Gracie, my baby loves sausage. She loves it so much if you even say sausage she smiles.
I'm a little creeped out.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Monday, December 7, 2009
But Now We're All Grown Up
I have been blessed with some of the most excellent of childhood memories. And, many of my favorites include cousins. We didn't live close but when we got together you could count on chaos.
For example I have this cousin Ryan who is just a few years older---old enough to be annoyed by me while we were growing up. Like this one time when I stole all the Tinker Toys at grandmas to make myself a statue costume. "Look! I'm the statue of Liberty!" I proclaimed. "More like the Statue of Stupidity," he replied.
Another time our families were vacationing at the beach house where I loved to literally climb the walls. That summer Ryan spent the day laying out and getting tan, um, make that burnt. Burnt to a crisp. The most painful part of his lobsterfied body was his armpits. (Boy, were they red.) As he gently walked down the hall, arms spread, looking for aloe vera, I attacked. Down from my perch on the ceiling I came landing square on his blistering back and shoulders. Some say on a quiet night when the tides are just right you can still hear the echo of that painful scream.
I could go on---the time he made me cry by smashing baby bird eggs, the time I covered him in toothpaste while he slept, the time he talked me into hanging onto an electric fence, or the time we talked our other cousin into peeing on that same electric fence--but I won't.
I'll just say this. Ryan, that sunburned farm boy, is all grown up now and he called me today. Unfortunately, I wasn't playing with tinker toys. You see Simon's mystery illness is back and I'm beside myself with worry. And grown up Ryan, now a doctor, thinks he can help. So now Simon and the Statue of Stupidity are scheduled in to see Dr. Ryan first thing Thursday morning. Who knew we'd all grow up?
So, today I'm especially thankful for family and Ryan I'm sorry about the toothpaste.
For example I have this cousin Ryan who is just a few years older---old enough to be annoyed by me while we were growing up. Like this one time when I stole all the Tinker Toys at grandmas to make myself a statue costume. "Look! I'm the statue of Liberty!" I proclaimed. "More like the Statue of Stupidity," he replied.
Another time our families were vacationing at the beach house where I loved to literally climb the walls. That summer Ryan spent the day laying out and getting tan, um, make that burnt. Burnt to a crisp. The most painful part of his lobsterfied body was his armpits. (Boy, were they red.) As he gently walked down the hall, arms spread, looking for aloe vera, I attacked. Down from my perch on the ceiling I came landing square on his blistering back and shoulders. Some say on a quiet night when the tides are just right you can still hear the echo of that painful scream.
I could go on---the time he made me cry by smashing baby bird eggs, the time I covered him in toothpaste while he slept, the time he talked me into hanging onto an electric fence, or the time we talked our other cousin into peeing on that same electric fence--but I won't.
I'll just say this. Ryan, that sunburned farm boy, is all grown up now and he called me today. Unfortunately, I wasn't playing with tinker toys. You see Simon's mystery illness is back and I'm beside myself with worry. And grown up Ryan, now a doctor, thinks he can help. So now Simon and the Statue of Stupidity are scheduled in to see Dr. Ryan first thing Thursday morning. Who knew we'd all grow up?
So, today I'm especially thankful for family and Ryan I'm sorry about the toothpaste.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Speaking of #$@%*!
Growing up you could instantly know the level of stress in our home by the amount of profanity in the air. I actually think it's genetic. Although if you ask most of my female relatives (especially my grandmother) they would swear on their lives that they in fact, don't swear. But get one of them in the kitchen burning the Thanksgiving rolls and you better hope you brought ear plugs for the kids.
Usually I am unaffected by the profanity gene but add in just the right mix and well...
This was a rough summer but there was a patch of a few particularly tough days. On one of those afternoons our neighbor pulled up in her car on her way home. Simon jumped in to visit with her kids while we talked. Before I knew it Simon was halfway out the window and the window was on it's way up. With in seconds my boy was trapped in a window determined to shut. He's screaming. My friend is frantically pushing all the window buttons in the car to know avail. And what am I doing? Oh, I'm standing there trying to use my muscle to push down the window while a stream of profanity is spewing from my mouth. And if that picture isn't pretty enough for you then know that my next door neighbors and their 6 children were all out unpacking their camper in the front yard watching and hearing the whole thing.
The very next day my stove caught on fire. As I put out the fire I opened the windows letting the smoke and the profanity out into the back yard where those same next door neighbors were playing.
Later that night I went in the back yard for something when all heck broke loose inside. I hear things crashing and children screaming. Running inside I left behind a trail of profanity for those blessed next door neighbors to enjoy as they pulled weeds together in their garden.
The next day was Sunday. Ahhh, the Sabbath. As the meeting begins the first speaker is none other than the eldest son of our next door neighbor and what is he speaking on? Profanity. I like to think I helped inspire him.
Usually I am unaffected by the profanity gene but add in just the right mix and well...
This was a rough summer but there was a patch of a few particularly tough days. On one of those afternoons our neighbor pulled up in her car on her way home. Simon jumped in to visit with her kids while we talked. Before I knew it Simon was halfway out the window and the window was on it's way up. With in seconds my boy was trapped in a window determined to shut. He's screaming. My friend is frantically pushing all the window buttons in the car to know avail. And what am I doing? Oh, I'm standing there trying to use my muscle to push down the window while a stream of profanity is spewing from my mouth. And if that picture isn't pretty enough for you then know that my next door neighbors and their 6 children were all out unpacking their camper in the front yard watching and hearing the whole thing.
The very next day my stove caught on fire. As I put out the fire I opened the windows letting the smoke and the profanity out into the back yard where those same next door neighbors were playing.
Later that night I went in the back yard for something when all heck broke loose inside. I hear things crashing and children screaming. Running inside I left behind a trail of profanity for those blessed next door neighbors to enjoy as they pulled weeds together in their garden.
The next day was Sunday. Ahhh, the Sabbath. As the meeting begins the first speaker is none other than the eldest son of our next door neighbor and what is he speaking on? Profanity. I like to think I helped inspire him.
Not Even if You Were...
So we watched Home Alone last Sunday (and everyday since then). It's a safe family friendly kids movie, right?
Simon loves it. He just can't get enough of Kevin McCalister running hog wild through his house---sliding down the stairs on a sled, jumping on the beds, and foiling the bad guys. What a fun movie for a crazy 5 year old boy. Or so we thought.
Now, knowing that most of you know my son I'll take this moment to answer the thoughts I can read in your minds---No, Simon didn't ice down the porch, swing paint cans down the stairs, or smash anyone's face with an iron. He simply picked out a movie line that he just LOVED to use.
The first time he used it, it went something like this:
Simon: Mom, can I watch Duck Tales in my bedroom.
Me: No, we need to find something else for you to do for awhile.
Simon: Please?
Me: No way.
Simon: "Not even if you were growing on my ass?"
Me: Not even.
I chose not to make a big deal out of it at the time knowing that he would relish the thoughts of having learned a really bad word. Later however, I had to confront the problem head on.
The next day Simon was complaining that the baby follows him around everywhere. "It's like she's growing on my ass!" he said. That's when I knew it's time. We talked about what the word means and why we don't use it. I even explained that it's worse than the word "stupid" (a fact that he found to be completely mind blowing).
My little talked seemed to have worked. The only time I've heard him utter the word since is to inform others that it is a bad word and so they should try not to say it. Life's weird. I always figured Simon would pick up a bad word from me and not a movie from my childhood. Hum. Who knew?
I guess it could have been worse though, my little brother picked up the "F" word at age 4 from "Adventures in Babysitting". Boy was my mother ever mortified at church! Man, just thinking about that day makes me laugh.
Simon loves it. He just can't get enough of Kevin McCalister running hog wild through his house---sliding down the stairs on a sled, jumping on the beds, and foiling the bad guys. What a fun movie for a crazy 5 year old boy. Or so we thought.
Now, knowing that most of you know my son I'll take this moment to answer the thoughts I can read in your minds---No, Simon didn't ice down the porch, swing paint cans down the stairs, or smash anyone's face with an iron. He simply picked out a movie line that he just LOVED to use.
The first time he used it, it went something like this:
Simon: Mom, can I watch Duck Tales in my bedroom.
Me: No, we need to find something else for you to do for awhile.
Simon: Please?
Me: No way.
Simon: "Not even if you were growing on my ass?"
Me: Not even.
I chose not to make a big deal out of it at the time knowing that he would relish the thoughts of having learned a really bad word. Later however, I had to confront the problem head on.
The next day Simon was complaining that the baby follows him around everywhere. "It's like she's growing on my ass!" he said. That's when I knew it's time. We talked about what the word means and why we don't use it. I even explained that it's worse than the word "stupid" (a fact that he found to be completely mind blowing).
My little talked seemed to have worked. The only time I've heard him utter the word since is to inform others that it is a bad word and so they should try not to say it. Life's weird. I always figured Simon would pick up a bad word from me and not a movie from my childhood. Hum. Who knew?
I guess it could have been worse though, my little brother picked up the "F" word at age 4 from "Adventures in Babysitting". Boy was my mother ever mortified at church! Man, just thinking about that day makes me laugh.
Friday, November 20, 2009
The Best Week Ever
Monday my camera broke. Tuesday my sewing machine started to make a grinding noise. Thursday our TV died. And this morning my van has a flat tire and my Dyson's start button gave up---so vacuuming to the house today I had to manually hold the on button in for it to work.
This week better end soon. We can't afford for it to last another day.
This week better end soon. We can't afford for it to last another day.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Like I Said...Welcome to the Neighborhood
Later in the Spiderman Underwear day our new neighbors came and asked for some help moving in. "No" said I. "We've got the swine flu." Welcome to the neighborhood.
Later that night baby Grace (who had the croop something fierce) had a massive coughing attack. The only thing that helps with these is cold air and fast. Wearing only my underwear I race her out the back door and onto the porch. Back lit by the light from my kitchen I realize two things simultaneously #1. I can hear voices which are now quickly retreating and #2. I am in plain sight out there in my nothin's for about 5 houses to see including the new neighbors where the voices had been coming from.
Like I said...Welcome to the neighborhood.
Later that night baby Grace (who had the croop something fierce) had a massive coughing attack. The only thing that helps with these is cold air and fast. Wearing only my underwear I race her out the back door and onto the porch. Back lit by the light from my kitchen I realize two things simultaneously #1. I can hear voices which are now quickly retreating and #2. I am in plain sight out there in my nothin's for about 5 houses to see including the new neighbors where the voices had been coming from.
Like I said...Welcome to the neighborhood.
Welcome to the Neighborhood
Our new neighbors started to move in over the weekend. And as it turns out their front porch is located a staggering 15 feet away from our bedroom window. Which means they have a direct view in at any time. (Who ever situated our homes much have been a closet Peeping Tom.)
Our old neighbors were used to seeing me run around half naked at any given moment but I haven't broken the new ones in yet. Thankfully I have Simon.
As the cute couple is standing on the front porch talking to either friends or family who have just arrived to see the place Simon decides he is too hot in his pajamas and that he's ready to shower and get dressed.
Just then the phone rings. I answer it and visit. Getting off the phone I walk into my bedroom to find Simon standing on my bed watching the neighbors wearing only his Spiderman underwear! And thankfully I came when I did because he was just about to peel those off and jump into the shower.
The people on the porch disappeared and we've yet to see anyone linger there ever since and it's probably for the best. Welcome to the neighborhood. You're gonna love it here.
Our old neighbors were used to seeing me run around half naked at any given moment but I haven't broken the new ones in yet. Thankfully I have Simon.
As the cute couple is standing on the front porch talking to either friends or family who have just arrived to see the place Simon decides he is too hot in his pajamas and that he's ready to shower and get dressed.
Just then the phone rings. I answer it and visit. Getting off the phone I walk into my bedroom to find Simon standing on my bed watching the neighbors wearing only his Spiderman underwear! And thankfully I came when I did because he was just about to peel those off and jump into the shower.
The people on the porch disappeared and we've yet to see anyone linger there ever since and it's probably for the best. Welcome to the neighborhood. You're gonna love it here.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Never Again is Confusing
At the end of October I felt my crimes of style had gone far enough and I gave myself a little intervention. "NEVER AGAIN!" vowed I. Never again would I be out in public wearing crocs and socks. Never again would I wear my "Dad's baseball playin" sweatshirt covered in paint stains to the UPS store. Never again would I show up at the gas station unshowered wearing ripped up t-shirts and too short pajama pants. No, never again.
And I haven't.
But...
This change of apparel has caused concern, or at least raised eyebrows. Everyone from neighbors to cashiers have asked everything from "Why are you all dressed up?" to "What's wrong? Where are you going?" My favorite was the gas station attendant that told me one afternoon, "I seen you come in this morning and I knew something wasn't right."
Judging by the reactions I've gotten just wearing jeans and a T shirt that fits, my norm must be the crazy lady clothes. How did I turn into the bag lady mom? When did it happen? I don't know but I'm trying not to be her. (At least all the time) I even boxed up and put away all the too large and maternityesque clothing I own.
Yes, I said "boxed up" not "got rid of". While I'm ready to be a normal human being I'm just not willing to say goodbye permanently to crazy lady. I can't be too sure that crazy lady isn't the real liz and not her frightening alter ego. (You know like Bizarro Superman but in this case it's Bizarro liZ) So until I decide for sure those clothes will wait like skeletons in the closet for their rediscovery.
And I haven't.
But...
This change of apparel has caused concern, or at least raised eyebrows. Everyone from neighbors to cashiers have asked everything from "Why are you all dressed up?" to "What's wrong? Where are you going?" My favorite was the gas station attendant that told me one afternoon, "I seen you come in this morning and I knew something wasn't right."
Judging by the reactions I've gotten just wearing jeans and a T shirt that fits, my norm must be the crazy lady clothes. How did I turn into the bag lady mom? When did it happen? I don't know but I'm trying not to be her. (At least all the time) I even boxed up and put away all the too large and maternityesque clothing I own.
Yes, I said "boxed up" not "got rid of". While I'm ready to be a normal human being I'm just not willing to say goodbye permanently to crazy lady. I can't be too sure that crazy lady isn't the real liz and not her frightening alter ego. (You know like Bizarro Superman but in this case it's Bizarro liZ) So until I decide for sure those clothes will wait like skeletons in the closet for their rediscovery.
Peaches
Yesterday we were all sick (swine flu) and very tired. I piled the kids in the car to find a drive thru with Dr.Pepper. (A drive thru so we wouldn't expose the universe to our illness). Anyway, I'm feeling so sick and the sun seemed so bright I was thinking this may have been a very bad idea.
Just when I start to feel hopeless Simon says, "Mom, do you like peaches?"
Me: "Sure"
Simon: "Well, good, 'cause they're just like your hair: round, fuzzy, and sweet."
It made me laugh all the way to Betos where I purchased a very large and tasty Dr.Pepper. Later my family said that he probably heard something similar to that on Ice Age 3 at their house last weekend. So what I said. The execution and timing of it was priceless. They may be crazy but I thank God everyday for my kids. Twice yesterday.
Just when I start to feel hopeless Simon says, "Mom, do you like peaches?"
Me: "Sure"
Simon: "Well, good, 'cause they're just like your hair: round, fuzzy, and sweet."
It made me laugh all the way to Betos where I purchased a very large and tasty Dr.Pepper. Later my family said that he probably heard something similar to that on Ice Age 3 at their house last weekend. So what I said. The execution and timing of it was priceless. They may be crazy but I thank God everyday for my kids. Twice yesterday.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Never Again
Tuesday night I went to the gym and ran on the tread mill. Whatever. That's not the point. I leave the gym all smelly and decide that since I don't have the kids with me that this is a good chance for me to run some errands.
As I am leaving my final destination (the copy store) I see my reflection in the door. Red sweaty face, disheveled hair, maternity jogging pants rolled up to keep them up but thereby making them two inches too short and making my waist look unnaturally fat rolly especially since the entire ensemble was topped off with a tighty undershirt that I had been wearing earlier that day. Whew! What a mess. Oh, and I failed to mention that I was wearing orange socks and pink tennis shoes that I bought 5 years ago at Kmart. They have silver reflectors on them---as if people wouldn't already be able to see me coming.
At that moment I vowed never to be seen in public like that again. Enough was enough. It is time for me to take charge of myself....
That lasted until yesterday, when I was feeling crappy, it was getting dark and I needed to run to the grocery store for some milk. Out I went in pajamas. I didn't even bother to consult my closet or a mirror for that matter. Bad decision on my part---when I came home my husband laughed and laughed. Finally choosing to look in the mirror I found myself with a Hitler style mustache left from my earlier fight with a spray paint can. At that moment I vowed never to be seen in public like that again. Enough was enough. It is time to take charge of myself....
Until next time.
Upon further self reflection I think that perhaps I should just give up and rename this whole blog something like "Liz's adventures in ill fitting clothing" or "What not to wear when buying Dr.Pepper" or (and I'm stealing a word here from my friend Beth) "How to dress like a Hobo". Hum...something to consider.
