Art Linkletter made good money from his ability to chat with children on early television, amusing audiences everywhere with the hilarity that comes from "the mouths of babes." Bill Cosby made a few bucks on it too. I outta be a gosh-darn millionaire. If NBC or any of its affiliates want to put on some good TV, I'll gladly provide my address, you can show up at my door and start filming.
My oldest son has a new saying, "If you make me go to my room, I'll get in your jewelry box and TAKE SOMETHING!!" ...and that's in all caps because he screams the last part. Where's the funny part, you say? This kid actually thinks I have valuable stuff in my jewelry box....
Other notable quotes from the oldest:
"I'm five now, and soon I get to pee in a cup"....(to his Sunday school teacher)
"Is this a Diego backpack? Is this a boob? It smells like stankin' cheese"....when handling a maternity strap-on "see how this shirt'll fit when you're huge" belly pillow thing in the Motherhood dressing room. After I told him not to touch anything.
Better yet are some of the things I say that I would have never imagined saying. Seriously, without batting an eyelash, the following phrases come out of my mouth....regularly.
"You cannot pull his arms off."
"Get your finger out of your nose, it's gonna bleed."
"Did you flush? No. I didn't hear it. Go flush. And then wipe the seat."
"The cat does not like to be put in a stocking."
"If you keep talking, I'm going to stop listening."
"Don't touch the walls, don't touch your brother, don't touch the dog or he'll bite you. Don't touch anything. Put your hands in your pockets."
"No, you can't drive."
"Yogurt will not keep in your room."
I'm a church going woman...but even in the house of the Lord, I can be pushed to my limits. Tonight, while putting up the church Christmas tree, this poured from my lips:
"You know what? This is God's house. And He doesn't want His house messed up either. So if you don't pick that up, sit down and quit acting like a wild animal, you're gonna have to sit in God's time-out chair, and He will tell Santa Claus because He knows him!!!"
Monday, November 30, 2009
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Kickoff to Insanity
Thanksgiving went off without a hitch. My turkey browned nicely, thanks to a cheesecloth and more butter than a Sunday dinner at Paula Deen's. Our renovations in the house were finally completed and I have to say, it all looked beautiful, the table settings, the golden pies and the ample casseroles. After dinner, reality hits that someone has to clean this stuff up, and then resolve the age old challenge of leftovers. My husband is the world's worst leftover-eater, so he's no help. I'll make another "Thanksgiving plate" the day after, or maybe a turkey sandwich and maybe even the day after that, but then I'm officially sick of it all and I start digging through cookbooks to find interesting recipes to use up the leftover bird. Tonight's turkey tetrazzini.
Our friends were up from Tennessee and my best friend Tracey and I braved the stampede and forged a trail to Toys R' Us at dark and cold o'clock in the morning on Black Friday. I know why they call it "Black" Friday, and it has nothing to do with the economy. It's because the whole time you're gone shopping, the sky is still black, reminding me that the appropriate place to be is tucked warmly inside my bed, not waiting in a line amongst foul-mouthed teenagers who are bound to get sick, wearing next-to-nothing clothing in negative temperatures. All this just to get into a store that I could go to any other day of the year in the daylight, no lines. Hmm....perhaps I should shed light on the positive, the fact that there were really excellent deals, because I'm beginning to suggest I'm an idiot here. I'm trying to buy gifts that I think my children would really like. I find it all too easy to buy things just to fill a quantity, you know, like "I bought 3 things for Gabe so I've gotta have 3 things for Isaac." So I pre-planned, and I pretty well stuck to my list. I know it's silly to buy anything for a two month old, so Ella is getting 2 things that are significant, in my opinion: a Cabbage Patch newborn doll, and a 2009 Holiday Collector's Edition Barbie. I had one when I was little, and I just sold it a few months ago for a nice chunk of change. I figure she can do the same.
We arrived home from our excursion, a few coffees later, money spent and bodies tired. Too bad the kids were on full tilt, turning the house upside down and killing eachother, meaning we'd have to jump in as referrees when we really wanted to nap. I've learned that as soon as you become a mom, you're supposed to be able to sleep and wake on demand. It's not just when your kids are infants, it's forever. If they're awake, so am I, and if they sleep...well there's probably laundry to do.
