I can't trust him for one second in the medicine cabinet, and no wonder he's slept the whole day away he's high on pain pills, and how long since he's taken his last bit of pills because I think he should stick his finger down his throat to throw them up, and how embarrassing it's going to be for me to have to call poison control about my 33 year old adult husband popping pills.
Readers, I don't think I have to tell you that I don't fill his prescriptions anymore. Last year he had some trouble with a pulled muscle near his heart....I told the doctor he could just rip up the prescription he wrote out for the Tylenol 3 because it wasn't getting filled for damn sure.
When they made it home, there was anguish, there was pain, and on my part, there was much laughter. In truth, I had a hard time feeling sorry for him. I asked if he noticed the difference in age 10 versus 33, if not, did he notice the difference in weight, 100 lbs versus 220 lbs. This was not funny to my husband. He was able to walk, albeit with a limp, but we figured he'd be fine in a few days.
So the next morning he woke up at 4:30am like usual and when he went to get out of bed....he fell. He tried to stand, he fell, he howled, he crawled back to the bed. His leg wouldn't bend, this was bad, really bad. We quickly determined he needed to call in to work since there was no way he would be able to drive (or even get out of bed), he needed crutches to get around, and finally, he needed to see a doctor. Our doctor was clearly the correct one to go to as she just had the exact same thing happen to her...only with skis, not standing on a frickin' saucer sled. I was pleased that her reaction to the sled was similar to mine, a snicker followed by asking him how old he is. Anyway, she knew exactly what to do for his ailing knee.
Now, you would think that this would've been more than enough crap from him. I mean it lasted for over a week and cost a great deal of money by the time the medical bills came due. But no, Readers, this was not to be the end of his bullshit. I had no idea I would have to continue to monitor him just so he didn't kill himself.
The doctor prescribed 2 prescriptions. Prescription strength Ibuprofen for the swelling and Tylenol 3 with Codeine for the pain if he needed it. She gave us instructions and sent us on our way. This is where things went terribly wrong. I underestimated my ability to scare the shit out of my husband with the whole overdose lecture 2 months previous. He clearly didn't learn a lesson from the night spent in the bathroom or from my lecture and he certainly didn't listen to the doctor. Later, at home, I see him opening his pill bottles and I question if he is in pain. No, he feels fine he says. Then I look at what he's doing. He's clearly lost his mind. He still believes that in order to heal, he has to take all the medicine. He's been taking his Ibuprofen and 2 Tylenol 3 pills every 4 hours. I just march up to him, grab the Tylenol bottle out of his hand, grab the pills out of his other hand, head right for the bathroom and flush the whole fu*king mess of them once and for all. I'm yelling at him down the stairs about him doing his damnedest to kill himself and I can't trust him for one second in the medicine cabinet, and no wonder he's slept the whole day away he's high on pain pills, and how long since he's taken his last bit of pills because I think he should stick his finger down his throat to throw them up, and how embarrassing it's going to be for me to have to call poison control about my 33 year old adult husband popping pills.
Readers, I don't think I have to tell you that I don't fill his prescriptions anymore. Last year he had some trouble with a pulled muscle near his heart....I told the doctor he could just rip up the prescription he wrote out for the Tylenol 3 because it wasn't getting filled for damn sure.
Sometimes The Apple Falls Really Far From The Tree
Meeting D's classmates parents always throws me for a loop. They always appear so nice and normal. Like people I'd hang out with even. Sometimes I find I have to hold my tongue, I don't think saying, "Oh, hi. So you're Gage's dad? Gage The Wood Chip Eater? Huh, and you're so normal.", would go over so well. I just want to state right here though, that that is what I'm thinking.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
And Now I've Forgotten
I'm ticked. I was almost done with my next memory classic of Vader nearly overdosing and it didn't save properly and now it's lost. That was yesterday. Today, I'm still too upset to finish it and so I'm protesting. Okay, okay, in truth my mind is a complete blank now and I'm having a hard time remembering what I was trying to say. My memory is shit since having kids. Shit I tell you.
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