As I am leaving my final destination (the copy store) I see my reflection in the door. Red sweaty face, disheveled hair, maternity jogging pants rolled up to keep them up but thereby making them two inches too short and making my waist look unnaturally fat rolly especially since the entire ensemble was topped off with a tighty undershirt that I had been wearing earlier that day. Whew! What a mess. Oh, and I failed to mention that I was wearing orange socks and pink tennis shoes that I bought 5 years ago at Kmart. They have silver reflectors on them---as if people wouldn't already be able to see me coming.
At that moment I vowed never to be seen in public like that again. Enough was enough. It is time for me to take charge of myself....
That lasted until yesterday, when I was feeling crappy, it was getting dark and I needed to run to the grocery store for some milk. Out I went in pajamas. I didn't even bother to consult my closet or a mirror for that matter. Bad decision on my part---when I came home my husband laughed and laughed. Finally choosing to look in the mirror I found myself with a Hitler style mustache left from my earlier fight with a spray paint can. At that moment I vowed never to be seen in public like that again. Enough was enough. It is time to take charge of myself....
Until next time.
Upon further self reflection I think that perhaps I should just give up and rename this whole blog something like "Liz's adventures in ill fitting clothing" or "What not to wear when buying Dr.Pepper" or (and I'm stealing a word here from my friend Beth) "How to dress like a Hobo". Hum...something to consider.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
I Haven't Done This Since 8th Grade...
Tonight I did something that I haven't done since 8th grade. What could it be---the Roger Rabbit? Make out underneath the bleachers? Play Rad Racer? Peg my pants? No, no, and no. Although, I did play Rad Racer the other day at my parents and I enjoyed it. But that wasn't it---I ran a mile. Just one single solitary mile.
I know what your thinking and the answer is yes and yes. Yes, I really haven't run a mile since P.E. in 8th grade. Seriously. Runnings not my thing. And because I didn't take P.E. in high school or college, which eliminated the only reason I would have been found running, it's been that long. And yes, while it is true I've run around the block looking for a speeding bike child, there is no way I've run 1 whole, complete mile since the 8th grade.
So why did I do it? Pride. Insanity. My husband and brother just finished a marathon and want to enter more races. Not wanting to be left out and to show my superior toughness I signed up with them. However, before I can prove my mad running skills I need to develop them.
I'm not ashamed to admit that it took me 12 minutes and 25 seconds to run my first mile. And I figure that's not bad for almost two decades of unlimited shuffle, swagger, and cross-legged immobility.
For the record I did better on my second mile and for the record I will continue to do better. From now on it's me and the tread mill. So watch out boys because at the next race it will be "Liz, Liz baby. Dun Dun Dun Da Da Dun Dun"
I know what your thinking and the answer is yes and yes. Yes, I really haven't run a mile since P.E. in 8th grade. Seriously. Runnings not my thing. And because I didn't take P.E. in high school or college, which eliminated the only reason I would have been found running, it's been that long. And yes, while it is true I've run around the block looking for a speeding bike child, there is no way I've run 1 whole, complete mile since the 8th grade.
So why did I do it? Pride. Insanity. My husband and brother just finished a marathon and want to enter more races. Not wanting to be left out and to show my superior toughness I signed up with them. However, before I can prove my mad running skills I need to develop them.
I'm not ashamed to admit that it took me 12 minutes and 25 seconds to run my first mile. And I figure that's not bad for almost two decades of unlimited shuffle, swagger, and cross-legged immobility.
For the record I did better on my second mile and for the record I will continue to do better. From now on it's me and the tread mill. So watch out boys because at the next race it will be "Liz, Liz baby. Dun Dun Dun Da Da Dun Dun"
Thursday, September 24, 2009
My Guilt Knows No Bounds
Recently I've been racked by guilt. Literally everything makes me feel guilty and it has gotten out of hand. In fact, it's spreading and infecting innocent bystanders. For example:
A while ago I was out pulling some weeds when a big old nasty spider crawled across my path. Now I HATE HATE HATE spiders. Really hate them. So as I am pulverizing the poor creature I notice she is carrying an egg sack which she curls her entire body around in an effort to save her babies. As I rained blows down upon the poor creature and her egg sack with my shovel I felt guilty and sad. Here was a mother just going about her business when along comes some big jerk and destroys not only her life but her children's. I saw her desperate attempts to save her babies and what do I do? I smash them with a shovel.
But, I'm a mother to and a few feet away from the spider is little Grace and there's no way I'm letting anything hurt her so the spider had to die and I had to feel guilty.
After the blood bath I told this story to my friend who already knows I'm crazy and then forgot about it until today....
This afternoon I stopped some liquid refreshment off at her house when she tells me that the other day she opened her garage to find some monster mama wolf spider trucking across the floor packing an egg sack. She wanted to kill her but couldn't because of the guilt. MY GUILT!!! AGGGHHHHH!
My guilt it is contagious. Which of course, causes me to feel more guilt! Why can't I just keep my neuroses to myself? Now I envision my friends garage wall teaming with wolf spiders, eyes peering out waiting to attack her with their legions of spiders babies in some sci-fi battle extraordinaire. It gives me the guiltified creeps just thinking about it.
Oh guilt! If only you were as easy to brutally murder as a heavy laden spider....
A while ago I was out pulling some weeds when a big old nasty spider crawled across my path. Now I HATE HATE HATE spiders. Really hate them. So as I am pulverizing the poor creature I notice she is carrying an egg sack which she curls her entire body around in an effort to save her babies. As I rained blows down upon the poor creature and her egg sack with my shovel I felt guilty and sad. Here was a mother just going about her business when along comes some big jerk and destroys not only her life but her children's. I saw her desperate attempts to save her babies and what do I do? I smash them with a shovel.
But, I'm a mother to and a few feet away from the spider is little Grace and there's no way I'm letting anything hurt her so the spider had to die and I had to feel guilty.
After the blood bath I told this story to my friend who already knows I'm crazy and then forgot about it until today....
This afternoon I stopped some liquid refreshment off at her house when she tells me that the other day she opened her garage to find some monster mama wolf spider trucking across the floor packing an egg sack. She wanted to kill her but couldn't because of the guilt. MY GUILT!!! AGGGHHHHH!
My guilt it is contagious. Which of course, causes me to feel more guilt! Why can't I just keep my neuroses to myself? Now I envision my friends garage wall teaming with wolf spiders, eyes peering out waiting to attack her with their legions of spiders babies in some sci-fi battle extraordinaire. It gives me the guiltified creeps just thinking about it.
Oh guilt! If only you were as easy to brutally murder as a heavy laden spider....
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
An Astronaut?
Simon: Does Heavenly Father live in "outer in space"?
Me: Ummmm...well, kind of.
Simon: So, is he an astronaut?
Me: Ummmm...well, kind of.
Simon: So, is he an astronaut?
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
The Naked Truth
So today I climb out of the shower just as Simon comes barging through my bathroom door in a panic because he couldn't get the lid off of the peanut butter. And there I am stark, raving naked.
Before I could even do anything Simon stops in his tracks and squishes up his face. "OOOOHHHHHHH Mom!" He says, "That's gross! You need to put on your clothes!" And stomps out of the bathroom.
Looking in the mirror I could see it was a fair assessment. So much for an illustrious career in the adult film industry. I just hope Simon won't need counseling for this.
Before I could even do anything Simon stops in his tracks and squishes up his face. "OOOOHHHHHHH Mom!" He says, "That's gross! You need to put on your clothes!" And stomps out of the bathroom.
Looking in the mirror I could see it was a fair assessment. So much for an illustrious career in the adult film industry. I just hope Simon won't need counseling for this.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Thank You Crazy Eyes
I was having an exceptionally bad day. And what do you do when times get tough? You head to the gas station for an extra large Dr. Pepper of course.
It was the night crew and so they don't know me. (Not like the day crew that knows me all too well and even gave me gifts when I had Grace.) Anyway, even though I don't know these people one of the workers has some interesting features and I've seen him working there quite a few times. Oh and then there's his name...in my evil brain I've named him "crazy eyes".
So I get my drink and get in line to pay. I get up to pay and I'm at a disgruntled employees register. She rings me up and before I can pay Crazy Eyes steps over and clears the register. "It's on me, " he says.
"You can't do that!" she says.
"It's on me," he says. And with that he pulls a handful of change from his raggedy old pants pocket and buys my drink.
"You're crazy," she says.
Like and idiot I just stand there.
"Now go on, and have a good day," he says and jerks his head toward the door motioning for me to leave.
Eloquently I say "Um, thanks" and head to the van bus where I cry and cry. Something so small seemed so generous and changed my entire outlook on the day. That small, unsolicited act of service at the gas station buoyed me up and I was ready to once again get to work and to well, "have a good day".
So, thank you Crazy Eyes for showing kindness to a stranger, for making my day, for buying my soda.
It was the night crew and so they don't know me. (Not like the day crew that knows me all too well and even gave me gifts when I had Grace.) Anyway, even though I don't know these people one of the workers has some interesting features and I've seen him working there quite a few times. Oh and then there's his name...in my evil brain I've named him "crazy eyes".
So I get my drink and get in line to pay. I get up to pay and I'm at a disgruntled employees register. She rings me up and before I can pay Crazy Eyes steps over and clears the register. "It's on me, " he says.
"You can't do that!" she says.
"It's on me," he says. And with that he pulls a handful of change from his raggedy old pants pocket and buys my drink.
"You're crazy," she says.
Like and idiot I just stand there.
"Now go on, and have a good day," he says and jerks his head toward the door motioning for me to leave.
Eloquently I say "Um, thanks" and head to the van bus where I cry and cry. Something so small seemed so generous and changed my entire outlook on the day. That small, unsolicited act of service at the gas station buoyed me up and I was ready to once again get to work and to well, "have a good day".
So, thank you Crazy Eyes for showing kindness to a stranger, for making my day, for buying my soda.
Returning to the scene of the Crime
I had lunch today at the exact same table we ate at in the Karma and Chameleons story. As Simon turned his ice cream into a science experiment and Grace peppered her head with sprinkles two old women stopped at my table.
Super, more unwanted advice.
Nope! A most refreshing surprise... The women wanted to let me know how darling my children are and how lucky my mom was to have such sweet grand kids. They were so genuine and so nice I wanted to cry. And then I hoped that somewhere out there today my dear friend from my earlier luncheon was being met with the same kindness.
Were you?
Super, more unwanted advice.
Nope! A most refreshing surprise... The women wanted to let me know how darling my children are and how lucky my mom was to have such sweet grand kids. They were so genuine and so nice I wanted to cry. And then I hoped that somewhere out there today my dear friend from my earlier luncheon was being met with the same kindness.
Were you?
Eggplants
So Simon asked me the other morning what kind of plants eggs grow on.
Man, I've gotta get that kid out more often....
Man, I've gotta get that kid out more often....
82
Simon: My other grandpa died.
My Grandma: I know. That is so sad.
Simon: How come he died?
My Grandma: Because he got too old.
Simon: Oh. How old are you?
My Grandma: 82
Simon: WoW!!! That's old you're gonna die!!!
*For the record it was my grandma that told me this story and she thinks it is hilarious. In fact I think she has told the story oh, about 82 times as well.
My Grandma: I know. That is so sad.
Simon: How come he died?
My Grandma: Because he got too old.
Simon: Oh. How old are you?
My Grandma: 82
Simon: WoW!!! That's old you're gonna die!!!
*For the record it was my grandma that told me this story and she thinks it is hilarious. In fact I think she has told the story oh, about 82 times as well.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Karma & Chameleons
The other day I was more frazzled than usual. It was past dinner time and the kids had not been fed. In fact, I didn't even have a bottle with me for Grace. Simon was loosing his mind having just come from a 2 hour stay at the Home Depot choosing doors, hardware, and tile for the basement. And yet there we were at the fabric store.
It is a small store that is actually located inside a renovated old home. Darling. Just not so convenient for a worn out mother carrying a car seated baby and dragging a belligerent 4 year old. It was just before closing and the store was unusually busy. It seemed every time I moved I was knocking over fabric or bumping into someone. And then of course there were my children....
Grace started yelling. Just yelling. Loud crazy kid yells. No crying just yelling. Loud yelling. And she was not to be controlled. She had put up with enough and would only be satisfied with home and a milk. Nothing else.
Then there was Simon who carried on a constant dialog letting me know how "dumb dumb" this place was and how he needed to go home "right now" or I was going to be in "so much trouble". And then he had to pee. Which is when I discovered that their super tiny bathroom is up the worlds skinniest staircase. After hauling the troops up there (which was no small feat) Simon used the facilities and we headed back down the stairs where Simon mowed down a cranky worker lady and I dropped the fabric rolls I was carrying which tumbled into a cranky shopper.
It was about then that I noticed it---everyone in the store hated us. I was getting the stink eye from EVERYONE! Alright, I admit we were not a model family unit but I was doing my best and lest we forget it was the fabric that tumbled down the stairs and not my child so I should get some points for that. Also, all of those women sending me the bad mojo were my mothers age or older and I KNOW the majority of them were mothers (and grandmothers themselves) so they should have had sympathy for me or at the very least not crave the chance to tie up my children with over sized ric rac.
As I was snubbed some and stared at by others the only thing I could think about was karma karma karma.
You see I've noticed that the older women get the better their children were. To the point that they NEVER let their children misbehave EVER and you'd have NEVER seen their children doing that in public and well, you get the picture. And these women have lost all tolerance for anyone whose children are not perfect. If you don't believe me ask them---or just watch for them, at the grocery store, at restaurants, and even church. You'll know them when you see them. They're the ones shooting daggers at the poor mom trying to load a weeks worth of groceries around a car seat while two other children teasing each other in the cart.
I ran into some of these dandys a few weeks ago. My friend and I had taken our kids to the aquarium. There we saw all sort of cool animals---everything from jelly fish to electric eels to tree frogs. It was great but then we got hungry. Luckily we were near a salad buffet where we, and our kids, could all enjoy a meal. However...a salad buffet with two moms, two 4 year olds and two 1 year olds can be a little tricky.
The restaurant was fortunately fairly quiet and we managed to be the only ones in line. So the food train started. It went like this mom with a 1 year old followed by a 4 year old followed by a 4 year old followed by a mom with a 1 year old. The train moved slowly but there were no spills or disasters until two sweet looking grandmothers showed up behind us.
Before we realized it our food train was the object of the grandmothers loath fest. It started with the stares, then the stink eyes, then the huffing. We obviously were too slow and too messy for these women who apparently needed to get that fat free dressing on their salads RIGHT NOW DANG IT!!! We knew we were bugging them but you try to speed up a couple of little boys who are getting to be grown ups and choosing their own foods.
Then whispers started---loud enough to hear of course. Nothing too original---they would have never done anything like this with their kids, we should just make them hurry up, let's make sure not to end up sitting by them---the usual.
Finally they become so irritated with us that they stomp off and get into another line. I watch them looking at our kids (who are having a grand old time putting exotic items like jimaca and sunflower seeds on their trays) and can't believe they are really in that big of a hurry. And as I'm thinking to myself about the fact that they are just mean old ladies disguised as sweet grandmas it happens...
CRASH!!! Broken glass. Food everywhere.
Now, I know what you're thinking. But you were wrong. It wasn't us. Nope. One of those nasty old ladies was so involved with critiqing our every move that she wasn't watching where she put her plate and it slid onto the floor. Too bad. Karma's a killer. I just smiled sweetly at her and encouraged Simon to pile some more corn on his plate.
But, I ramble...back to where I began.... I don't know what happened to those ladies at the fabric store but as I left with my raw nerves and two children in full on melt downs I pictured a magnificent fabric domino take down crushing all those crabby ladies. Or maybe just one of them tumbling down the stairs, like my fabric. Nice? No, but at that point thoughts of vindictive karma were the only thing getting us home in one piece.
It is a small store that is actually located inside a renovated old home. Darling. Just not so convenient for a worn out mother carrying a car seated baby and dragging a belligerent 4 year old. It was just before closing and the store was unusually busy. It seemed every time I moved I was knocking over fabric or bumping into someone. And then of course there were my children....
Grace started yelling. Just yelling. Loud crazy kid yells. No crying just yelling. Loud yelling. And she was not to be controlled. She had put up with enough and would only be satisfied with home and a milk. Nothing else.
Then there was Simon who carried on a constant dialog letting me know how "dumb dumb" this place was and how he needed to go home "right now" or I was going to be in "so much trouble". And then he had to pee. Which is when I discovered that their super tiny bathroom is up the worlds skinniest staircase. After hauling the troops up there (which was no small feat) Simon used the facilities and we headed back down the stairs where Simon mowed down a cranky worker lady and I dropped the fabric rolls I was carrying which tumbled into a cranky shopper.
It was about then that I noticed it---everyone in the store hated us. I was getting the stink eye from EVERYONE! Alright, I admit we were not a model family unit but I was doing my best and lest we forget it was the fabric that tumbled down the stairs and not my child so I should get some points for that. Also, all of those women sending me the bad mojo were my mothers age or older and I KNOW the majority of them were mothers (and grandmothers themselves) so they should have had sympathy for me or at the very least not crave the chance to tie up my children with over sized ric rac.