So, friends, here we go, kicking off another holiday season. The decorations are out, the cookie cookbooks are pulled out and the carols are making way into my mental soundtrack. I've cursed about a strand of lights that never work, broken two ornaments, I've begun to start the annual nagging for my husband to get the outside decorations done, and threatened numerous tmes that "Santa sees everything, even when you try to pull your brother's arms off."
Here's to a cup of cheer.
Our friends were up from Tennessee and my best friend Tracey and I braved the stampede and forged a trail to Toys R' Us at dark and cold o'clock in the morning on Black Friday. I know why they call it "Black" Friday, and it has nothing to do with the economy. It's because the whole time you're gone shopping, the sky is still black, reminding me that the appropriate place to be is tucked warmly inside my bed, not waiting in a line amongst foul-mouthed teenagers who are bound to get sick, wearing next-to-nothing clothing in negative temperatures. All this just to get into a store that I could go to any other day of the year in the daylight, no lines. Hmm....perhaps I should shed light on the positive, the fact that there were really excellent deals, because I'm beginning to suggest I'm an idiot here. I'm trying to buy gifts that I think my children would really like. I find it all too easy to buy things just to fill a quantity, you know, like "I bought 3 things for Gabe so I've gotta have 3 things for Isaac." So I pre-planned, and I pretty well stuck to my list. I know it's silly to buy anything for a two month old, so Ella is getting 2 things that are significant, in my opinion: a Cabbage Patch newborn doll, and a 2009 Holiday Collector's Edition Barbie. I had one when I was little, and I just sold it a few months ago for a nice chunk of change. I figure she can do the same.
We arrived home from our excursion, a few coffees later, money spent and bodies tired. Too bad the kids were on full tilt, turning the house upside down and killing eachother, meaning we'd have to jump in as referrees when we really wanted to nap. I've learned that as soon as you become a mom, you're supposed to be able to sleep and wake on demand. It's not just when your kids are infants, it's forever. If they're awake, so am I, and if they sleep...well there's probably laundry to do.
So, friends, here we go, kicking off another holiday season. The decorations are out, the cookie cookbooks are pulled out and the carols are making way into my mental soundtrack. I've cursed about a strand of lights that never work, broken two ornaments, I've begun to start the annual nagging for my husband to get the outside decorations done, and threatened numerous tmes that "Santa sees everything, even when you try to pull your brother's arms off."
Here's to a cup of cheer.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Fish Miracles
Last night, my son Isaac ran down to my bedroom, alarmed that his dresser was "all wet and the water was stank!" Stifling my laughter for the use of the word "stank," I asked him why he thought the water smelled bad. He claimed it was water from his fishbowl, which triggered several thoughts. My first thought was that Charlie, our little cat, had been fishing. It's happened before, and although he is terribly unsuccessful, he continues to try. As I walked down the hall, I braced myself for a mess. I have this way of thinking myself through the worst situations so that when I'm actually in them, I don't panic and get overly upset. If the fishbowl is spilled over, it's okay, I'll get some towels and clean it all up. If it's broken, we'll have to get a replacement, and then the fish..." Oh no, the fish! I hadn't even thought about them. Two bettas, a red one named Marlin and a blue one named Ryan (random names, I don't question a five-year old's logic while naming fish), were housed comfortably in this two-sided bowl, with a little opaque shield that could be lifted to reveal a window between the sides whenever Isaac wanted to see them "puff up their muscles and get mad at eachother." Do bettas have muscles? Do they really get mad? Anyway, I hadn't thought about what must have happened to the fish. Did the cat finally eat them? Suddenly, panic struck me. Nothing in Isaac's life has ever really died before. I haven't prepared this talk yet. What would I say? Sure, he's seen me squish bugs, he's seen roadkill and asked questions out of curiosity, but nothing of his had ever died. So, I got to the fishbowl, and to confirm suspicion, it was dry, and water soaked the dresser and floor. "See mommy, see?! I promise you I did NOT do this!!! " he exclaimed, and with the look on his face, I truly believed him. Actually, when I picked it up, I found that the drain cap on the bottom was somewhat loose, and water was leaking from underneath it. Either way, I looked inside the bowl, and all of the rocks and the little fake trees were still in it, and beneath the trees, on either side, lay Ryan and Marlin. Isaac stared at me with hopeful eyes, and said "Are they in there, mommy?" I nodded my head, staring hard at the two fish, hoping to see any possible sign of life, but there was none. "Are they going to swim again, mommy?"