As I was snubbed some and stared at by others the only thing I could think about was karma karma karma.
You see I've noticed that the older women get the better their children were. To the point that they NEVER let their children misbehave EVER and you'd have NEVER seen their children doing that in public and well, you get the picture. And these women have lost all tolerance for anyone whose children are not perfect. If you don't believe me ask them---or just watch for them, at the grocery store, at restaurants, and even church. You'll know them when you see them. They're the ones shooting daggers at the poor mom trying to load a weeks worth of groceries around a car seat while two other children teasing each other in the cart.
I ran into some of these dandys a few weeks ago. My friend and I had taken our kids to the aquarium. There we saw all sort of cool animals---everything from jelly fish to electric eels to tree frogs. It was great but then we got hungry. Luckily we were near a salad buffet where we, and our kids, could all enjoy a meal. However...a salad buffet with two moms, two 4 year olds and two 1 year olds can be a little tricky.
The restaurant was fortunately fairly quiet and we managed to be the only ones in line. So the food train started. It went like this mom with a 1 year old followed by a 4 year old followed by a 4 year old followed by a mom with a 1 year old. The train moved slowly but there were no spills or disasters until two sweet looking grandmothers showed up behind us.
Before we realized it our food train was the object of the grandmothers loath fest. It started with the stares, then the stink eyes, then the huffing. We obviously were too slow and too messy for these women who apparently needed to get that fat free dressing on their salads RIGHT NOW DANG IT!!! We knew we were bugging them but you try to speed up a couple of little boys who are getting to be grown ups and choosing their own foods.
Then whispers started---loud enough to hear of course. Nothing too original---they would have never done anything like this with their kids, we should just make them hurry up, let's make sure not to end up sitting by them---the usual.
Finally they become so irritated with us that they stomp off and get into another line. I watch them looking at our kids (who are having a grand old time putting exotic items like jimaca and sunflower seeds on their trays) and can't believe they are really in that big of a hurry. And as I'm thinking to myself about the fact that they are just mean old ladies disguised as sweet grandmas it happens...
CRASH!!! Broken glass. Food everywhere.
Now, I know what you're thinking. But you were wrong. It wasn't us. Nope. One of those nasty old ladies was so involved with critiqing our every move that she wasn't watching where she put her plate and it slid onto the floor. Too bad. Karma's a killer. I just smiled sweetly at her and encouraged Simon to pile some more corn on his plate.
But, I ramble...back to where I began.... I don't know what happened to those ladies at the fabric store but as I left with my raw nerves and two children in full on melt downs I pictured a magnificent fabric domino take down crushing all those crabby ladies. Or maybe just one of them tumbling down the stairs, like my fabric. Nice? No, but at that point thoughts of vindictive karma were the only thing getting us home in one piece.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Caballo
Simon: That's stupid.
Me: Simon, we don't say stupid. That's a bad guy word.
Simon: Ok. That's caballo.
Me: Caballo? What does caballo mean?
Simon: Caballo means stupid.
It's moments like these that make me reflect and realize that I am too caballo to be raising children.
Me: Simon, we don't say stupid. That's a bad guy word.
Simon: Ok. That's caballo.
Me: Caballo? What does caballo mean?
Simon: Caballo means stupid.
It's moments like these that make me reflect and realize that I am too caballo to be raising children.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
It's A Dog's Life
Since we've gotten home from vacation life has been one big disaster after another and so I've been letting Simon watch a lot of movies. Actually, he's just been watching a lot of one movie. It's a collection of Super Mario Brothers cartoons that we rented from Red Box. We've had it so long we may actually own it by now. Who knows? All I know is that it has a really annoying song about dogs in it that keeps playing over and over in my head and has become the soundtrack for my life these past few weeks.
Like I said, we've had some disasters. A few of outstanding moments include the water pipe breaking in our basement, Jon's grandfather dying, a minor landslide in the backyard, Simon rolling himself up in the neighbors car window, my accidental shop lifting of a ton of goods from Wal-Mart (which I returned as soon as I found them to a very confused door greeter), potatoes catching fire in our oven, a mentally ill cat taking up residence in our garage, and of course my insanely noticeable, movie quality black eye that I've had since the day we came home (more on that later).
Every time I think I can't deal with one more thing one more thing happens! I guess the Super Mario Brother's song is right...
"It's a Dog's Life...Ruff Ruff Ruff"
Like I said, we've had some disasters. A few of outstanding moments include the water pipe breaking in our basement, Jon's grandfather dying, a minor landslide in the backyard, Simon rolling himself up in the neighbors car window, my accidental shop lifting of a ton of goods from Wal-Mart (which I returned as soon as I found them to a very confused door greeter), potatoes catching fire in our oven, a mentally ill cat taking up residence in our garage, and of course my insanely noticeable, movie quality black eye that I've had since the day we came home (more on that later).
Every time I think I can't deal with one more thing one more thing happens! I guess the Super Mario Brother's song is right...
"It's a Dog's Life...Ruff Ruff Ruff"
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
I'm sorry I thought you were...
So I'm on the cruise and my mom signs us up for a massage and a facial---a wonderful idea, highly recommendable. There I am, toasty warm, having my feet worked on, new age music playing in the background, no one bothering me---heaven. Then the spa girl decides to start a conversation.
Her: So, how old are you?
Me: 32
Her: Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you were still young.
Conversation over.
Her: So, how old are you?
Me: 32
Her: Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you were still young.
Conversation over.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
What's this white stuff?
So, I went tanning the other day. I'm not like a big tanner, nail getter doner, or anything of the type. (I'm the girl who wears her "good pajama pants" to the store remember?) Anyway, like I said I decided to go tanning.
You see we are leaving Thursday for Disneyland and then a cruise and I want to look cute. Shame me if you like but I would prefer that the glare off of my transparent skin didn't compete with the glare off the ocean.
So I go tanning. I'm wearing my red and blue plaid pajama pants and one of Jon's old shirts with a big old spaghetti stain on it. I walk in to be greeting by two enthusiastic high school girls in their bikinis and board shorts. They were behind the counter surfing the Internet and eating veggies out of a plastic sack. It was these two geniuses who were running the shop.
Genius #1 says: This white stuff is SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO good! What is it?
Genius #2 says: It's broccoli, no, it's called cauliflower.
Genius #1: Cauliflower?
Genius #2: Yeah, you should ask your mom about it. She probably knows how to make it.
At this point I interrupted the cuisine lesson, paid $6.50 for 6 minutes in a ruva bed and then trusted said rocket scientists to light up the bazillion watt bed I was about to crawl inside.
Safe? Of course I felt safe. Who wouldn't with those two at the wheel? In fact, I felt so safe I've yet to return. So much for looking cute.
You see we are leaving Thursday for Disneyland and then a cruise and I want to look cute. Shame me if you like but I would prefer that the glare off of my transparent skin didn't compete with the glare off the ocean.
So I go tanning. I'm wearing my red and blue plaid pajama pants and one of Jon's old shirts with a big old spaghetti stain on it. I walk in to be greeting by two enthusiastic high school girls in their bikinis and board shorts. They were behind the counter surfing the Internet and eating veggies out of a plastic sack. It was these two geniuses who were running the shop.
Genius #1 says: This white stuff is SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO good! What is it?
Genius #2 says: It's broccoli, no, it's called cauliflower.
Genius #1: Cauliflower?
Genius #2: Yeah, you should ask your mom about it. She probably knows how to make it.
At this point I interrupted the cuisine lesson, paid $6.50 for 6 minutes in a ruva bed and then trusted said rocket scientists to light up the bazillion watt bed I was about to crawl inside.
Safe? Of course I felt safe. Who wouldn't with those two at the wheel? In fact, I felt so safe I've yet to return. So much for looking cute.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
My Tribute To Micheal Jackson
So in elementary school my best friend and I entered the talent show with a rockin routine. We wore matching red and white braided headbands then I dressed in a red leotard, white tights, and red leg warmers while she sported a white leotard, red tights, and white leg warmers. We were so cool.
Then, as if the coordinating outfits weren't enough to highlight our talents, we did an aerobic Jane Fonda style dance routine to none other than Michael Jackson's "Beat It". (Right now both of you who read this blog are hearing the Dun da dun dun dun, DUN da DUN DUN beginning of the song playing in your head. And if you weren't you are now.)
It was pretty awesome. Too awesome actually because we didn't win. Those teachers had no appreciation for talent, or they were just jealous. Yeah, that must have been it.
Anyway, thank you Micheal Jackson for giving me the sound track to my talent show debut and for the hours of entertainment you provided my friends and I as we watched, paused, and reviewed my VHS copy of Thriller in an order to memorize every single dance move. You were indeed bad, you know it.
Then, as if the coordinating outfits weren't enough to highlight our talents, we did an aerobic Jane Fonda style dance routine to none other than Michael Jackson's "Beat It". (Right now both of you who read this blog are hearing the Dun da dun dun dun, DUN da DUN DUN beginning of the song playing in your head. And if you weren't you are now.)
It was pretty awesome. Too awesome actually because we didn't win. Those teachers had no appreciation for talent, or they were just jealous. Yeah, that must have been it.
Anyway, thank you Micheal Jackson for giving me the sound track to my talent show debut and for the hours of entertainment you provided my friends and I as we watched, paused, and reviewed my VHS copy of Thriller in an order to memorize every single dance move. You were indeed bad, you know it.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
What in the Blog?
So I've been blog hopping lately. Especially on crafter blogs. I like that stuff ok?
Anyways, I've recently noticed a rash of women posting photos of themselves doing ridiculous things in an attempt to be darling. Oh, look here I am pretending to sew, and here I am wearing my newly made beaded necklace, and here I am with my cutsie hair thingy. Whatever. I'm not so much into that but like I said, whatever. I'm just looking for ideas. (For crafts, not photo ops)
HOWEVER, I just ran across a blog where the girl has posted photos of herself showing off the new bikini she just sewed. Really? What would posses you to do that? For the love.
So I'm asking you please, if I start posting photos of myself in some crafty bikini please confiscate my computer, the bikini, and me. Oh, and if you start posting pictures of your self in skimpy homemade swimwear you should probably be aware that I will be mocking you (and I won't be the only one).
Anyways, I've recently noticed a rash of women posting photos of themselves doing ridiculous things in an attempt to be darling. Oh, look here I am pretending to sew, and here I am wearing my newly made beaded necklace, and here I am with my cutsie hair thingy. Whatever. I'm not so much into that but like I said, whatever. I'm just looking for ideas. (For crafts, not photo ops)
HOWEVER, I just ran across a blog where the girl has posted photos of herself showing off the new bikini she just sewed. Really? What would posses you to do that? For the love.
So I'm asking you please, if I start posting photos of myself in some crafty bikini please confiscate my computer, the bikini, and me. Oh, and if you start posting pictures of your self in skimpy homemade swimwear you should probably be aware that I will be mocking you (and I won't be the only one).
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
The Crazy Lady at the Jiffy Lube
So this morning I was at the Jiffy Lube to get my car's emissions tested. Oh the joy. While waiting (for two hours) I saw a woman sitting outside of the store. She was sitting on the sidewalk with her baby.
They were both wearing pajamas even though it was noon. The mom, who could have used a shower and a hair brush, had set up some kind of sewing station with bags and thread and needles everywhere and was stitching buttons on some random fabric pieces.
Meanwhile the baby (who was a girl by the way) was playing with a Bobba Fett action figure while the mom was humming her some Star Wars tunes.
People coming in and out of Jiffy Lube stared but she didn't seem to mind. She just kept on doing her thing and waiting for the insanely slow lubers to do their stuff.
When my name was finally called and it was time to leave I caught one more glimpse of her reflected in the mirrored window and thought boy, I really shouldn't be allowed out in public.
They were both wearing pajamas even though it was noon. The mom, who could have used a shower and a hair brush, had set up some kind of sewing station with bags and thread and needles everywhere and was stitching buttons on some random fabric pieces.
Meanwhile the baby (who was a girl by the way) was playing with a Bobba Fett action figure while the mom was humming her some Star Wars tunes.
People coming in and out of Jiffy Lube stared but she didn't seem to mind. She just kept on doing her thing and waiting for the insanely slow lubers to do their stuff.
When my name was finally called and it was time to leave I caught one more glimpse of her reflected in the mirrored window and thought boy, I really shouldn't be allowed out in public.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
How to Spend A Stormy Wednesday Night
How to spend a stormy Wednesday night.
#1. Go to the Red Box at the gas station. There you can get a giant drink and a movie in one stop.
#2. Make sure that you rent He-Man and the Masters of the Universe (the animated series)Vol.1
#3. Watch it at home on the floor with both children sitting on your lap and your sons 3 legged pet grasshopper in a jar next to you while you drink that soda.
#4. End the evening with a camp out. That's right. Everyone sleeping on the floor in front of the TV in giant quilts.
Try you'll like it. We did.
#1. Go to the Red Box at the gas station. There you can get a giant drink and a movie in one stop.
#2. Make sure that you rent He-Man and the Masters of the Universe (the animated series)Vol.1
#3. Watch it at home on the floor with both children sitting on your lap and your sons 3 legged pet grasshopper in a jar next to you while you drink that soda.
#4. End the evening with a camp out. That's right. Everyone sleeping on the floor in front of the TV in giant quilts.
Try you'll like it. We did.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Bad Guy Dreams
So, yesterday I asked Simon what kind of party he wanted for his birthday party. And what did he answer? A Batman party? A movie party? A swimming party? A slumber party? No, No, No. He wants a Bad Guy party.
That's right, a bad guy party.
My first thought was to talk him out of it and then I thought no, it's his birthday he can envision it anyway he wants to. Then I started to think about what we could do at a bad guy party. First of all I'd paint long curly mustaches on each child followed by a pair of angry eye brows. Then I could tie them all up and see if they could escape. It would be the best party ever.
Unfortunately his birthday isn't for months and he'll change his mind 75 times before then, which is a shame. I'm all for the Bad Guy birthday party.
That's right, a bad guy party.
My first thought was to talk him out of it and then I thought no, it's his birthday he can envision it anyway he wants to. Then I started to think about what we could do at a bad guy party. First of all I'd paint long curly mustaches on each child followed by a pair of angry eye brows. Then I could tie them all up and see if they could escape. It would be the best party ever.
Unfortunately his birthday isn't for months and he'll change his mind 75 times before then, which is a shame. I'm all for the Bad Guy birthday party.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Am I Getting Old?
It's 10:30 and I'm spent. After posting this the computer will be shut down and I will be in bed within seconds. Since when am I worn out at 10:30?
I'm also nauseous beyond all reason. Jon and I just got home. On the way we stopped at Sonic and instead of my usual I got a chocolate malt and some onion rings. Sound delicious? Well, it did to me but now there's a war in my belly. Honestly I think I might die. Really, death feels eminent. My stomach used to be a bottomless pit! A sack full of Del Taco at midnight washed down with a gallon of Dr. Pepper was nothing. What is going on?
Then there is the whole issue of not being able to jump on the trampoline without peeing...
That's it. I'm old. Who cares? Give me some slippers and a Cadillac I'm going to bed.
I'm also nauseous beyond all reason. Jon and I just got home. On the way we stopped at Sonic and instead of my usual I got a chocolate malt and some onion rings. Sound delicious? Well, it did to me but now there's a war in my belly. Honestly I think I might die. Really, death feels eminent. My stomach used to be a bottomless pit! A sack full of Del Taco at midnight washed down with a gallon of Dr. Pepper was nothing. What is going on?
Then there is the whole issue of not being able to jump on the trampoline without peeing...
That's it. I'm old. Who cares? Give me some slippers and a Cadillac I'm going to bed.
Monday, June 1, 2009
I May Be a Little Paranoid
Jon and I were talking about how I am a paranoid mother the other day. He claims that I tend to be "over protective" when it comes to my children and their safety (or my perception of danger).
Later that night as I was sprinting down the sidewalk chasing Simon on his bike and yelling at him to "slow down" and "be careful" I thought, "Hum...Jon might just be on to something."
Later that night as I was sprinting down the sidewalk chasing Simon on his bike and yelling at him to "slow down" and "be careful" I thought, "Hum...Jon might just be on to something."
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
My Name is Simon and I Like Chocolate
As of late I've been feeling like a lousy mother again. I try my best but I just feel like I'm screwing it all up. With that in mind we go to church on Sunday...
As Jon and I are walking our class to sharing time we pass Simon's class coming from sharing time. Simon is mad. Furrowed brows, stomping feet, and my personal favorite---the declaration of unhappiness, "I'm so angry!" Apparently something super cool happened in sharing time and he wasn't one of the chosen few called on to participate. (Which when you are only 4 I can see how that can be devastating.)
I decide to stay with Simon in his class for a few minutes until the crushing blow has been forgotten. Fortunately Simon has like wonder woman for his teacher and she can talk him into doing just about anything. Within minutes she has him with her playing an obedience game. Unfortunately she let Simon be the leader and as I left class he has the kids doing crazy ninja jump turn kicks...
After church our home teachers stop by. Trying include Simon in the lesson (and bless their hearts for trying) one of them asks Simon what he gets to do when he turns eight. Simon looks at us, smiles and says "I get to poo." I send him the look of death and he jumps up in between the two men on the other couch.
Undaunted the home teacher proceeds---showing him a picture of the twelve apostles. "Who are they?" he asks. Without hesitation Simon announces they are "bad guys".
Next comes a photo of the prophet. "And who is he Simon?"
"President of the bad guys."
That's right. President of the bad guys.
Well, what do you expect? It's not like Jon works for the church or anything.
After being shamed we bid farewell to the home teachers and head up to my family's house for dinner. The drive to my parents was peppered with tiny conversations about Simon thinking that the sun was melting him and how his heart is turning bad because he's so tired.
Upon arriving at my family's Simon sits up to the table where he announces that he doesn't want to pray and that the food looks "sick". That's when my grandpa says, "You're a mess! Who are you anyways?" And Simon says, "My name is Simon and I like chocolate."
Chocolate Shmocolate. My name is liz and I still love my little twirp.
Here's to hoping that we do better next Sunday.
As Jon and I are walking our class to sharing time we pass Simon's class coming from sharing time. Simon is mad. Furrowed brows, stomping feet, and my personal favorite---the declaration of unhappiness, "I'm so angry!" Apparently something super cool happened in sharing time and he wasn't one of the chosen few called on to participate. (Which when you are only 4 I can see how that can be devastating.)
I decide to stay with Simon in his class for a few minutes until the crushing blow has been forgotten. Fortunately Simon has like wonder woman for his teacher and she can talk him into doing just about anything. Within minutes she has him with her playing an obedience game. Unfortunately she let Simon be the leader and as I left class he has the kids doing crazy ninja jump turn kicks...
After church our home teachers stop by. Trying include Simon in the lesson (and bless their hearts for trying) one of them asks Simon what he gets to do when he turns eight. Simon looks at us, smiles and says "I get to poo." I send him the look of death and he jumps up in between the two men on the other couch.
Undaunted the home teacher proceeds---showing him a picture of the twelve apostles. "Who are they?" he asks. Without hesitation Simon announces they are "bad guys".
Next comes a photo of the prophet. "And who is he Simon?"
"President of the bad guys."
That's right. President of the bad guys.
Well, what do you expect? It's not like Jon works for the church or anything.
After being shamed we bid farewell to the home teachers and head up to my family's house for dinner. The drive to my parents was peppered with tiny conversations about Simon thinking that the sun was melting him and how his heart is turning bad because he's so tired.
Upon arriving at my family's Simon sits up to the table where he announces that he doesn't want to pray and that the food looks "sick". That's when my grandpa says, "You're a mess! Who are you anyways?" And Simon says, "My name is Simon and I like chocolate."
Chocolate Shmocolate. My name is liz and I still love my little twirp.
Here's to hoping that we do better next Sunday.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Next time I'll Choose Death
My sinus infection is back---plugged ears, congestion, sore face and teeth, swollen lymph nodes, headache---the usual. I can barely function this morning. I know I need help. Since we live in no mans land I load up the kids and drive to the closest place I can...an urgent care center.
Oh man. I walk in and the place is packed with puffy-eyed bed heads coughing up a storm or laying back in the nasty chairs with their eyes closed waiting for death. I log in. We sit down.
With in minutes a weirdo has found me. She pulls up a chair next to us and starts asking me 75 million questions about my kids. Ages, birthdays, how much they weighed at birth, how long they sleep, what they ate for breakfast, on and on.
Meanwhile I notice that Simon has smuggled in a peanut butter sandwich which he is using as a truck and driving it up and down the arms of a germ covered chair. I go mental and make him throw it in the garbage. Unfortunately before letting it go he became possessed by the Lord of the Germs and took a magnificent bite out of the crust which he proclaimed was "tasty".
While this is happening a mom comes in with her girl and tells her to "go play" while she checks in. Where does she chose to play? On the seat that Simon vacated on his trip to the garbage can! There she begins to lay out a full sized afghan, an armload of books, and a pile of play jewelry. As nicely as I can I explain that this is my son's seat and to please find another chair.
Maybe she didn't understand me or maybe she didn't understand not getting her way because even though she seemed to be at least 5 I ended up physically moving her stuff over a seat and then she spent the next 15 minutes trying to load her stuff back onto the chair on top of Simon while her mom talked on the phone.
As if the crazy woman talking to me and the girl burying a disgruntled Simon weren't enough, another mother brings in two children which she also sends to "go play'.
Now, I'm going to stop right here for a minute to say A DOCTORS OFFICE IS NOT A PLAYGROUND SO #1 DON'T JUST SEND YOUR KIDS "TO PLAY" WHILE READING A MAGAZINE AND #2 A DOCTORS OFFICE IS WHERE YOU GO WHEN YOU ARE SICK SO INVADING THEIR PERSONAL SPACE AND CARRYING ON LONG CONVERSATIONS WITH THEM IS BAD FORM. NO ONE WANTS YOUR SICKNESS AS WELL!
Ok, as I was saying two more children arrive. And as soon as they see eliza they swarm. Petting her head and face, trying to feed her, and rearranging her blanket. Again, I'm trying not to be rude so I ask them to just look and not touch my baby. At which point the mom says something to the effect that they just love babies and are so careful with them and tells them to be gentle with her.
Be gentle? How about taking a hint and keeping your kids with the jello cream boogers away from the baby? Now I'm holding eliza, trying to keep Simon from murdering the princess next door, and carrying on the never ending conversation with the kooky close talker.
Just when I am about to fill the room with upper cuts they call my name. Making a hasty retreat to the examination room I pull out the wet wipes and give Simon a piece of gum for his exceptional use of self restraint. Exhausted I flop down on the chair. Simon unwraps his gum, pops it into his mouth and with pure joy exclaims, "This gum is FANTASTIC!"
I laugh. Really hard. And the nurse comes in. As she is taking my blood pressure I see Simon take his gum out and roll it into a snake but before I can stop him we make eye contact and he pops it back into his mouth. AGHHHHHH!
By tomorrow he's sure to have hepatitis, gonorrhea, the plague, something awful. And all I can say is before I ever go to an urgent care center again I'll choose death first.
Oh man. I walk in and the place is packed with puffy-eyed bed heads coughing up a storm or laying back in the nasty chairs with their eyes closed waiting for death. I log in. We sit down.
With in minutes a weirdo has found me. She pulls up a chair next to us and starts asking me 75 million questions about my kids. Ages, birthdays, how much they weighed at birth, how long they sleep, what they ate for breakfast, on and on.
Meanwhile I notice that Simon has smuggled in a peanut butter sandwich which he is using as a truck and driving it up and down the arms of a germ covered chair. I go mental and make him throw it in the garbage. Unfortunately before letting it go he became possessed by the Lord of the Germs and took a magnificent bite out of the crust which he proclaimed was "tasty".
While this is happening a mom comes in with her girl and tells her to "go play" while she checks in. Where does she chose to play? On the seat that Simon vacated on his trip to the garbage can! There she begins to lay out a full sized afghan, an armload of books, and a pile of play jewelry. As nicely as I can I explain that this is my son's seat and to please find another chair.
Maybe she didn't understand me or maybe she didn't understand not getting her way because even though she seemed to be at least 5 I ended up physically moving her stuff over a seat and then she spent the next 15 minutes trying to load her stuff back onto the chair on top of Simon while her mom talked on the phone.
As if the crazy woman talking to me and the girl burying a disgruntled Simon weren't enough, another mother brings in two children which she also sends to "go play'.
Now, I'm going to stop right here for a minute to say A DOCTORS OFFICE IS NOT A PLAYGROUND SO #1 DON'T JUST SEND YOUR KIDS "TO PLAY" WHILE READING A MAGAZINE AND #2 A DOCTORS OFFICE IS WHERE YOU GO WHEN YOU ARE SICK SO INVADING THEIR PERSONAL SPACE AND CARRYING ON LONG CONVERSATIONS WITH THEM IS BAD FORM. NO ONE WANTS YOUR SICKNESS AS WELL!
Ok, as I was saying two more children arrive. And as soon as they see eliza they swarm. Petting her head and face, trying to feed her, and rearranging her blanket. Again, I'm trying not to be rude so I ask them to just look and not touch my baby. At which point the mom says something to the effect that they just love babies and are so careful with them and tells them to be gentle with her.
Be gentle? How about taking a hint and keeping your kids with the jello cream boogers away from the baby? Now I'm holding eliza, trying to keep Simon from murdering the princess next door, and carrying on the never ending conversation with the kooky close talker.
Just when I am about to fill the room with upper cuts they call my name. Making a hasty retreat to the examination room I pull out the wet wipes and give Simon a piece of gum for his exceptional use of self restraint. Exhausted I flop down on the chair. Simon unwraps his gum, pops it into his mouth and with pure joy exclaims, "This gum is FANTASTIC!"
I laugh. Really hard. And the nurse comes in. As she is taking my blood pressure I see Simon take his gum out and roll it into a snake but before I can stop him we make eye contact and he pops it back into his mouth. AGHHHHHH!
By tomorrow he's sure to have hepatitis, gonorrhea, the plague, something awful. And all I can say is before I ever go to an urgent care center again I'll choose death first.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Passport Photos
Today we all went and had our passport photos taken. They're stellar. Jon took one look at mine and said, "Every time you show yours you'll be stopped and drug tested." Then I looked at my photo.
He's right.
Oh well, they're only good for what, a decade or so? I'm sure I'll be more photogenic (or at least wearing makeup) in my 40's.
He's right.
Oh well, they're only good for what, a decade or so? I'm sure I'll be more photogenic (or at least wearing makeup) in my 40's.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Speaking of Wolverine
Speaking of Wolverine...there was this time in Elementary School when my school (Woods Cross Elementary) decided to get rid of the old Woodchuck mascot. A contest was held for the new mascot.
Using our new family encyclopedias I painstakingly drew a darn good picture of a water buffalo which I knew would be a shoe in for the new mascot. I was so proud. Obviously the other children had no vision. The new mascot became the wolverine and I was devastated. Stupid kids. Everyone knows that a water buffalo can take a wolverine any day.
And just for the record I NEVER wore my Woods Cross Wolverines shirt...ever.
Using our new family encyclopedias I painstakingly drew a darn good picture of a water buffalo which I knew would be a shoe in for the new mascot. I was so proud. Obviously the other children had no vision. The new mascot became the wolverine and I was devastated. Stupid kids. Everyone knows that a water buffalo can take a wolverine any day.
And just for the record I NEVER wore my Woods Cross Wolverines shirt...ever.
Further Proof that Weirdos Love Me
Today at the gas station a guy gave me 4 used D size batteries. They "still have some juice left in them".
Then he proceeded to tell me how I need to go see the new X-Men movie because it will "really help" me "understand Wolverine better".
Do I need to understand Wolverine? Do I care about Wolverine? No, but now Simon has some batteries for his really big, really annoying flashlight. Thanks crazy gas station man.
Then he proceeded to tell me how I need to go see the new X-Men movie because it will "really help" me "understand Wolverine better".
Do I need to understand Wolverine? Do I care about Wolverine? No, but now Simon has some batteries for his really big, really annoying flashlight. Thanks crazy gas station man.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Weirdos Love Me
Weirdos love me. They really do. Always have. Starting in elementary school. Sure, I got my fair share of "Do you love me? Yes. No. Check one." notes but then I also got things like perfumed fake roses left in my desk at recess or the boy who would rub his bare feet on my legs underneath our table during group assignments.
Moving on through junior high and high school I encountered a long list of people like Manuel, who already had a mustache at 13, and constantly followed me around the halls licking his lips and giving me badges from Mexico that said things like "Besame!" or the guy with a mullet who gave me a bunch of jello one year for Christmas.
Don't even get me started on my college years---Mr.-I-Had-A-Dream-We-Should-Get-Engaged-By-This-Weekend, Mr. If-We-Get-Married-My-Grandma-Said-We-Could-Have-Her-Microwave, the Biology class stalker, the guy who held my toe because I wouldn't let him hold my hand, the guy who knelt down and kissed my hand every time we parted ways, the guy who looked like Eleanor Roosevelt...I could go on and on and on but I won't.
Suffice it to say I am a weird guy magnet. Unfortunately this hasn't changed even though I am entering my 30's. The weirdos have just gotten weirder.
For instance the other day at Wal-Mart I am loading flowers into the back of my MINI VAN with my TWO CHILDREN buckled inside jabbering to each other when some dude in his Jeep Cherokee pulls up behind me and tries to strike up a conversation...do I usually shop here? Red flowers must be my favorite. Would I like to come over and plant flowers with him for awhile?
Seriously?
Lest we forget I am loading flowers into a mini van filled with children and am wearing my wedding ring. For the love! Where do these people come from?
Like the dude that just quit the gas station who always wanted to buy my drinks or the over friendly lesbian book store worker who followed me around Borders for 30 minutes last week and kept giving me lame depressing cancer book suggestions. I can't escape they're everywhere!
I need to accept the fact that weirdos will always find me. Nay, they will always flock to me. I have a theory about why this occurs but this entry is getting too long so my theory will have to wait. Until then back off weirdos I need some space.
Moving on through junior high and high school I encountered a long list of people like Manuel, who already had a mustache at 13, and constantly followed me around the halls licking his lips and giving me badges from Mexico that said things like "Besame!" or the guy with a mullet who gave me a bunch of jello one year for Christmas.
Don't even get me started on my college years---Mr.-I-Had-A-Dream-We-Should-Get-Engaged-By-This-Weekend, Mr. If-We-Get-Married-My-Grandma-Said-We-Could-Have-Her-Microwave, the Biology class stalker, the guy who held my toe because I wouldn't let him hold my hand, the guy who knelt down and kissed my hand every time we parted ways, the guy who looked like Eleanor Roosevelt...I could go on and on and on but I won't.
Suffice it to say I am a weird guy magnet. Unfortunately this hasn't changed even though I am entering my 30's. The weirdos have just gotten weirder.
For instance the other day at Wal-Mart I am loading flowers into the back of my MINI VAN with my TWO CHILDREN buckled inside jabbering to each other when some dude in his Jeep Cherokee pulls up behind me and tries to strike up a conversation...do I usually shop here? Red flowers must be my favorite. Would I like to come over and plant flowers with him for awhile?
Seriously?
Lest we forget I am loading flowers into a mini van filled with children and am wearing my wedding ring. For the love! Where do these people come from?
Like the dude that just quit the gas station who always wanted to buy my drinks or the over friendly lesbian book store worker who followed me around Borders for 30 minutes last week and kept giving me lame depressing cancer book suggestions. I can't escape they're everywhere!
I need to accept the fact that weirdos will always find me. Nay, they will always flock to me. I have a theory about why this occurs but this entry is getting too long so my theory will have to wait. Until then back off weirdos I need some space.
Friday, April 24, 2009
So Now I'm an Object of Pity
It's 6:00 and we're hungry. After abandoning plans for the Dinosaur Museum due to cranky children we all head into town for dinner. Because I had just jumped out of the shower I had on no make up and my hair was still damp.
Because of road construction and Friday night traffic it takes forever to get into town. Not wanting to waste time I grabbed a pile of bags that were sewn but needed to be clipped. I clipped and clipped, fabric and thread, on our slow journey to dinner.
I'm behind on laundry and when I dressed myself this evening choices were slim. I decided on blue corduroy pants that are, well, several sizes too big and quite frankly look like men's sailor pants from the 50's. I paired those beauties with a red, peach, navy, white, and baby blue polyester, floral print, button down shirt from a thrift store. And then I topped off the whole ensemble with sky blue cardigan whose ties are lost and a pair of black flip flops.
After picking up dinner I remembered that I wanted to buy some dish towels at the Dollar Store for a sewing project I've run across recently. Everyone stayed in the van-bus while I ran in and bought 15 towels.
Standing in the check out line I heard a couple whispering about how sad it would be if they had to shop at the Dollar Store "for real" and how they wish they could help the people here. "Oh, me too," I thought and turned around to smile at the cute couple (who really were darling, young, sweet, early 20's...). My eyes made contact with the wife who smiled so kindly and then it hit me....IT WAS ME THEY FELT SORRY FOR!!!
Suddenly my focus zoomed out and I saw what I must look like...over sized ill fitting thrift store clothes that made me look like a skeleton (which I'm not---I still weigh 5 .lbs more than I did when I got pregnant with eliza), pants covered in fabric clippings, thread, and mounds of white fake fur (compliments of a really cool bag I made today), no make up with the bonus of a giant angry patch of eczema taking over my forehead and distressed air dried hair(picture the Gene Wilder Willie Wonka). There I was looking like a crazy cat lady stocking up on dish towels alone on a Friday night.