"Um, I don't think so, buddy. I think they are gone." At that, Isaac's eyes flooded with tears and he threw himself on his bed. Although he's normally a tough kid who rolls with the punches, this was a very raw reaction for him, feeling loss, and feeling anger because he didn't know how it happened. "I'll never have fish AGAIN!" he screamed. You see, Ryan and Marlin were "practice fish." Isaac always wants to go down the fish aisle at Meijer and pick out the fish he will one day have. He likes to look at the pirate ships and treasure chest tank accessories, and we told him late summer that if he took care of Ryan and Marlin for a while, we would get a big tank for him to fill. I could see not only the hurt of losing his fish, but the frustration, knowing what this might mean for his future fish tank. As I carried the fishbowl into the bathroom, I started talking about how we could go to Meijer the next day and see about getting some more, and he followed on my heels, still crying.
I pulled the fake trees out, and was leaning over the toilet bowl, trying to come up with a quick eulogy for the bettas, when Isaac proclaimed, "Well mom, of course they're not swimming, because they don't have any water!" I told him it was too late, they'd probably been without water for a long time, and proceeded to slide their lifeless bodies to the edge of the fishbowl to dump them down. "MOM, give them WATER!" He just wasn't getting it, and I didn't really want to add water to this bowl so he could see them float. But, because he was so adamant, and because I didn't really know how else to explain that they were gone, I flipped on the faucet and began filling the bowl up again. Sure enough, Ryan and Marlin floated up to the top. I set the bowl down and said "There now, see? They can't swim, bud. They're going to have to go to fishy heaven. We'll still go pick out some new....." "MOM!" he interrupted. I looked at the bowl, and my jaw dropped open as the words fell out of my mouth "My God they're alive." Red fish and blue fish, Marlin and Ryan, were suddenly darting around the bowl once again. Friends, I tell you, this was nothing short of a five-year old's miracle. I have no idea how this could even be possible. I quickly grabbed two glass jars and transferred them, noticing the bowl was still leaking, and they stayed as perky as ever, exploring their new surroundings.
"Heh...I told ya they needed water, mom. Don'tcha know that fish need water for swimming? I even knew that."
No, I apparently never heard that one, Isaac.
Obviously, I realize this must have been some fluke occurrence. Or maybe it was a miracle. Who knows, maybe God knew this little boy wasn't ready to handle death yet. Or maybe He knew I wasn't prepared to talk about it.
Either way, what I learned is that our children will all face tragedy at some point, and unfortunately, it probably won't always be something as small as a fish. The moral of this story is that I've got to figure out what to say, for next time. That, and I'd probably better get rolling on that fish tank. Perhaps then, when Ryan and Marlin do go to fishy heaven, it'll be a little more tolerable?
"Um, I don't think so, buddy. I think they are gone." At that, Isaac's eyes flooded with tears and he threw himself on his bed. Although he's normally a tough kid who rolls with the punches, this was a very raw reaction for him, feeling loss, and feeling anger because he didn't know how it happened. "I'll never have fish AGAIN!" he screamed. You see, Ryan and Marlin were "practice fish." Isaac always wants to go down the fish aisle at Meijer and pick out the fish he will one day have. He likes to look at the pirate ships and treasure chest tank accessories, and we told him late summer that if he took care of Ryan and Marlin for a while, we would get a big tank for him to fill. I could see not only the hurt of losing his fish, but the frustration, knowing what this might mean for his future fish tank. As I carried the fishbowl into the bathroom, I started talking about how we could go to Meijer the next day and see about getting some more, and he followed on my heels, still crying.
I pulled the fake trees out, and was leaning over the toilet bowl, trying to come up with a quick eulogy for the bettas, when Isaac proclaimed, "Well mom, of course they're not swimming, because they don't have any water!" I told him it was too late, they'd probably been without water for a long time, and proceeded to slide their lifeless bodies to the edge of the fishbowl to dump them down. "MOM, give them WATER!" He just wasn't getting it, and I didn't really want to add water to this bowl so he could see them float. But, because he was so adamant, and because I didn't really know how else to explain that they were gone, I flipped on the faucet and began filling the bowl up again. Sure enough, Ryan and Marlin floated up to the top. I set the bowl down and said "There now, see? They can't swim, bud. They're going to have to go to fishy heaven. We'll still go pick out some new....." "MOM!" he interrupted. I looked at the bowl, and my jaw dropped open as the words fell out of my mouth "My God they're alive." Red fish and blue fish, Marlin and Ryan, were suddenly darting around the bowl once again. Friends, I tell you, this was nothing short of a five-year old's miracle. I have no idea how this could even be possible. I quickly grabbed two glass jars and transferred them, noticing the bowl was still leaking, and they stayed as perky as ever, exploring their new surroundings.
"Heh...I told ya they needed water, mom. Don'tcha know that fish need water for swimming? I even knew that."
No, I apparently never heard that one, Isaac.
Obviously, I realize this must have been some fluke occurrence. Or maybe it was a miracle. Who knows, maybe God knew this little boy wasn't ready to handle death yet. Or maybe He knew I wasn't prepared to talk about it.
Either way, what I learned is that our children will all face tragedy at some point, and unfortunately, it probably won't always be something as small as a fish. The moral of this story is that I've got to figure out what to say, for next time. That, and I'd probably better get rolling on that fish tank. Perhaps then, when Ryan and Marlin do go to fishy heaven, it'll be a little more tolerable?
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Thoughts that drive us
I rarely listen to the radio. I mean, I rarely even turn it on in my car. Who am I kidding, I mean in my minivan. My Gold Lame' minivan with the stow-away seats, at that. Anyhow, I pretty much listen to one of two things: one is the hollering banter of my children (including crying, whining, begging to stop at a drive-thru, and rollicking laughter if someone happens to pass gas), and the other thing I listen to is the thoughts in my head. No, I'm not schizophrenic. Or maybe I am, but the point is, as soon as my eyes are fixated on the road ahead, I begin to sink deep into thought. I think about all the things I have to do, I plan out events such as Thanksgiving dinner, I wonder about my childrens' future, I even have pre-rehearsal choir rehearsals in my head, running through what I need to cover with my crew next time I see them. I realize that I do this because it is the only time in my life that I have a moment to spare; my kids are all strapped in and nothing else is taking my attention (well besides traffic, I know). I get a couple seconds in the bathroom once in awhile, but it's not the same, because I'm usually listening for screams or the doors opening and children escaping, dogs barking, etc. Driving lends itself to a bit more peace, thought-wise.
The peace is abruptly halted, however, when a destination is reached. Single, childless girls, take a moment to celebrate your single childless-ness. Love it. Embrace it. 'Cuz once you've got to pre-plan the stop based on how you're going to maneuver your children in and out of the car, traveling anywhere requires serious consideration. When I was single, I remember saying I was going to "run" here or there. "Gonna run to Walgreens and buy some deodorant..." or something. In the car, outta the car, so on and so forth. Now, I don't run. I haul. I don't mean haul as in haul tail, either, I mean haul like a donkey hauls oversized people down the Grand Canyon. Now I start to feel twitchy when I pull into the Meijer parking lot. It's imperative to get a spot next to the cart corral. I like to grab a cart and then go unload the kids, and I can't do that if the cart corral is four spaces down from my parking space. So I circle the lot, and get more twitchy, because one child is asking if we can look at toys, one is asking to take his pillow in with us, and one is still sleeping and I'm praying she stays that way till we get back home...and I keep circling till I find the spot by the cart corral. Then it's still not "in the car, outta the car" kind of stuff, it's a calculated mission...take out the baby in her carseat, load her into the cart. Circle around the van, yell at the boys to stay inside and do not open the door and jump out...get to the other side of the van, open it up, load Gabe into the front part with the leg holes and then argue with Isaac about why I don't like him to stand on the little bar on the end of the cart because I can't steer. I always end up caving on that one, though.
The bottom line is, ladies, we've all got to take a little time to chill, and if it's driving that gives you that time, so be it. Our husbands don't understand this, and will never understand this because they are wired differently. For lack of time to make my explanation to this, I'll just say this: in their heads, they're "chilling" all the time.
So, you may be asking, is it the childless, single life I'm lusting after? Am I suggesting that I regret the lifestyle I have? Well, yesterday, to change things up, I clicked on the radio, and a song I liked back in highschool was playing, "Closing Time" by Semi-Sonic. I was on a rare trip out of the house without my children, so I cranked it up and immediately my head flooded with thoughts of other times I'd heard that song. I was taken back to late night drives home from my highschool boyfriend's house, the windows of my little red Paseo down, the smell of campfires and beachy air filtering in as I curved along Red Arrow Highway. I must have been seriously reminiscing, because I didn't even notice the ease of getting out of the car, or the convenience of how casual and stress-free my walk into Target was. However, to answer the above question about regret, I'd have to say no. You see, my nostalgic thoughts faded quickly as I found my body moving on auto-pilot to the diaper aisle. I realized that I have not only reached a new chapter in life, when diaper purchases replace the late night runs for deodorant or lipgloss, (usually a quick purchase on the way downtown to party for the night). Also, the company of my children, their neverending methods of entertaining me, and the reality that one day, I'll be back in a smaller sedan and no little faces will be in the rearview mirror looking back at me trumps any wistful thoughts of single girlhood I've ever tried to hold on to.