So now I've become an object to pity. Good job liz....good job...all I want to know now is, if that couple felt so bad for me why didn't they offer to pay for my dish towels? Hum??? For all they knew I could have been using the towels to build a shelter for me and my 700 precious kitties. Young people these days. Sheez!
Because of road construction and Friday night traffic it takes forever to get into town. Not wanting to waste time I grabbed a pile of bags that were sewn but needed to be clipped. I clipped and clipped, fabric and thread, on our slow journey to dinner.
I'm behind on laundry and when I dressed myself this evening choices were slim. I decided on blue corduroy pants that are, well, several sizes too big and quite frankly look like men's sailor pants from the 50's. I paired those beauties with a red, peach, navy, white, and baby blue polyester, floral print, button down shirt from a thrift store. And then I topped off the whole ensemble with sky blue cardigan whose ties are lost and a pair of black flip flops.
After picking up dinner I remembered that I wanted to buy some dish towels at the Dollar Store for a sewing project I've run across recently. Everyone stayed in the van-bus while I ran in and bought 15 towels.
Standing in the check out line I heard a couple whispering about how sad it would be if they had to shop at the Dollar Store "for real" and how they wish they could help the people here. "Oh, me too," I thought and turned around to smile at the cute couple (who really were darling, young, sweet, early 20's...). My eyes made contact with the wife who smiled so kindly and then it hit me....IT WAS ME THEY FELT SORRY FOR!!!
Suddenly my focus zoomed out and I saw what I must look like...over sized ill fitting thrift store clothes that made me look like a skeleton (which I'm not---I still weigh 5 .lbs more than I did when I got pregnant with eliza), pants covered in fabric clippings, thread, and mounds of white fake fur (compliments of a really cool bag I made today), no make up with the bonus of a giant angry patch of eczema taking over my forehead and distressed air dried hair(picture the Gene Wilder Willie Wonka). There I was looking like a crazy cat lady stocking up on dish towels alone on a Friday night.
So now I've become an object to pity. Good job liz....good job...all I want to know now is, if that couple felt so bad for me why didn't they offer to pay for my dish towels? Hum??? For all they knew I could have been using the towels to build a shelter for me and my 700 precious kitties. Young people these days. Sheez!
Monday, April 20, 2009
Who I Look Like
Tonight Simon took a bath in my giant tub. We filled it with bubbles and pirate ships and little people. Then he turned on the jets to really make a bubble storm. I can hear him in there playing and talking and "practicing swimming". Then he yells, "Mom!"
I peek in to check on him. There he is standing up in the tub where he has covered himself in bubbles and has given himself a beard. Before I can say a word he proudly says, "Mom, I look just like Jesus!"
I peek in to check on him. There he is standing up in the tub where he has covered himself in bubbles and has given himself a beard. Before I can say a word he proudly says, "Mom, I look just like Jesus!"
Traffic
All the roads around us are under construction and it drives me crazy. Everywhere we go there are flaggers and orange cones and gravel and pot holes and delays and I hate it. Today we turned the corner only to find a long line of cars stopped while a dump truck made a 75 point turn across all lanes of traffic. As we came to a stop Simon shouts, "You gotta be kidding me! All these cars! This is ridiculous!" Apparently Simon is tired of road construction as well.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Symptoms of Uncoolness
Symptoms of my uncoolness have been showing for years (let's face it my whole life) but recently they have become far more pronounced.
Like the other day I was at the Wal-Mart when I was tackled by a former student. He was such a cute little 7th grader and now he's a big old ugly senior in high school. There he was so excited to tell me what he's been doing and introduce me to his girlfriend and blah blah blah and what do I talk to him about? I start scolding him for failing grades last semester and making him commit to completing his packets early so he can walk with his graduating class. Not cool. When did I get old?
Then as he's telling me how hard it is to complete a lousy packet I'm thinking "Hard? I'll show you hard! Try taking your two kids to Wal-Mart where they will fill up the cart which you are trying to push while they are acting crazy and you are lugging around a giant Tupperware bin full of heavy plants! Now, that's hard. Give me your stinking packets any day." So, I'm uncool and ornery.
As he walked away with his girlfriend I heard them planning to go to this cool little place for lunch. I pulled the train into the check out station thinking, "You're behind in credits to graduate but you're going to spend your day off wandering Wal-Mart and going out to lunch? Seriously?" Even my thoughts are uncool! But then items in the cart shifted, eliza was buried in groceries and my thoughts turned to extracting my child from the cart.
This incident is just one example of many I've experienced lately. Like the other day I saw one of my old favorite movies on TV---Dumb and Dumber. As I watched it I realized I don't really think it's that funny anymore. Could it be possible I've outgrown it?
Or the other night I was at Book Club and my friends husband came home. He started telling us about how he takes the new express bus into work everyday. He started to laugh about that being the most exciting thing in his life. Well---at least that something. I don't have a bus story. Uncool again.
I'd write more but eliza is asleep and I need take advantage of this time to go clean the bathrooms. Yes, I know that's not cool either. Part of me wants a remedy to my uncoolness. The other part is glad to be uncool. Which is good because I think, at this point, I'm incurable.
Which reminds me---the other day driving home I was flipping through radio stations and stopped to listen to Dolly Parton sing "9 to 5". Now I know that can't be cool.
Like the other day I was at the Wal-Mart when I was tackled by a former student. He was such a cute little 7th grader and now he's a big old ugly senior in high school. There he was so excited to tell me what he's been doing and introduce me to his girlfriend and blah blah blah and what do I talk to him about? I start scolding him for failing grades last semester and making him commit to completing his packets early so he can walk with his graduating class. Not cool. When did I get old?
Then as he's telling me how hard it is to complete a lousy packet I'm thinking "Hard? I'll show you hard! Try taking your two kids to Wal-Mart where they will fill up the cart which you are trying to push while they are acting crazy and you are lugging around a giant Tupperware bin full of heavy plants! Now, that's hard. Give me your stinking packets any day." So, I'm uncool and ornery.
As he walked away with his girlfriend I heard them planning to go to this cool little place for lunch. I pulled the train into the check out station thinking, "You're behind in credits to graduate but you're going to spend your day off wandering Wal-Mart and going out to lunch? Seriously?" Even my thoughts are uncool! But then items in the cart shifted, eliza was buried in groceries and my thoughts turned to extracting my child from the cart.
This incident is just one example of many I've experienced lately. Like the other day I saw one of my old favorite movies on TV---Dumb and Dumber. As I watched it I realized I don't really think it's that funny anymore. Could it be possible I've outgrown it?
Or the other night I was at Book Club and my friends husband came home. He started telling us about how he takes the new express bus into work everyday. He started to laugh about that being the most exciting thing in his life. Well---at least that something. I don't have a bus story. Uncool again.
I'd write more but eliza is asleep and I need take advantage of this time to go clean the bathrooms. Yes, I know that's not cool either. Part of me wants a remedy to my uncoolness. The other part is glad to be uncool. Which is good because I think, at this point, I'm incurable.
Which reminds me---the other day driving home I was flipping through radio stations and stopped to listen to Dolly Parton sing "9 to 5". Now I know that can't be cool.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Because 2 Plus 2 Makes 4
Getting Simon to eat is ridiculous (see "We Paid Him To Eat" On My Cousins Underwear Blog) so meal time is stressful. The other night we were trying to make him eat 6 bites of something. He had already eaten four bites so I say, "Simon you only have two bites left!"
And then he says, "Then I'm done!"
And then I say, "No, you're not done yet. You have only had four bites"
And then he says, "So, now I'm done because two plus two equals four! See! I already had two more bites."
I won't be teaching eliza math until she turns 20.
And then he says, "Then I'm done!"
And then I say, "No, you're not done yet. You have only had four bites"
And then he says, "So, now I'm done because two plus two equals four! See! I already had two more bites."
I won't be teaching eliza math until she turns 20.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
The Service Journal
In an effort to be a nicer person I started keeping a service journal to motivate myself. The goal was to record in the journal each night 3 kind things that I did for someone else. I did this for quite awhile but then I stopped recording the service and then the service began to slow down. Now I feel happy to have just made it through the day without going mid-evil on someone.
Anyways...I've decided it's time to resurrect the journal. Picking it up I remembered an act of service that is, well, memorable.
Come with me now to the local gas station. I am oh, about 8 months pregnant and looking especially cute in my baby pink fleece maternity track suit. (I'll pause here to agree that even the very idea of a maternity track suit is ludicrous but they are comfortable and I have several so just go with it ok.) It might have been May but I was still cold all the time so fleece was the obvious choice. Along with that choice I chose to ignore the fact that the suit itself was no longer suitable for my ever increasing girth.
Never the less, there I am getting Simon and myself some liquid refreshment. As we exit said establishment I notice a group of construction workers with their dumpy old pick up truck by the air pump. They were arguing and if my limited Spanish vocabulary served me well they were cursing. After buckling Simon in his car seat I realized what their problem was. A few days prior the gas station disabled the old air pump and put in a new one like 2 feet away. However, unless you knew it was there it would be impossible to even know it existed and it was ridiculously complicated for an air pump.
I saw my chance for service! Maternity girl to the rescue! I marched over to the men and since we had a bit of a language barrier I had to demonstrate the solution. Picking up the hidden air pump I began to show them what needed to be done. Quickly I was relieved of duty by one of the men and I hoped back in my car with Simon and drove home. It wasn't until I drove off that I realized how funny that must have looked. A giant pink pregnant girl showing 3 dusty construction workers who don't speak English how to use the mystery air pump.
I remember this moment in an aerial view. Looking down I see Simon watching me out the window. I watch myself lug that hose over to the men like I do it everyday and then my favorite part---I see the dudes standing around, embarrassed and saying NOTHING. Next the guy in the straw cowboy hat takes the hose, jerks his head and I walk away, belly bouncing, feeling oh so helpful. (I have no doubt that those men took a solemn oath right there in the parking lot to never breathe a word about what had just happened.)
Whether or not humiliating construction workers is actually an act of service or not is clearly debatable but I counted it. And starting tonight it's onward Service Girl and look out to anyone in need at the gas station.
Anyways...I've decided it's time to resurrect the journal. Picking it up I remembered an act of service that is, well, memorable.
Come with me now to the local gas station. I am oh, about 8 months pregnant and looking especially cute in my baby pink fleece maternity track suit. (I'll pause here to agree that even the very idea of a maternity track suit is ludicrous but they are comfortable and I have several so just go with it ok.) It might have been May but I was still cold all the time so fleece was the obvious choice. Along with that choice I chose to ignore the fact that the suit itself was no longer suitable for my ever increasing girth.
Never the less, there I am getting Simon and myself some liquid refreshment. As we exit said establishment I notice a group of construction workers with their dumpy old pick up truck by the air pump. They were arguing and if my limited Spanish vocabulary served me well they were cursing. After buckling Simon in his car seat I realized what their problem was. A few days prior the gas station disabled the old air pump and put in a new one like 2 feet away. However, unless you knew it was there it would be impossible to even know it existed and it was ridiculously complicated for an air pump.
I saw my chance for service! Maternity girl to the rescue! I marched over to the men and since we had a bit of a language barrier I had to demonstrate the solution. Picking up the hidden air pump I began to show them what needed to be done. Quickly I was relieved of duty by one of the men and I hoped back in my car with Simon and drove home. It wasn't until I drove off that I realized how funny that must have looked. A giant pink pregnant girl showing 3 dusty construction workers who don't speak English how to use the mystery air pump.
I remember this moment in an aerial view. Looking down I see Simon watching me out the window. I watch myself lug that hose over to the men like I do it everyday and then my favorite part---I see the dudes standing around, embarrassed and saying NOTHING. Next the guy in the straw cowboy hat takes the hose, jerks his head and I walk away, belly bouncing, feeling oh so helpful. (I have no doubt that those men took a solemn oath right there in the parking lot to never breathe a word about what had just happened.)
Whether or not humiliating construction workers is actually an act of service or not is clearly debatable but I counted it. And starting tonight it's onward Service Girl and look out to anyone in need at the gas station.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
I'm Just Working Here Until I Finish My Degree
So, there was this time I was teaching at a junior high and some boys in my class were having one of those conversations where you know they can't be talking about anything good. You know the kind...lots of whispers...laughing... standing close together...looking around to see if anyone is listening.
Class hadn't started yet and I'll admit I just love finding out what junior high kids think is super secret, super interesting, super funny information even though it is usually based on who farted last period or who totally likes who. So I call them all over and tell them to spill it. Usually that is all it takes and I have a ridiculous story about so and so messing with his English teacher. But, this time no one was talking. And then class started.
We were going through our usual routine and I can see these boys continuing to make eye contact and laughing and then one of them whispers to another, "Ask her!" Ok, so the super interesting junior high info is about me. So I'm trying to think of what I've done recently that a 13 year old would find embarrassing....nothing comes to mind. So I stop what we're doing and sit on my table where I go when we have class discussions.
"Alright Ted (not his real name), go ahead, ask me."
"No way!" (Giggles from the other boys)
"C'mon Ted."
From the other boys "Do it! Just do it!" and more laughter.
At this point I thought I knew what it was. I really thought that somehow they had discovered that I set the science teacher up on a date with my sister in law and that their date was a disaster. This was a subject they could ask me about, we'd all laugh super hard and then it would be back to the lesson in T minus two minutes. Boy, was I wrong.
"C'mon Ted"
Reluctantly, "Ok, Do you know that place called Hooters?"
Realizing I'm in trouble, "Um, yes. Why do you know that place?"
"My dad goes there."
"That's nice."
"He says that's where he knows you from because you used to work there."
Dead silence....
Now let me say that this is the only situation where this conversation could have taken place. The kids are old enough to know what Hooters is but young enough not to put together the fact that I'm massively under qualified for the job.
"Well, Ted. I did used to be a waitress but it wasn't at Hooters. And, like I told your dad I really don't think we've met before. Thanks for asking though. Does anyone else have any questions?"
No one had any more questions.
However, the boys chose to believe Ted's dad rather than me and the "fact" that Mrs. Evans used to work at Hooters was a hot topic for a week or two. Even on my last day at work the teachers gave me a package of two pink Hostess snowballs to take with me in case times got tough and I needed help getting my old job back.
Unfortunately, times have gotten tough...now where did I put those snowballs?
Class hadn't started yet and I'll admit I just love finding out what junior high kids think is super secret, super interesting, super funny information even though it is usually based on who farted last period or who totally likes who. So I call them all over and tell them to spill it. Usually that is all it takes and I have a ridiculous story about so and so messing with his English teacher. But, this time no one was talking. And then class started.
We were going through our usual routine and I can see these boys continuing to make eye contact and laughing and then one of them whispers to another, "Ask her!" Ok, so the super interesting junior high info is about me. So I'm trying to think of what I've done recently that a 13 year old would find embarrassing....nothing comes to mind. So I stop what we're doing and sit on my table where I go when we have class discussions.
"Alright Ted (not his real name), go ahead, ask me."
"No way!" (Giggles from the other boys)
"C'mon Ted."
From the other boys "Do it! Just do it!" and more laughter.
At this point I thought I knew what it was. I really thought that somehow they had discovered that I set the science teacher up on a date with my sister in law and that their date was a disaster. This was a subject they could ask me about, we'd all laugh super hard and then it would be back to the lesson in T minus two minutes. Boy, was I wrong.
"C'mon Ted"
Reluctantly, "Ok, Do you know that place called Hooters?"
Realizing I'm in trouble, "Um, yes. Why do you know that place?"
"My dad goes there."
"That's nice."
"He says that's where he knows you from because you used to work there."
Dead silence....
Now let me say that this is the only situation where this conversation could have taken place. The kids are old enough to know what Hooters is but young enough not to put together the fact that I'm massively under qualified for the job.
"Well, Ted. I did used to be a waitress but it wasn't at Hooters. And, like I told your dad I really don't think we've met before. Thanks for asking though. Does anyone else have any questions?"
No one had any more questions.
However, the boys chose to believe Ted's dad rather than me and the "fact" that Mrs. Evans used to work at Hooters was a hot topic for a week or two. Even on my last day at work the teachers gave me a package of two pink Hostess snowballs to take with me in case times got tough and I needed help getting my old job back.
Unfortunately, times have gotten tough...now where did I put those snowballs?
Monday, March 30, 2009
Too Many Unanswered Questions
Simon is currently the King of Questions. If I am within earshot and he isn't singing he is asking me questions. The other day I decided to keep a list of all the questions he asked in an afternoon. I gave up. If I had written down all of his questions that is all I would have done.
Here are some of the questions I had to answer within that first hour:
Speaking of his partially eaten toast he asked, "Does it look like a piano?"
After eating his toast, "What does my belly say?"
"How tall am I when I'm 100?"
"Do bad guys wear red?"
"What does BBC stand for?"
"How do you spell confused?"
"Mom, did you forget my sandwich?"
"What does 64 plus 64 make?"
"Can I feed 'liza?"
"What happened to your hair?"
...and my personal favorite and the most frequently asked "but, why?"
If you ever need to prepare for a random interrogation come on over and I'll let you visit with Simon for awhile.
Here are some of the questions I had to answer within that first hour:
Speaking of his partially eaten toast he asked, "Does it look like a piano?"
After eating his toast, "What does my belly say?"
"How tall am I when I'm 100?"
"Do bad guys wear red?"
"What does BBC stand for?"
"How do you spell confused?"
"Mom, did you forget my sandwich?"
"What does 64 plus 64 make?"
"Can I feed 'liza?"
"What happened to your hair?"
...and my personal favorite and the most frequently asked "but, why?"
If you ever need to prepare for a random interrogation come on over and I'll let you visit with Simon for awhile.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Feelings
Today in preschool our lesson was about feelings. During our read aloud we read "How are You Peeling" (I love that book---the pictures are all carved vegetables and fruits). Anyway we started to talk about what makes us sad. One of the boys started to cry and said missing his mom makes him sad and that he needed to go home.
Turning the page we read about some radishes that were being mean to a honeydew. We talked about the honeydew and I asked, "What do you do if someone is mean to you?" Without hesitation one of the boys said, "Well, I just punch them in the nose...hard." To which Simon says "Yeah! Let's punch those mean guys in the nose!"
The next page introduced us to jealousy which caused a heated debate over whether or not I am Simon's mom with Simon announcing that I love him the best.
Why did I think the discussing of feelings would be a good idea for 4 year olds?
Turning the page we read about some radishes that were being mean to a honeydew. We talked about the honeydew and I asked, "What do you do if someone is mean to you?" Without hesitation one of the boys said, "Well, I just punch them in the nose...hard." To which Simon says "Yeah! Let's punch those mean guys in the nose!"
The next page introduced us to jealousy which caused a heated debate over whether or not I am Simon's mom with Simon announcing that I love him the best.
Why did I think the discussing of feelings would be a good idea for 4 year olds?
Monday, March 23, 2009
Ka-Boom
Like I've mentioned before, we've been sick. When I'm sick I'm an even crappier mom than usual which means we've been watching a lot of TV around here lately. Sick days consist of wearing pj's all day, wrapping up in blankets, and lounging around on the couch watching TV and sipping sodas.
Today I began to realize the effect these past few weeks have had on Simon. This afternoon as we were sitting together eating our grilled cheese sandwiches Simon strikes up what he apparently now considers a perfectly normal conversation.
"Mom, What do you do when we have hard water?"
"Um...I don't know. Why?"
"You use Ka--Boom!" And with that he launches into one of the most annoying commercials on TV explaining the benefits of the wonder product.
I sat there stunned in my shame. What I am I teaching my child? With that I put the TV on an extended vacation (except of course during, Dirty Jobs and Biggest Loser) and we've spent the afternoon cutting things out and playing play dough.
Seriously, Ka-Boom? I'm an embarrassment to motherhood.
Today I began to realize the effect these past few weeks have had on Simon. This afternoon as we were sitting together eating our grilled cheese sandwiches Simon strikes up what he apparently now considers a perfectly normal conversation.
"Mom, What do you do when we have hard water?"
"Um...I don't know. Why?"
"You use Ka--Boom!" And with that he launches into one of the most annoying commercials on TV explaining the benefits of the wonder product.
I sat there stunned in my shame. What I am I teaching my child? With that I put the TV on an extended vacation (except of course during, Dirty Jobs and Biggest Loser) and we've spent the afternoon cutting things out and playing play dough.
Seriously, Ka-Boom? I'm an embarrassment to motherhood.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
My In-Laws Are Right...Who Knew?
Last night the scouts came around doing a book drive that I totally forgot about. I ask them to finish the cul-de-sac then come back and I'd have some books for them. Scanning the children's book shelf I selfishly realized that I didn't want to give away any of my books. I wanted to keep them all.
Then Simon came in.
"Mom, whatcha doin'?"
"I'm looking for books that we can give to people that don't have any."
"OHHH! I get it." Then pulling out his favorite book he hands it to me and says, "How 'bout this one? I think it's a good one. Yea, the people will like it."
Now here is the part where I should write that it melted my heart (which it did) and I took this opportunity to teach my child about sacrifice and let him give away his favorite book to the scouts. But....I didn't.
Instead I told him we should save that one to read later for bedtime and instead pulled out 4 pop up bible story books. Simon and I then waited on the porch for the scouts and Simon delivered them the goods.
The moral of this story is that my in-laws are right. I am, in fact, going to Hell. Not only did I avoid the chance to teach my son about sacrifice because I didn't want to deal with the tears later when he realized his book was actually gone, but I donated the only religious children books on the shelf. Who knew my in-laws were so perceptive?
Then Simon came in.
"Mom, whatcha doin'?"
"I'm looking for books that we can give to people that don't have any."
"OHHH! I get it." Then pulling out his favorite book he hands it to me and says, "How 'bout this one? I think it's a good one. Yea, the people will like it."
Now here is the part where I should write that it melted my heart (which it did) and I took this opportunity to teach my child about sacrifice and let him give away his favorite book to the scouts. But....I didn't.
Instead I told him we should save that one to read later for bedtime and instead pulled out 4 pop up bible story books. Simon and I then waited on the porch for the scouts and Simon delivered them the goods.
The moral of this story is that my in-laws are right. I am, in fact, going to Hell. Not only did I avoid the chance to teach my son about sacrifice because I didn't want to deal with the tears later when he realized his book was actually gone, but I donated the only religious children books on the shelf. Who knew my in-laws were so perceptive?
Monday, March 16, 2009
No Church This Week
All of us were sick Sunday so we all stayed home. Not only did we need the rest but sometimes I think the ward can use a break as well. Usually I feel like the family in the ward that is the 3 ring circus.
For instance there was this one time during the closing prayer in sacrament meeting that Simon somehow got his head lodged underneath a folding chair. He starts shouting "Help! Oh Help! My head is stuck!" Jon kneels down and is quietly trying to remove him but somehow he is tangled in the chair and is hopelessly stuck. Everyone around us is now watching us instead of listening to the long winded prayer giver.
Now Simon is announcing (in a very loud voice) "Dad, This is a problem. Oh yes, this is a problem. What are we going to do? I need help. This is a bad problem!" However, at this point the biggest problem wasn't the location of Simon's head but the laughter of everyone around us. Kids and adults (and Jon) were all laughing so hard we totally missed the prayer.
When the prayer ended our neighbor helped us extract Simon from the chair and we went off to drive away the spirit from other meetings. I'd like to say moments like this are isolated incidents but that would be a lie. Other events abound---like the time I used both the word "dude" and "crap" during my testimony, or the time I sent Simon to primary without his underwear, or the time my sharing time lesson went south and all the primary kids were cheering for Satan while the bishopric watched. Like I said before maybe it was good that the Evans clan missed church on Sunday. The ward needed a day of rest.
For instance there was this one time during the closing prayer in sacrament meeting that Simon somehow got his head lodged underneath a folding chair. He starts shouting "Help! Oh Help! My head is stuck!" Jon kneels down and is quietly trying to remove him but somehow he is tangled in the chair and is hopelessly stuck. Everyone around us is now watching us instead of listening to the long winded prayer giver.
Now Simon is announcing (in a very loud voice) "Dad, This is a problem. Oh yes, this is a problem. What are we going to do? I need help. This is a bad problem!" However, at this point the biggest problem wasn't the location of Simon's head but the laughter of everyone around us. Kids and adults (and Jon) were all laughing so hard we totally missed the prayer.
When the prayer ended our neighbor helped us extract Simon from the chair and we went off to drive away the spirit from other meetings. I'd like to say moments like this are isolated incidents but that would be a lie. Other events abound---like the time I used both the word "dude" and "crap" during my testimony, or the time I sent Simon to primary without his underwear, or the time my sharing time lesson went south and all the primary kids were cheering for Satan while the bishopric watched. Like I said before maybe it was good that the Evans clan missed church on Sunday. The ward needed a day of rest.
Failed Good Mom Attempt #31
I'm sick. Again. But Simon isn't. So today he wants to play outside and I say yes. Then I'm watching him out the window and there he is alone on the swing set trying to push himself on the swings. It was the loneliest thing I've ever seen. It broke my heart.
Refusing to see Simon so solemn I strap eliza into the baby back pack and head out into the backyard. "Simon!" I say, "Do you need a push?" "Ummm....sure," he says. As I'm pushing him I'm talking to him telling him how glad I am that he wanted to come outside and what a nice day it is and trying to let him know that I am happy to be spending time with him when he says, "Mom, no more talking. I'm trying to think."
After a few minutes of swinging in silence he says, "Well mom, I guess we can go ride bikes now." Poor Simon. His dang mom ruins everything for him.
Refusing to see Simon so solemn I strap eliza into the baby back pack and head out into the backyard. "Simon!" I say, "Do you need a push?" "Ummm....sure," he says. As I'm pushing him I'm talking to him telling him how glad I am that he wanted to come outside and what a nice day it is and trying to let him know that I am happy to be spending time with him when he says, "Mom, no more talking. I'm trying to think."
After a few minutes of swinging in silence he says, "Well mom, I guess we can go ride bikes now." Poor Simon. His dang mom ruins everything for him.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
The Key To Fast and Efficient Service
Tired of lousy service? Use my method and you'll never go hungry again! (Hungry for quality service that is.)
#1. Be a frazzled young mother whose just spent the morning battling crazed women at a fabric sale.
#2. Now that your in the right state drag your two children (preferably a baby and a preschooler) who are stir crazy from spending the morning in a shopping cart into a snooty golf pro shop.
#3. Make sure the preschooler runs inside before you can head him off.
#4. Crash through the door carrying a 400 pound baby carrier, a purse, and a giant diaper bag while yelling, "Simon, I hope you left your drink in the car!"
#5. Find your preschooler just inside the door unloading a giant bucket of over priced golf balls.
Within seconds you will be greeted by two attendents. One will sprint through the store to bring you the item you came for while the other one will ring you up. You will then be helped out to the car with your purchase.
Works like a charm. At least it did for me.
#1. Be a frazzled young mother whose just spent the morning battling crazed women at a fabric sale.
#2. Now that your in the right state drag your two children (preferably a baby and a preschooler) who are stir crazy from spending the morning in a shopping cart into a snooty golf pro shop.
#3. Make sure the preschooler runs inside before you can head him off.
#4. Crash through the door carrying a 400 pound baby carrier, a purse, and a giant diaper bag while yelling, "Simon, I hope you left your drink in the car!"
#5. Find your preschooler just inside the door unloading a giant bucket of over priced golf balls.
Within seconds you will be greeted by two attendents. One will sprint through the store to bring you the item you came for while the other one will ring you up. You will then be helped out to the car with your purchase.
Works like a charm. At least it did for me.
Hello My Name Is...
So I teach community art classes on Saturday mornings. It's a lot of fun and the kids are interesting. Some months I may have up to 30 students while other months I may have as few as 10. I have regulars whose names I know but for the most part I need the students to wear name tags so that I can identify them.
The city advertises my classes as "Drawing with Liz". A name I wouldn't have chosen and quite frankly embarrasses me....but that is a conversation for another blog entry....the point is I wear a name tag every week so that the parents know who Liz is when they arrive.
After a recent class I stopped off at the local gas station to grab a drink. While there I was approached by a group of guys ranging in age from a teenager to a guy in his 40's. I didn't know them from Adam! But they called me by name and were super friendly. They obviously knew me but because I couldn't place where I knew them from I made a hasty retreat to my car.
While searching the files of my brain (did I know them from the ward of my youth? my new ward? did I teach one of their children or siblings?) I began to pull out of the parking stall. It was then that I simultaneously noticed and realized something.
#1. The dudes inside were laughing their heads off.
#2. I was still wearing my name tag.
#3. I really didn't know them from Adam.
#4. I'm an idiot.
The city advertises my classes as "Drawing with Liz". A name I wouldn't have chosen and quite frankly embarrasses me....but that is a conversation for another blog entry....the point is I wear a name tag every week so that the parents know who Liz is when they arrive.
After a recent class I stopped off at the local gas station to grab a drink. While there I was approached by a group of guys ranging in age from a teenager to a guy in his 40's. I didn't know them from Adam! But they called me by name and were super friendly. They obviously knew me but because I couldn't place where I knew them from I made a hasty retreat to my car.
While searching the files of my brain (did I know them from the ward of my youth? my new ward? did I teach one of their children or siblings?) I began to pull out of the parking stall. It was then that I simultaneously noticed and realized something.
#1. The dudes inside were laughing their heads off.
#2. I was still wearing my name tag.
#3. I really didn't know them from Adam.
#4. I'm an idiot.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Again with the Fabric Stores
When will I get the fact that Simon and fabric stores just don't mix!
Saturday I stopped in at a fabric store (luckily not the one from our previous adventures) to check out a sale. I found a few items and began waiting in a long line to be checked out by a clerk that was painfully slow and somewhat confused.
Luckily for me the store had a small play area in the middle where Simon could build blocks while I waited. It is fenced off so Simon can't get in or out of it by himself and was just on the other side of a stack of fabric so he was close, safe and contained. I thought I was in the clear. I thought wrong.
Right as the cashier finally began to ring up my purchases Simon (who can't see me but knows I'm close) starts yelling "OH, Mom, Hey Mom! I have to POO!" Everyone in the store starts looking around to see who's kid this is. I stay quiet and hope he'll just be patient for a minute.
Then he starts again, "Mom! I HAFTA POO! THis is a problem! I can't get out of here!" I have to respond. So now I"m yelling, "Simon I'm almost done. It is my turn to pay. I"ll get you in just one minute." To which he responds, "I think that's not a good idea. I think that's a bad idea. I have to poo!"
The store, full of women, most of them in pairs, are now doing one of two things. Either giggling or giving each other the look. (You know that look---like why was this person allowed to breed look).
Eliza who can her Simon's voice thinks its their wicked fun yelling game and begins to holler now as well. And the girl who is helping me is recounting the 8 fat quarters I'm trying to buy for the third time!
I thought I was going to loose my mind. Simon is still talking...but now he's saying things like "It's ok. You can do it." And I hope he's just giving himself some positive reinforcement. Unfortunately, it was a pep talk while he scaled the fence which he came crashing over about 5 seconds later.
Here he comes around the corner mad as a hornet. In his most exasperated voice and with both hands up in the air he says, "MOM I SAID I HAVE TO POO!" Fortunately it was at this time the clerk finally figured out how to use a debit card for payment and within a minute we were out of there. But not before we had become the fabric store side show. When will I ever learn?
Saturday I stopped in at a fabric store (luckily not the one from our previous adventures) to check out a sale. I found a few items and began waiting in a long line to be checked out by a clerk that was painfully slow and somewhat confused.
Luckily for me the store had a small play area in the middle where Simon could build blocks while I waited. It is fenced off so Simon can't get in or out of it by himself and was just on the other side of a stack of fabric so he was close, safe and contained. I thought I was in the clear. I thought wrong.
Right as the cashier finally began to ring up my purchases Simon (who can't see me but knows I'm close) starts yelling "OH, Mom, Hey Mom! I have to POO!" Everyone in the store starts looking around to see who's kid this is. I stay quiet and hope he'll just be patient for a minute.
Then he starts again, "Mom! I HAFTA POO! THis is a problem! I can't get out of here!" I have to respond. So now I"m yelling, "Simon I'm almost done. It is my turn to pay. I"ll get you in just one minute." To which he responds, "I think that's not a good idea. I think that's a bad idea. I have to poo!"
The store, full of women, most of them in pairs, are now doing one of two things. Either giggling or giving each other the look. (You know that look---like why was this person allowed to breed look).
Eliza who can her Simon's voice thinks its their wicked fun yelling game and begins to holler now as well. And the girl who is helping me is recounting the 8 fat quarters I'm trying to buy for the third time!
I thought I was going to loose my mind. Simon is still talking...but now he's saying things like "It's ok. You can do it." And I hope he's just giving himself some positive reinforcement. Unfortunately, it was a pep talk while he scaled the fence which he came crashing over about 5 seconds later.
Here he comes around the corner mad as a hornet. In his most exasperated voice and with both hands up in the air he says, "MOM I SAID I HAVE TO POO!" Fortunately it was at this time the clerk finally figured out how to use a debit card for payment and within a minute we were out of there. But not before we had become the fabric store side show. When will I ever learn?
My Lyrical Genius
Simon loves music and pretty much sings all the time. My favorite part (besides hearing his funny voice) are his lyrics. Rarely does he sing songs the way they are written. He just steals the tune and makes up his own words. Two of my favorite changes are:
#1. (Sung to the tune of the last line of "I Love to See the Temple")
"I have to watch a movie. It is my sacred duty."
#2. (From "Ice Ice Baby")
"Donk Donk Donk I need rootbeer."
(Instead of Dun Dun Dun Da Da Dun Dun---which is just the beat and has no lyrics.)
I need to write down more lyrics as he sings them---especially the songs he sings to eliza. They are the best. The other day he made up a song about her stinky diaper to the tune of "Hall of the Mountain Kings" (is that what it is called all you classical music officianatos out there?) Oh how I wish I could remember the words! Or the song he made up telling me that he wasn't going to eat his lunch which he sang to the tune of Ode To Joy.