The peace is abruptly halted, however, when a destination is reached. Single, childless girls, take a moment to celebrate your single childless-ness. Love it. Embrace it. 'Cuz once you've got to pre-plan the stop based on how you're going to maneuver your children in and out of the car, traveling anywhere requires serious consideration. When I was single, I remember saying I was going to "run" here or there. "Gonna run to Walgreens and buy some deodorant..." or something. In the car, outta the car, so on and so forth. Now, I don't run. I haul. I don't mean haul as in haul tail, either, I mean haul like a donkey hauls oversized people down the Grand Canyon. Now I start to feel twitchy when I pull into the Meijer parking lot. It's imperative to get a spot next to the cart corral. I like to grab a cart and then go unload the kids, and I can't do that if the cart corral is four spaces down from my parking space. So I circle the lot, and get more twitchy, because one child is asking if we can look at toys, one is asking to take his pillow in with us, and one is still sleeping and I'm praying she stays that way till we get back home...and I keep circling till I find the spot by the cart corral. Then it's still not "in the car, outta the car" kind of stuff, it's a calculated mission...take out the baby in her carseat, load her into the cart. Circle around the van, yell at the boys to stay inside and do not open the door and jump out...get to the other side of the van, open it up, load Gabe into the front part with the leg holes and then argue with Isaac about why I don't like him to stand on the little bar on the end of the cart because I can't steer. I always end up caving on that one, though.
The bottom line is, ladies, we've all got to take a little time to chill, and if it's driving that gives you that time, so be it. Our husbands don't understand this, and will never understand this because they are wired differently. For lack of time to make my explanation to this, I'll just say this: in their heads, they're "chilling" all the time.
So, you may be asking, is it the childless, single life I'm lusting after? Am I suggesting that I regret the lifestyle I have? Well, yesterday, to change things up, I clicked on the radio, and a song I liked back in highschool was playing, "Closing Time" by Semi-Sonic. I was on a rare trip out of the house without my children, so I cranked it up and immediately my head flooded with thoughts of other times I'd heard that song. I was taken back to late night drives home from my highschool boyfriend's house, the windows of my little red Paseo down, the smell of campfires and beachy air filtering in as I curved along Red Arrow Highway. I must have been seriously reminiscing, because I didn't even notice the ease of getting out of the car, or the convenience of how casual and stress-free my walk into Target was. However, to answer the above question about regret, I'd have to say no. You see, my nostalgic thoughts faded quickly as I found my body moving on auto-pilot to the diaper aisle. I realized that I have not only reached a new chapter in life, when diaper purchases replace the late night runs for deodorant or lipgloss, (usually a quick purchase on the way downtown to party for the night). Also, the company of my children, their neverending methods of entertaining me, and the reality that one day, I'll be back in a smaller sedan and no little faces will be in the rearview mirror looking back at me trumps any wistful thoughts of single girlhood I've ever tried to hold on to.
Friday, November 13, 2009
The Name Game
We're remodeling our house. I have mixed emotions. I am elated to have my walls torn down and a fireplace put in...not to mention we get to let the sunshine in, literally, but I am sickened by the fact that the main floor of my house is in complete shambles at the moment. However, this too shall pass. The major problem with a remodel is children. What do you do with them when construction workers are present? Loud noises startle Ella, Gabe wants to play in drywall dust and Isaac....well, Isaac may as well be renamed Dennis, as in "the menace." Our contractor's last name is Zebell, and Isaac keeps saying "Hey, Mr. Zebra..."(fill in the blank)...sorta like Dennis would say "Hey, Mr. Wilson!"
Anyway, I thought I'd do the contractors a favor and win brownie points with my kids by taking them to the park today. So, off we went, to a very nice local park with a great playground, and as usual, there were very few people there. I tucked Miss Ella into her sling, and released the hounds from the van, watching them hoot and holler as they ran toward the play-equipment. Only two other little boys, one about Isaac's age, and one about Gabe's age were playing there, with their parents eagerly helping them race down the firepole and through the tunnels. My thought: What nice, dedicated parents they have....I'm going to go sit on that bench. Only a few minutes into playtime, I've heard Isaac say "Hey you!" to the older boy about ten times, so I say "Isaac, why don't you ask him his name so you don't have to say 'Hey you?' " There, a good mom suggestion. Isaac asks him, and the boy responds that his name is Alesandro. Well kid, he won't call you Alesandro, but it'll be a version of that, still better than "Hey you." Isaac nods, and a few minutes later I hear shreiks of "Hey Bondo, let's do this slide!" Oh, well. Moving on.
Gabe, who repeats everything his brother says, begins with "Hey you!" to the younger boy, and I try the same suggestion with him. Gabe asks the little boy what his name is, and the boy stares at him, obviously not much of a talker yet. His very proud mama says, "This is Franco!" At that, Gabe gives his classically indifferent "Oh." I figured Gabe either didn't hear the name or didn't care, because he seemed to move along, playing by himself. That is, for about five minutes he did. Then, to my horror, I see him glance toward the swings, and then flash a smile to Franco and proclaim, ( I say proclaim because he did this at the top of his lungs), "Hey F--ko!! Let's swing!!"
I did my best shrug-it-off, nervous giggle as his mother looked at me like my kid was the Anti-Christ, and mumbled "outta the mouths of babes, right?!" She was less than amused.
We promptly said our goodbyes and headed home, to our banging, clanging mess of a house. But at least everybody knows everybody's name here...right, Mr. Zebra?
Anyway, I thought I'd do the contractors a favor and win brownie points with my kids by taking them to the park today. So, off we went, to a very nice local park with a great playground, and as usual, there were very few people there. I tucked Miss Ella into her sling, and released the hounds from the van, watching them hoot and holler as they ran toward the play-equipment. Only two other little boys, one about Isaac's age, and one about Gabe's age were playing there, with their parents eagerly helping them race down the firepole and through the tunnels. My thought: What nice, dedicated parents they have....I'm going to go sit on that bench. Only a few minutes into playtime, I've heard Isaac say "Hey you!" to the older boy about ten times, so I say "Isaac, why don't you ask him his name so you don't have to say 'Hey you?' " There, a good mom suggestion. Isaac asks him, and the boy responds that his name is Alesandro. Well kid, he won't call you Alesandro, but it'll be a version of that, still better than "Hey you." Isaac nods, and a few minutes later I hear shreiks of "Hey Bondo, let's do this slide!" Oh, well. Moving on.
Gabe, who repeats everything his brother says, begins with "Hey you!" to the younger boy, and I try the same suggestion with him. Gabe asks the little boy what his name is, and the boy stares at him, obviously not much of a talker yet. His very proud mama says, "This is Franco!" At that, Gabe gives his classically indifferent "Oh." I figured Gabe either didn't hear the name or didn't care, because he seemed to move along, playing by himself. That is, for about five minutes he did. Then, to my horror, I see him glance toward the swings, and then flash a smile to Franco and proclaim, ( I say proclaim because he did this at the top of his lungs), "Hey F--ko!! Let's swing!!"
I did my best shrug-it-off, nervous giggle as his mother looked at me like my kid was the Anti-Christ, and mumbled "outta the mouths of babes, right?!" She was less than amused.
We promptly said our goodbyes and headed home, to our banging, clanging mess of a house. But at least everybody knows everybody's name here...right, Mr. Zebra?
Saturday, November 7, 2009
"Vacation" Day
Today I went to the Notre Dame vs. Navy game. I woke up at ten minutes till 7 this morning, so I could appropriately shower and get myself into presentable fashion, get my boys up and dressed, and get the baby fed and dressed also. After a sleepless night, this day was not starting off with the ambition I had planned on, but, nonetheless, I made this committment to go to this game. Lacking the time I originally planned for breakfast, the boys got a Quaker Oat Chewy tossed at them in the car and we were on our way to my mother's. She agreed to watch the baby, and my aunt agreed to keep the boys. Split em' up. Good idea. So by 9:30 a.m., we had already driven 45+ miles, but, hey, we were pretty excited to be kid free and headed off to a beautiful day of football watching. Or people watching, in my case, because that's pretty much what I do. Arrived at the tailgate drenched in the unseasonably warm November sunshine, ate a heaping plate of all things not good for me, drank a pink concoction that reminded me of some bar-hopping nights in Savannah, and then drank another one. Jello shots? Check. Had three of them, infact, like I just turned 21. Except without the awkwardness of having to look around at my peers and try, nonchalantly, to see how they got it out of the little cups before I attempted my own. Nope, I did it like a pro. The game was an awful go for the home team, but still an entertaining time for me, who, as aforementioned, doesn't really care so much about what's happening on the field, but was thoroughly amused by a long-haired man with nose piercing and his purple haired lover who had fingernails like Elvira. Note: Halloween was last weekend.