#1. (Sung to the tune of the last line of "I Love to See the Temple")
"I have to watch a movie. It is my sacred duty."
#2. (From "Ice Ice Baby")
"Donk Donk Donk I need rootbeer."
(Instead of Dun Dun Dun Da Da Dun Dun---which is just the beat and has no lyrics.)
I need to write down more lyrics as he sings them---especially the songs he sings to eliza. They are the best. The other day he made up a song about her stinky diaper to the tune of "Hall of the Mountain Kings" (is that what it is called all you classical music officianatos out there?) Oh how I wish I could remember the words! Or the song he made up telling me that he wasn't going to eat his lunch which he sang to the tune of Ode To Joy.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Another Confession
Alright, I tried to win tickets to the MC Hammer Vanilla Ice Dance Party again. It was tonight on our way up to our "Evening with a General Authority".
Here's the scene---Jon and I have our very drab and conservative church clothes on and are flying down the road in the van bus. The kids are locked and loaded in there with us. Eliza is complaining about her situation strapped in the seat. Simon is telling Jon how I was laughing when we danced in the kitchen today and then I hear over the radio caller 10 can win tickets to the concert.
I pull out my phone and Jon whips out his lucky phone and I'm dialing on both phones until I finally get through (on Jon's phone) and I'm caller 10! Only now I find out the DJ is taking two other callers and will be asking us trivia questions about MC and Vanilla's personal lives. Nice.
I'll spare you the tragic details but I will tell you this: I didn't know a single answer and I won no tickets. But I still love the moment of trying---all of us in the mini van (full of kids, crumbs, and crayons) driving through Lehi, Utah trying to win tickets to a concert that would only be cool if it was 1989 again. I think it's my official moment of jumping the shark. If I was ever cool, I am cool no longer.
Oh well, you still can't touch this.
Here's the scene---Jon and I have our very drab and conservative church clothes on and are flying down the road in the van bus. The kids are locked and loaded in there with us. Eliza is complaining about her situation strapped in the seat. Simon is telling Jon how I was laughing when we danced in the kitchen today and then I hear over the radio caller 10 can win tickets to the concert.
I pull out my phone and Jon whips out his lucky phone and I'm dialing on both phones until I finally get through (on Jon's phone) and I'm caller 10! Only now I find out the DJ is taking two other callers and will be asking us trivia questions about MC and Vanilla's personal lives. Nice.
I'll spare you the tragic details but I will tell you this: I didn't know a single answer and I won no tickets. But I still love the moment of trying---all of us in the mini van (full of kids, crumbs, and crayons) driving through Lehi, Utah trying to win tickets to a concert that would only be cool if it was 1989 again. I think it's my official moment of jumping the shark. If I was ever cool, I am cool no longer.
Oh well, you still can't touch this.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Another Rule For Jon
I have some rules that Jon has to follow if he wants to remain alive. These rules have come about from unfortunate experiences in our marriage. For example, and at the top my list, is that Jon CAN NOT EVER under any circumstances get Simon a haircut. Long story but a good rule. On his ever growing list I've just added yet another rule.
Jon can not buy Simon shoes. Yesterday he took Simon to Wal-Mart and Simon came back sporting a pair of rainbow, Velcro, Yo Gabba Gabba tennis shoes. They have plastic windows with all the characters waving out at me. All of them---Muno, Plex, Foofa, Toodee, and Brobee! Does Simon really need someone named Foofa riding around on his feet? The only good thing I can say about the shoes is thank goodness the designers ran out of room for DJ Lance Rock.
Seriously, no more shoes for Simon from Jon.
Jon can not buy Simon shoes. Yesterday he took Simon to Wal-Mart and Simon came back sporting a pair of rainbow, Velcro, Yo Gabba Gabba tennis shoes. They have plastic windows with all the characters waving out at me. All of them---Muno, Plex, Foofa, Toodee, and Brobee! Does Simon really need someone named Foofa riding around on his feet? The only good thing I can say about the shoes is thank goodness the designers ran out of room for DJ Lance Rock.
Seriously, no more shoes for Simon from Jon.
Confessions of a Hammeraholic
So Mc Hammer and Vanilla Ice are having a "Dance Party" concert at UVU this weekend and I've totally been trying to win tickets. I almost had them the other day. First they played a clip of a Hammer song. Next you had to be the 10th caller and then correctly rap the next two lines of the song.
I wasn't the 10th caller I was actually the 16th but the people before me obviously aren't as knowledgeable in the ways of Hammer and didn't know the next line...BUT I DID! I busted a move on live radio only to be told I missed the lyrics by ONE word! My chances were foiled. Several callers later a dude who admitted to googling the lyrics won the tickets. Lousy computer jerk. I bet he didn't even ever own a pair of parachute pants.
SO now instead of being to legit to quit I'll have to STOP! Collaborate and Listen at the Tabernacle with Jon at his Evening with a General Authority.
Until Later...You Can't Touch This!
I wasn't the 10th caller I was actually the 16th but the people before me obviously aren't as knowledgeable in the ways of Hammer and didn't know the next line...BUT I DID! I busted a move on live radio only to be told I missed the lyrics by ONE word! My chances were foiled. Several callers later a dude who admitted to googling the lyrics won the tickets. Lousy computer jerk. I bet he didn't even ever own a pair of parachute pants.
SO now instead of being to legit to quit I'll have to STOP! Collaborate and Listen at the Tabernacle with Jon at his Evening with a General Authority.
Until Later...You Can't Touch This!
Unanswered Prayers
Before leaving the house we always say a prayer for safety. Simon likes to pray and is the one who usually says the prayers. The other morning he prayed that we would be safe and that mom would let him sit in the back of the van bus so he wouldn't have to ride in his car seat.
Unfortunately that prayer went unanswered.
Unfortunately that prayer went unanswered.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Jon vs. Monet
So Jon had never been to a museum before we were married. On one of our first anniversary's we went to the Guggenheim extension in Las Vegas.
We walked around for awhile. Sometimes together, sometimes alone. I was loving it. We saw works by Lichtenstein, Rembrandt, Cezanne, and Monet. I found Jon alone studying a Monet. "Wow," I thought, "he must really be into this."
I walked over and asked him what he was thinking. He said, "That is a really nice frame."
We walked around for awhile. Sometimes together, sometimes alone. I was loving it. We saw works by Lichtenstein, Rembrandt, Cezanne, and Monet. I found Jon alone studying a Monet. "Wow," I thought, "he must really be into this."
I walked over and asked him what he was thinking. He said, "That is a really nice frame."
There is A Cat on My Head
When we moved here there were mice and voles everywhere so I needed a cat. But, I'm weird about things and didn't want to buy a pet at a pet store. I felt like I needed to adopt one from a shelter. I spent awhile looking around for just the right adoptee---the perfect addition to our family. And I finally found one. A cute little black and white long hair kitten. She was beautiful.
Simon and I went one afternoon to adopt her and bring her home. I was so excited. When we got to the place they put us in this tiny 5'x5' room with a carpeted bench covered in hair and left us with the kitten to fill out the paper work. At this point I should tell you I'm ridiculously allergic to cats. So within minutes my eyes start to swell and water. By the time I was finished with the paper work full on hives are popping up on my arms and my throat is closing up.
But, I finished then I went with some nice high school boy who helped my gather up some items I needed and walked me out to the car. For some reason I had assumed that when you get a pet they put it in some sort of happy meal like container for you to take it home in. I was wrong. The kid dropped the food on the ground handed me the cat and told me to have a good day. Now I was standing in a parking lot alone with a two year old, a 50 pound bag of cat food, and one freaked out kitten.
Somehow I managed to get the food and Simon loaded and buckled without loosing the kitten. I was proud, I was super mom and we were on our way home. I decided to just hold the cat on my lap driving home. I figured that way Simon wouldn't fight with her and she wouldn't wind up on the floor under the pedals. Looking back I question that decision. We pull out of the parking lot and into traffic when kitty goes mental. Meowing...peeing...clawing...whatever...next she's on my shirt and I'm going 45 down a busy road fighting a kitten. Before I can stop her she's on my head. THE CAT IS ON TOP OF MY HEAD! I am driving a car with a cat standing on my head.
When I say on my head I mean literally on top of my head. And then she hunkered in. Oh, I was trying to pull that sucker off but she wasn't moving. Her claws were embedded in my scalp. As I'm struggling I pull up to a stop light. I'm yanking on the cat, Simon is screaming and then I notice the ladies in the car next to me are staring at me in utter confusion. Kitty has removed her front claws from my brain and has lodged them in the headrest. With a mighty pull I detach the kitten from above and hold her next to the steering wheel with my left hand. The light turns green and I gun it. Did I mention that my car is a stick shift and that I'm shifting during all of this?
I was a long drive but finally we get home. I put the cat in the garage and shut the door. I put Simon in front of the TV. I walk across the street to neighbors I hardly knew for help.
Now picture this if you will: my eyes are running and almost completely swollen shut, snot is flowing uncontrollably from both nostrils, my chest, neck, face, and arms are covered in scratches that are swelling and what skin that is left unscratched is bursting with angry red hives. I'm sneezing and coughing and I ring the doorbell. The sweet 14 year old boy answers the door. "Oh, Sister Evans," he says, "you need help. My mom's not home, but I'll get my sisters."
I walked back across the street with two of his sisters that made the cat a bed then gave her food, water and love. They stayed all afternoon and were darling. At this point I wish I could tell you that after a shower and some allergy medication it was all love and joy. However, as with most things I plan it didn't turn out how I'd envisioned it.
Kitty became ill. We called the shelter, kitty had tested positive for every animal illness known to man. We loaded her in a box and Jon drove her to Payson to meet the shelter's vet. She died later that evening.
That being said, I don't want you to think this story ends on a sad note. Kitty was going to die. I just didn't know that. But I like to think that before she did she became part of a family, went on the ride of her life and then spent an afternoon with two adorable girls who gave her tons of love and affection. Plus she gave me something to laugh about---every time I get into the car I see her claw prints on my head rest.
That's better than spending your last hours in some stinking shelter any day.
Simon and I went one afternoon to adopt her and bring her home. I was so excited. When we got to the place they put us in this tiny 5'x5' room with a carpeted bench covered in hair and left us with the kitten to fill out the paper work. At this point I should tell you I'm ridiculously allergic to cats. So within minutes my eyes start to swell and water. By the time I was finished with the paper work full on hives are popping up on my arms and my throat is closing up.
But, I finished then I went with some nice high school boy who helped my gather up some items I needed and walked me out to the car. For some reason I had assumed that when you get a pet they put it in some sort of happy meal like container for you to take it home in. I was wrong. The kid dropped the food on the ground handed me the cat and told me to have a good day. Now I was standing in a parking lot alone with a two year old, a 50 pound bag of cat food, and one freaked out kitten.
Somehow I managed to get the food and Simon loaded and buckled without loosing the kitten. I was proud, I was super mom and we were on our way home. I decided to just hold the cat on my lap driving home. I figured that way Simon wouldn't fight with her and she wouldn't wind up on the floor under the pedals. Looking back I question that decision. We pull out of the parking lot and into traffic when kitty goes mental. Meowing...peeing...clawing...whatever...next she's on my shirt and I'm going 45 down a busy road fighting a kitten. Before I can stop her she's on my head. THE CAT IS ON TOP OF MY HEAD! I am driving a car with a cat standing on my head.
When I say on my head I mean literally on top of my head. And then she hunkered in. Oh, I was trying to pull that sucker off but she wasn't moving. Her claws were embedded in my scalp. As I'm struggling I pull up to a stop light. I'm yanking on the cat, Simon is screaming and then I notice the ladies in the car next to me are staring at me in utter confusion. Kitty has removed her front claws from my brain and has lodged them in the headrest. With a mighty pull I detach the kitten from above and hold her next to the steering wheel with my left hand. The light turns green and I gun it. Did I mention that my car is a stick shift and that I'm shifting during all of this?
I was a long drive but finally we get home. I put the cat in the garage and shut the door. I put Simon in front of the TV. I walk across the street to neighbors I hardly knew for help.
Now picture this if you will: my eyes are running and almost completely swollen shut, snot is flowing uncontrollably from both nostrils, my chest, neck, face, and arms are covered in scratches that are swelling and what skin that is left unscratched is bursting with angry red hives. I'm sneezing and coughing and I ring the doorbell. The sweet 14 year old boy answers the door. "Oh, Sister Evans," he says, "you need help. My mom's not home, but I'll get my sisters."
I walked back across the street with two of his sisters that made the cat a bed then gave her food, water and love. They stayed all afternoon and were darling. At this point I wish I could tell you that after a shower and some allergy medication it was all love and joy. However, as with most things I plan it didn't turn out how I'd envisioned it.
Kitty became ill. We called the shelter, kitty had tested positive for every animal illness known to man. We loaded her in a box and Jon drove her to Payson to meet the shelter's vet. She died later that evening.
That being said, I don't want you to think this story ends on a sad note. Kitty was going to die. I just didn't know that. But I like to think that before she did she became part of a family, went on the ride of her life and then spent an afternoon with two adorable girls who gave her tons of love and affection. Plus she gave me something to laugh about---every time I get into the car I see her claw prints on my head rest.
That's better than spending your last hours in some stinking shelter any day.
A Brief History of Cats
A friend of mine was blogging the other day about how she hates people blogging about their pets so I thought "Hey! I should blog about my pets!"
It all started 3 years ago when we moved here. I saw mice everywhere and I hate them. After much debate Jon agreed to get a cat. After a harrowing experience (that I'll talk about next in my "There's A Cat on My Head" entry) I was the proud owner of a kitten. She lived with us for about 6 hours before becoming ill and dying later that night.
Our next cats were Bill S. Preston Esquire and Ted Theodore Logan. They came from my uncle's ranch. They were excellent. However, one morning we discovered that Ted was gone and we haven't seen him since. He doesn't call, he doesn't write...actually, I think he knew what we didn't...that my uncle, my uncle who promised me that both the cats were male, is full of crap. With in a few weeks of Ted's disappearance Bill delivered 6 kittens in my garage.
I promptly hired some neighbor girls to give them away in the parking lot of a local grocery store. We gave them all away but one...Eddie Van Halen...the cat from Hell.
Oh sure, Eddie was a cute kitten and then an amazing mouser but he liked to attack things. At first it was funny---other cats, birds, the neighbors Boxer---but before long Simon and I were trapped in the house. If we went in the yard that thing was hissing and scratching and clawing.
Normally I could make him keep his distance until one day. I was unloading the kids from the van bus when Eddie decided the driveway was his. He was hissing and spitting and wouldn't move. I ignored him and carried Simon, who was freaking out, into the house and then came back for eliza. On my way back I couldn't see him until I was almost to the van. At that point he materialized out of thin air, jumped on my leg and tried to tear me to pieces. Luckily I had my Dr. Pepper mug with me and I dowsed that thing with an ice cold beverage. Soaking wet I retrieved my baby. By the end of the week Van Halen was gone. (His where abouts are another story.)
So now we just have Bill. She is our one and only pet. And because she has been surgically altered she will lead out the remainder of her barren life in our yard trying to avoid the neighbor kids who love her.
It all started 3 years ago when we moved here. I saw mice everywhere and I hate them. After much debate Jon agreed to get a cat. After a harrowing experience (that I'll talk about next in my "There's A Cat on My Head" entry) I was the proud owner of a kitten. She lived with us for about 6 hours before becoming ill and dying later that night.
Our next cats were Bill S. Preston Esquire and Ted Theodore Logan. They came from my uncle's ranch. They were excellent. However, one morning we discovered that Ted was gone and we haven't seen him since. He doesn't call, he doesn't write...actually, I think he knew what we didn't...that my uncle, my uncle who promised me that both the cats were male, is full of crap. With in a few weeks of Ted's disappearance Bill delivered 6 kittens in my garage.
I promptly hired some neighbor girls to give them away in the parking lot of a local grocery store. We gave them all away but one...Eddie Van Halen...the cat from Hell.
Oh sure, Eddie was a cute kitten and then an amazing mouser but he liked to attack things. At first it was funny---other cats, birds, the neighbors Boxer---but before long Simon and I were trapped in the house. If we went in the yard that thing was hissing and scratching and clawing.
Normally I could make him keep his distance until one day. I was unloading the kids from the van bus when Eddie decided the driveway was his. He was hissing and spitting and wouldn't move. I ignored him and carried Simon, who was freaking out, into the house and then came back for eliza. On my way back I couldn't see him until I was almost to the van. At that point he materialized out of thin air, jumped on my leg and tried to tear me to pieces. Luckily I had my Dr. Pepper mug with me and I dowsed that thing with an ice cold beverage. Soaking wet I retrieved my baby. By the end of the week Van Halen was gone. (His where abouts are another story.)