One thing was very consistent throughout the day, though, and staying true to my blog's purpose, I must tie in this very important point: I thought about my kids just about the entire time I was gone. I mean, when I wasn't wondering how bad it hurt to get your nose pierced like a bull. So, I'm not even ashamed to admit, I was more excited about the 45+ mile drive back to retrieve the kids than I was leaving them. I brought them home, bathed them without even caring that they were splashing me and getting water on the floor, and didn't fight them when they asked to come back downstairs with me for a while to watch TV. I even ordered a pizza, because they decided they were still hungry, and suddenly, so was I. No matter how long my day was, or how much every parent needs to be away from their kids every once in a while (you know, for that reminder of something called sanity), there's really no better vacation in life than the one I can take on my very own couch, surrounded by the squeaky clean faces of my very own little babies. And from the looks of it, they're pretty happy to be here too.
One thing was very consistent throughout the day, though, and staying true to my blog's purpose, I must tie in this very important point: I thought about my kids just about the entire time I was gone. I mean, when I wasn't wondering how bad it hurt to get your nose pierced like a bull. So, I'm not even ashamed to admit, I was more excited about the 45+ mile drive back to retrieve the kids than I was leaving them. I brought them home, bathed them without even caring that they were splashing me and getting water on the floor, and didn't fight them when they asked to come back downstairs with me for a while to watch TV. I even ordered a pizza, because they decided they were still hungry, and suddenly, so was I. No matter how long my day was, or how much every parent needs to be away from their kids every once in a while (you know, for that reminder of something called sanity), there's really no better vacation in life than the one I can take on my very own couch, surrounded by the squeaky clean faces of my very own little babies. And from the looks of it, they're pretty happy to be here too.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Pigs and Viruses
H1 and N1 came to my door for candy this Halloween. It was funny, in some sick and twisted way...and, as if they were cursed, I made sure I didn't touch them when I put their Reese's in their buckets. It's all you see on the news, and most of the big news websites have some sort of updated blurb about Swine Flu on the front page every day. It may very well be a government conspiracy, but I'm not jumping off the politcal bandwagon to join the John Birch society just yet.
Yesterday, at my doctor visit, I asked about the vaccine. This was my first year to get the seasonal flu vaccine, so what the hey, let's get the pig one too...I explained that I knew I could go to the health department, but the thought of dragging my kids in with me to wait in line among other people who probably have Swine Flu, or headlice at the very least (Lord, forgive me) was a less than pleasant and darn-near impossible feat. My doctor's response was almost comical, if it weren't so creepy. She said "well, we're only giving it to pregnant moms...we don't want to end up on the news for giving it out incorrectly, like that Walgreen's did. You have to be in a high-risk category...but (and here's the creepy part)...if you walk around the back of the office here with me, I'll get the lab lady to give you one so you don't have to go to the health department." The lab lady didn't talk much, I think she knew she was doing wrong...she handed me some paperwork to sign, pretty sure I read something about my last will and testament...and then she stabbed me in the arm. She then proceeded to walk me out to a side door, and no joke, said "this leads out to the main parking lot." Indeed, it was a covert operation. Top secret, till I blogged it here....and I'm usually so trustworthy with classified information. But I tell you, friends, I was dosed with the swine flu, and it felt dangerous.
Yesterday, at my doctor visit, I asked about the vaccine. This was my first year to get the seasonal flu vaccine, so what the hey, let's get the pig one too...I explained that I knew I could go to the health department, but the thought of dragging my kids in with me to wait in line among other people who probably have Swine Flu, or headlice at the very least (Lord, forgive me) was a less than pleasant and darn-near impossible feat. My doctor's response was almost comical, if it weren't so creepy. She said "well, we're only giving it to pregnant moms...we don't want to end up on the news for giving it out incorrectly, like that Walgreen's did. You have to be in a high-risk category...but (and here's the creepy part)...if you walk around the back of the office here with me, I'll get the lab lady to give you one so you don't have to go to the health department." The lab lady didn't talk much, I think she knew she was doing wrong...she handed me some paperwork to sign, pretty sure I read something about my last will and testament...and then she stabbed me in the arm. She then proceeded to walk me out to a side door, and no joke, said "this leads out to the main parking lot." Indeed, it was a covert operation. Top secret, till I blogged it here....and I'm usually so trustworthy with classified information. But I tell you, friends, I was dosed with the swine flu, and it felt dangerous.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Skinny Deep
Let's face it, I've never had a great body. That being said, it's been greater than it is today, for sure. I realized in complete mortification that I had a uni-butt when I saw the pictures my sister took of our walk through Warren Woods, although she assured me it was just the mistake of wearing jeans with no back pockets.
Reality is, I've had three children, and things just aren't the same. Things have migrated to new locations...and notice I didn't say "new and improved" locations. After child number 2, I had gallb ladder surgery and while my doctor was explaining the operation, I felt inclined to bring up my flab. He grinned and shrugged and said, "that's why plastic surgeons drive nice cars, dear."
When you're up late at night, nursing a newborn (which, sidebar, isn't that supposed be burning off some calories?)...you see a multitude of these rapid weight loss programs...some of my favorites are the Ab-Circle, which will give you that sexy "v shape" you've always wanted, the 10 minute trainer which has transformed many a blobby mama into a hot babe, and Insanity...which speaks for itself. Also, I must give special recognition to the frequent Extenze infomercial...no, it's obviously not for weight loss, but it sure makes it look like fun to wear supertight racecar hot pants....and have it relate somehow to male enhancement...but I regress...
Yesterday, a dear friend and I walked my neighborhood in our Halloween garb while our kids ran door to door trick-or-treating. A strong wind picked up, blowing my black "witch dress" snugly across my middle, causing me to apologetically call attention to the baby lump (not bump, that's the cute pre-baby term) that has made a home there. My friend merely sighed, nodded toward her son and said..."I've had mine for 11 years, good luck with that." So, I resign to be comfortable with mine...maybe even embrace it. After all, I've got pretty amazing kids to show for it. It's not like it was just too many Hostess cupcakes, though I can't completely eliminate that source of blame. I made a little home for three little blessings in that so-called lump...so maybe I should just make peace with it. Or at least be patient with it. You know, till I can afford the tummy-tuck. And in the meantime, I s'pose I should get this Ab-Circle outta the box and give it a whirl.
Reality is, I've had three children, and things just aren't the same. Things have migrated to new locations...and notice I didn't say "new and improved" locations. After child number 2, I had gallb ladder surgery and while my doctor was explaining the operation, I felt inclined to bring up my flab. He grinned and shrugged and said, "that's why plastic surgeons drive nice cars, dear."
When you're up late at night, nursing a newborn (which, sidebar, isn't that supposed be burning off some calories?)...you see a multitude of these rapid weight loss programs...some of my favorites are the Ab-Circle, which will give you that sexy "v shape" you've always wanted, the 10 minute trainer which has transformed many a blobby mama into a hot babe, and Insanity...which speaks for itself. Also, I must give special recognition to the frequent Extenze infomercial...no, it's obviously not for weight loss, but it sure makes it look like fun to wear supertight racecar hot pants....and have it relate somehow to male enhancement...but I regress...
Yesterday, a dear friend and I walked my neighborhood in our Halloween garb while our kids ran door to door trick-or-treating. A strong wind picked up, blowing my black "witch dress" snugly across my middle, causing me to apologetically call attention to the baby lump (not bump, that's the cute pre-baby term) that has made a home there. My friend merely sighed, nodded toward her son and said..."I've had mine for 11 years, good luck with that." So, I resign to be comfortable with mine...maybe even embrace it. After all, I've got pretty amazing kids to show for it. It's not like it was just too many Hostess cupcakes, though I can't completely eliminate that source of blame. I made a little home for three little blessings in that so-called lump...so maybe I should just make peace with it. Or at least be patient with it. You know, till I can afford the tummy-tuck. And in the meantime, I s'pose I should get this Ab-Circle outta the box and give it a whirl.
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