So now we just have Bill. She is our one and only pet. And because she has been surgically altered she will lead out the remainder of her barren life in our yard trying to avoid the neighbor kids who love her.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
There was this time in History class
That last story reminded me of this time in history class...
I was co-teaching a junior high history class with one of my favorite teacher friends ever and our students were doing oral reports. I don't remember the topic but I do remember one of the reports.
One of my students was giving her presentation on horses. (I have no idea why she was talking about horses but anyway...) And we had practiced the report earlier in the day. She was going to do great. And she did until the very end.
You see she had brought two 14 inch plastic horses to use for a visual aid and at the end of her report she got carried away and began to improvise. Before the other teacher and I comprehended what was going on she has the horses in front of the class and is explaining how they mate. This might have been ok if we were in biology or IF SHE WASN'T USING THE TOY HORSES TO DEMONSTRATE POSITIONS!
I was sitting in front of the class, the other teacher in the back. I wish I could remember the exact dialog but I can't. I only remember seeing the horses, held aloft in love's embrace and a sea of horrified teenage faces. Seriously, dude, I can't even write this story without laughing. Ahh, those were the days.
I was co-teaching a junior high history class with one of my favorite teacher friends ever and our students were doing oral reports. I don't remember the topic but I do remember one of the reports.
One of my students was giving her presentation on horses. (I have no idea why she was talking about horses but anyway...) And we had practiced the report earlier in the day. She was going to do great. And she did until the very end.
You see she had brought two 14 inch plastic horses to use for a visual aid and at the end of her report she got carried away and began to improvise. Before the other teacher and I comprehended what was going on she has the horses in front of the class and is explaining how they mate. This might have been ok if we were in biology or IF SHE WASN'T USING THE TOY HORSES TO DEMONSTRATE POSITIONS!
I was sitting in front of the class, the other teacher in the back. I wish I could remember the exact dialog but I can't. I only remember seeing the horses, held aloft in love's embrace and a sea of horrified teenage faces. Seriously, dude, I can't even write this story without laughing. Ahh, those were the days.
Red Hair
So, Hannah is in beauty school and I made her practice on me Sunday. I was nervous getting my hair colored and for good reason---I've had a history of really bad colors. Like there was this one time I was in St. George with my family over spring break. I was pregnant and feeling ugly so one night we ran to Target and got some dye. Red dye. I envisioned Anne of Green Gables but came out like Annie and Ronald McDonald's love child.
Oh, and did I mention I was pregnant at the time? Well, if I didn't, I was. And I was still teaching school and the Monday I returned in all my glory I had IEP's scheduled with parents all day.
The principal must have been so proud, right? Not as proud as he was about to be. I wore a blue maternity suit to the meetings. (Try looking professional when you're pregnant.) The complimentary shade of blue really set off the hue of my hair. I was stunning.
The meetings began at 8:00, one right after another, every 30 minutes with no break. The meetings included parents, one of my teacher friends who happened to be a man, the vice principal (also a man), and me. The councilor (a woman) was supposed to be in attendance but couldn't make it until after lunch.
After lunch in comes the councilor. The first thing she tells me is to button up...I look down only to find my bra staring back at me. My shirt's top button was done up but the next two were WIDE OPEN. So I ask to my two men friends how long I've looked like this. The answer: since I came to work! Then they start in with these stupid explanations about not knowing how to tell me so they just waited until a "lady" came...sexual harassment...blah blah blah...didn't want me to kill them..yadda yadda yadda....Nice.
I'm sure the parents I met with that day felt confident about the education their children were receiving. Anyways, back to Sunday, Hannah colored my hair. She even put in red highlights. It looks good.
SO my hair looks nice, I'm not pregnant, and my shirt is buttoned up. Too bad I didn't have those IEP's today.
Oh, and did I mention I was pregnant at the time? Well, if I didn't, I was. And I was still teaching school and the Monday I returned in all my glory I had IEP's scheduled with parents all day.
The principal must have been so proud, right? Not as proud as he was about to be. I wore a blue maternity suit to the meetings. (Try looking professional when you're pregnant.) The complimentary shade of blue really set off the hue of my hair. I was stunning.
The meetings began at 8:00, one right after another, every 30 minutes with no break. The meetings included parents, one of my teacher friends who happened to be a man, the vice principal (also a man), and me. The councilor (a woman) was supposed to be in attendance but couldn't make it until after lunch.
After lunch in comes the councilor. The first thing she tells me is to button up...I look down only to find my bra staring back at me. My shirt's top button was done up but the next two were WIDE OPEN. So I ask to my two men friends how long I've looked like this. The answer: since I came to work! Then they start in with these stupid explanations about not knowing how to tell me so they just waited until a "lady" came...sexual harassment...blah blah blah...didn't want me to kill them..yadda yadda yadda....Nice.
I'm sure the parents I met with that day felt confident about the education their children were receiving. Anyways, back to Sunday, Hannah colored my hair. She even put in red highlights. It looks good.
SO my hair looks nice, I'm not pregnant, and my shirt is buttoned up. Too bad I didn't have those IEP's today.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Why didn't she just build a fort?
My post earlier today reminded me of something else that happened in preschool just before Christmas. We had been talking about animals and colors. I don't do religious stories in class but I have this dang cute book about the animals from the nativity and it went with our theme and the season so one day I read it to them.
Various animals need a place to stay and one by one they are invited into the stable by a kind old ox. Finally Joseph and Mary come along. They need a place to stay to have their baby. So in an effort to help the kids develop prediction making skills I ask, "So where do you think Joseph and Mary will stay?" (Thinking that surely the students will have picked up on the pattern by now.) Without hesitating one little guys says, "I think that lady will use her sheet (Mary does look like she is wearing a sheet in the illustration.) and build them a fort."
Good answer.
Various animals need a place to stay and one by one they are invited into the stable by a kind old ox. Finally Joseph and Mary come along. They need a place to stay to have their baby. So in an effort to help the kids develop prediction making skills I ask, "So where do you think Joseph and Mary will stay?" (Thinking that surely the students will have picked up on the pattern by now.) Without hesitating one little guys says, "I think that lady will use her sheet (Mary does look like she is wearing a sheet in the illustration.) and build them a fort."
Good answer.
I Just Did My Hair
So another session of preschool just ended. Today was our Valentines celebration and it was fun. The best part though was during music time.
One of the songs we did today was, "If your happy and you know it". I was letting the kids pick the actions---we were doing the usual...make an ugly face, poke your eye, touch your foot to your head...you know, the usual, when Simon chose "pat your head" (a shockingly tame selection for him). As we started the verse one of the boys yelled, "I'm NOT doing it! I JUST DID MY HAIR!"
One of the songs we did today was, "If your happy and you know it". I was letting the kids pick the actions---we were doing the usual...make an ugly face, poke your eye, touch your foot to your head...you know, the usual, when Simon chose "pat your head" (a shockingly tame selection for him). As we started the verse one of the boys yelled, "I'm NOT doing it! I JUST DID MY HAIR!"
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
The Price of Using Coupons
Recently I decided to try my hand at using coupons. I clipped and saved. Then I made a list of what items and brands to buy and mapped out my store battle plan. Leaving Jon home with the kids I set out to save some money.
After loading each worthy item in my cart I found it's corresponding coupon, folded it in fourths and deposited it in my pocket. This system worked like a charm and before long I was heading for the check out lines.
Because there is only one grocery store in town it is ALWAYS busy and the lines were at least 4 deep. Then I noticed down on the end a line with only 1 dude in it. I zoomed over and jumped in there. With in seconds I was unloading my heaping cart. I had groceries overflowing and even stacked on the bottom. This was going to take awhile.
A line was quickly forming behind me and everyone was super cranky! The guy behind me (who only had a loaf of bread and some oranges) kept sighing loudly and giving me the stink eye. As I finished unloading the cart and began on the bottom shelf the cashier asked if I was aware that I was in an express 10 items or less lane. Obviously the answer was no.
For the first time in a long time I actually felt my checks start to burn and as I turned to see the 6 or 7 fuming customers behind me I felt like an idiot. I asked the cashier if I should just move all my stuff over to another line. The answer was an annoyed explanation of how it would take her longer to cancel what she had of mine than to just finish my order.
So there I stood humiliated waiting for what seemed like an eternity while she finished ringing me up. Now it was time to pay. Lucky me. I was in a cash only line and I was prepared to pay with a debit card only. More annoyed sighs and a manager was called to unlock the debit card machine with the magic key. Meanwhile, the cashier called for assistance to help bag my load. (Actually she called for all available baggers to assist with a problem at the express lane.)
As the side show grew so did the line behind me. But now my groceries were being sacked and I was able to pay there was just one more issue---the coupons. This was a no coupon checkout line. But I had spent forever coordinating the wretched things. What should I do? There was a brief moment of indecision and then I did it. I started pulling the coupons out of my pocket one at a time and placing them on the counter.
The sighs of disgust were so loud behind me I didn't even look there way. I just started to unfold them and unfold them and unfold them. Feet were shuffling, eyes were rolling, my cheeks were burning and the coupons just kept coming.
When all were accounted for I had saved over $30 in coupons alone. (When you consider the coupons were to save like 25 cents or 10 cents per item that will give you some idea of the amount of coupons scanned.) I used my debit card and a nice young man walked me out of the store. Once we were out of sight of the lynching mob the bagger and I started to laugh and laugh. He told me how mad everyone was (as if I couldn't tell) and then we laughed some more.
After I was done laughing I chucked those groceries in the van bus like some half crazed demon and took off before anyone could ram me with their vehicle. On the way home I wondered if I'm really ready for the extra responsibility of shopping with coupons anyway.
After loading each worthy item in my cart I found it's corresponding coupon, folded it in fourths and deposited it in my pocket. This system worked like a charm and before long I was heading for the check out lines.
Because there is only one grocery store in town it is ALWAYS busy and the lines were at least 4 deep. Then I noticed down on the end a line with only 1 dude in it. I zoomed over and jumped in there. With in seconds I was unloading my heaping cart. I had groceries overflowing and even stacked on the bottom. This was going to take awhile.
A line was quickly forming behind me and everyone was super cranky! The guy behind me (who only had a loaf of bread and some oranges) kept sighing loudly and giving me the stink eye. As I finished unloading the cart and began on the bottom shelf the cashier asked if I was aware that I was in an express 10 items or less lane. Obviously the answer was no.
For the first time in a long time I actually felt my checks start to burn and as I turned to see the 6 or 7 fuming customers behind me I felt like an idiot. I asked the cashier if I should just move all my stuff over to another line. The answer was an annoyed explanation of how it would take her longer to cancel what she had of mine than to just finish my order.
So there I stood humiliated waiting for what seemed like an eternity while she finished ringing me up. Now it was time to pay. Lucky me. I was in a cash only line and I was prepared to pay with a debit card only. More annoyed sighs and a manager was called to unlock the debit card machine with the magic key. Meanwhile, the cashier called for assistance to help bag my load. (Actually she called for all available baggers to assist with a problem at the express lane.)
As the side show grew so did the line behind me. But now my groceries were being sacked and I was able to pay there was just one more issue---the coupons. This was a no coupon checkout line. But I had spent forever coordinating the wretched things. What should I do? There was a brief moment of indecision and then I did it. I started pulling the coupons out of my pocket one at a time and placing them on the counter.
The sighs of disgust were so loud behind me I didn't even look there way. I just started to unfold them and unfold them and unfold them. Feet were shuffling, eyes were rolling, my cheeks were burning and the coupons just kept coming.
When all were accounted for I had saved over $30 in coupons alone. (When you consider the coupons were to save like 25 cents or 10 cents per item that will give you some idea of the amount of coupons scanned.) I used my debit card and a nice young man walked me out of the store. Once we were out of sight of the lynching mob the bagger and I started to laugh and laugh. He told me how mad everyone was (as if I couldn't tell) and then we laughed some more.
After I was done laughing I chucked those groceries in the van bus like some half crazed demon and took off before anyone could ram me with their vehicle. On the way home I wondered if I'm really ready for the extra responsibility of shopping with coupons anyway.
Monday, February 9, 2009
And She Thought of Me
A few days ago my mom called. She had her police radio on at work and heard that officers were being dispatched to help a mom who was pulled over to the side of the road in her silver Honda Odyssey mini van.
It seems her 4 year old had become hopelessly tangled in his seat belt and was now trapped in the van. And of course, upon hearing these facts who does my mother think the officers will find once they reach that van? Me.
And while I drive the same van and have a tanglesome 4 year old I am happy to say it wasn't me...at least not on that day...
(Just as a side note---my mom said that the 4 year old was fine, no injuries...thank goodness.)
It seems her 4 year old had become hopelessly tangled in his seat belt and was now trapped in the van. And of course, upon hearing these facts who does my mother think the officers will find once they reach that van? Me.
And while I drive the same van and have a tanglesome 4 year old I am happy to say it wasn't me...at least not on that day...
(Just as a side note---my mom said that the 4 year old was fine, no injuries...thank goodness.)
Lemony Fresh
A few weeks ago I had a lot going on and I was maxing out my multi-tasking capabilities. While talking on the phone, holding eliza, and starting dinner I decided to begin the laundry.
We had just done our massive Costco shopping extravaganza the day before and I had some new laundry detergent to try out.
After prying the lid open with a screwdriver I found the soap to be ridiculously fragrant....I was taken away to a lemon grove in my mind. Boy were my clothes going to smell delicious.
Later that day when it came time to run the dishwasher I discovered that I had done the laundry with dish washing detergent. So much for lemony freshness.
We had just done our massive Costco shopping extravaganza the day before and I had some new laundry detergent to try out.
After prying the lid open with a screwdriver I found the soap to be ridiculously fragrant....I was taken away to a lemon grove in my mind. Boy were my clothes going to smell delicious.
Later that day when it came time to run the dishwasher I discovered that I had done the laundry with dish washing detergent. So much for lemony freshness.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Apparently the Answer is Yes
When I asked in my last entry if I really do look like "that", the answer is yes, I do.
These are the facts:
#1. It was 4:00 last Thursday afternoon.
#2. I went into the fabric store of infamy. AKA "the bad lady store"---the name given by Simon.(For details see My Cousins Underwear blog entry on May 29, 2008).
#3. I wore too small and too tight plaid pajama pants that hang funky making one leg longer than the other, flip flops---in the middle of February, and a paint stained sweatshirt from college that says "whatever".
#4. I didn't even think twice about my appearance.
So, like I said, the answer is yes, I guess I really do look like "that".
These are the facts:
#1. It was 4:00 last Thursday afternoon.
#2. I went into the fabric store of infamy. AKA "the bad lady store"---the name given by Simon.(For details see My Cousins Underwear blog entry on May 29, 2008).
#3. I wore too small and too tight plaid pajama pants that hang funky making one leg longer than the other, flip flops---in the middle of February, and a paint stained sweatshirt from college that says "whatever".
#4. I didn't even think twice about my appearance.
So, like I said, the answer is yes, I guess I really do look like "that".
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Do I really look like that?
So the other night I went to the gym. It had been a long day and I was tired. It was about 8:00 at night. I did my usual workout and as I was leaving I saw a reflection in the window of a girl who was obviously not pregnant (as evidenced by the maternity sweat pants whose crotch hung down to her knees) wearing a too small sweatshirt covered in varnish and paint stains that read "Baroque: When you are out of Monet" and pink tennis shoes with silver reflectors. She also had a brown paint streak down one side of her face and hair full of felt and cotton clippings. This woman was obviously not fit to be out in public.
And who was this poor beast you ask? Unfortunately it was me. And as I reflected on what had brought me to my present state I realized I didn't even have a bra on. Oh well. At least I don't have to worry about anyone trying to pick me up at the gym. And I'm happy to note that no one tried to pick me up at the gas station either when I stopped there on my way home for a Dr. Pepper. Apparently there are some perks to looking like you're crazy.
And who was this poor beast you ask? Unfortunately it was me. And as I reflected on what had brought me to my present state I realized I didn't even have a bra on. Oh well. At least I don't have to worry about anyone trying to pick me up at the gym. And I'm happy to note that no one tried to pick me up at the gas station either when I stopped there on my way home for a Dr. Pepper. Apparently there are some perks to looking like you're crazy.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Don't Punch the Poinsettias
A year ago (around Christmas time) we were standing in my parents door way telling them goodbye when Simon decided to have a boxing match with one of my mom's poinsettias. And while the plant was large and proved to be a formidable foe my mom wasn't too happy about the whole situation. Before I knew it I was yelling at Simon, "Don't punch the poinsettias!"
That makes absolutely no sense...don't punch the poinsettias...whatever....
This blog is dedicated solely to all of the insane events and conversations that I find myself involved in on a regular basis. Most of these will involve my children. If you thought my life was as ridiculous as an episode of "I Love Lucy" before I had kids you should see me now.
That makes absolutely no sense...don't punch the poinsettias...whatever....
This blog is dedicated solely to all of the insane events and conversations that I find myself involved in on a regular basis. Most of these will involve my children. If you thought my life was as ridiculous as an episode of "I Love Lucy" before I had kids you should see me now.
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