Rampin' up

I first typed, "Trampin' up," but really that's not correct. It COULD be more fun, but that's not what i'm talking about here. That's the OTHER blog. bwahahahahaha... I'm talking about Christmas. I have started the shopping, thought about the baking, started making the food shopping list, and have cringed at the thought of having everyone scrunched into my teeny little house. It's always fun though! This year's sure to be much happier than last year. I don't believe this Christmas will be spent shedding tears. Unless we run out of wine. Then the tears will fall. Or, if I don't get the sock-monkey slippers that i've been coveting (Target, by the socks--HINT HINT). I'm so sly.

The shopping for the girls is almost complete--next week i'll be on the hunt for a "Little Mermaid" dress-up set for Clairey, and then just stocking stuffers! Whee! Then there's my dad, my sister and her husband, my brother and his wife....Okay, so maybe i'm not close to complete. That's okay--I'm off from the 18th until the 2nd. So much time, and so little money. Me and my bestest friend will be having some good friend time, and shopping up a storm next week.

I'm giddy. Maybe it's because I've ingested nothing today except for coffee and Sugar Smacks....

happy holidays!

Girls Gone Wild!

Happy Halloween!

How Many?

There are a lot of "me," but guess what? There are NO "Whiskers Fuggybottoms" in the U.S! Can you believe??

HowManyOfMe.com

There are: 180 people with my name in the U.S.A. How many have your name?

Danny likes cold hair

Both of the girls take stuffed animals to bed with them. Wait...let me rephrase that: Clairey takes a stuffed animal to bed with her. Jenna takes any kind of random toy to bed with her. It's quite normal to pull back her covers and find a horse, a toothbrush, and a bandaid in bed with her. Never know--the horse could have had a fatal dental accident. Now Clairey...Clairey sleeps with Lambchop--the famed lamb from Sherry Lewis fame. However, her Lambchop is named "Danny." No idea where that came from. One night, when she was almost one, I said, "Clairey, do you want your lambie?" And she said, "NOT 'Lambie!' 'Danny!'" and it stuck. So Clairey sleeps with her Danny every night. There's nothing subtle about a 3-year old yelling, "Mommy! Where's Danny? Dan needs to come to bed!" I like how she's shortened it to 'Dan'--sounds much more macho.

The other night, I was lying in bed with the girls, and Danny (moved by Claire--he's not a possessed toy) gave me a kiss and said, "I love you, Stephanie" (Danny has a high-pitched, raspy voice). So I said, "I love you, too, Danny."

"Stephanie? You are Clairey's best mommy is this whole big world."

"Well, Danny, you can tell Clairey that she's the best three-year old in this whole big world."

"Stephanie...can I play with your cold hair?"

"Why Dan?"

"I love your cold hair. It's Clairey's favorite and my favorite."

So I'm thinking, "Oh great, she's got the stuffed lamb on the 'cold hair' bandwagon..."

"Why's it Clairey's favorite, Dan?"

"Because she likes it. It's cold and it makes her happy."

Now really...who can argue with a stuffed lamb?

Conversations with Jenna

Me: "Jenna, what do you want for Christmas?"
J: "A guitar."
Me: "You already have a guitar."
J: "No, I want a REAL rockstar guitar."
Me: "Yours has flames on it--that's not 'rockstar' enough?"
J: "No, I want a rockstar guitar and Clairey needs some drums, then we're going to start a rock band."

NICE. I didn't think this started until they were in middle school, at least.

Hairspray

On Thursday, I kept the girls home with me. Clairey had her 3-year check up that afternoon, and it's just easier to keep them both home--that way, they entertain each other, rather than me having to work with a kid on my lap. It was early, about 8am, and I was lying on the couch while the kids watched the Disney channel. Clairey had a little comb and she was brushing my hair--i was at that point where you're not asleep, but you're pretty much out of it--moms, you know what I'm talking about. It's the same kind of sleep that you get when the kids are babies and you're doing the 2am feeding---yeah, THAT kind of sleep. These weasels still keep me up at night, so I never get a full night's sleep. So anyways, I'm conked out on the couch, and half-pint's combing my hair. In my half-asleep state, I keep hearing this sound: "ppfffttt! ppffffttt!" and I'm thinking, "Hmmmm...what is that?" and "Yes, bacon would be nice," because shit, nothing makes sense when you're half asleep. I finally mutter, "Clairey, what are you doing?" and she says, "Spraying your hair." So I'm all, "okay." Then I think about it: "Spraying" my hair? With what? I run my hand through my hair, and it's all wet. Then I hear the noise and something hits me on the hand. The kid is spitting in my hair, then combing it through.

LOVE being a mom.

Oops...I did it again

And by that, I mean that I signed up Jenna for gymnastics again. You'd think, since both "jenna" and "gymnastics" have such a nice alliteration, that they would go together like peas in a pod, white on rice, ecetera, ecetera. Or, you would possibly think of the old adage, "Third time's a charm." Yes, well, a charm that conjours up images of the devil, maybe. Nah, it's not so bad. Let me start from the beginning. The beginning of the third quest, that is.

Jenna and Clairey have BOTH been signed up for gymnastics. Clairey, because she swings/climbs/jumps off of everything, and Jenna because, well...because I'm a glutton for punishment. Either that, or I'm on drugs. But seriously, I WAS thinking that you know, since this is the THIRD time I'm putting her in gymnastics, surely, SURELY, she'll get the jist of it. And honestly, i'm not one of those crazy stage mothers who thinks that her daughter has to live out her long-lost vision of becoming an olympic gymnast or anything like that. I'm not. Although I DID dabble in the art of gymnastics for a bazillion years, and wanted to be Mary Lou's protege. But i'm not hell bent on the kids being gymnasts. I am, hellbent, however, on them TRYING it. And by "trying," I mean "listen to the teacher and actually do as she says and see if you think it's fun," rather than Jenna's interpretation of "trying" which means, "look at the teacher blankly and as soon as she takes her eyes off of you run towards your mother who's sitting in the gallery and garner kisses and hugs before you run back to your teacher and pretend like nothing ever happened." And I know there are some of you that are thinking, "Awwwww....she just wants kisses and hugs from her mommy!" And let me tell you to quit that sort of smoochy-thinking right now, because you're wrong. Oh yes, so very wrong. You don't know my child. She is only four, but is a master of manipulation. She knows that if she runs to me in front of a million parents and wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me and says, "Mommy, I love you SO much!" that I will not beat her in front of people. She KNOWS this, and she uses it to her advantage. Oh, she's a crafty one, she is.

Meanwhile, Clairey is out there on the uneven bars, scooting across and pulling off monkeys. (I'm not even going to try to explain that one--it's just too funny to let you think of what that might mean.) All this, and only the second class. We go every Monday night. Tune in for more shenanigans.

To my precious pumpshkin

Clairey,
On Sunday, you turned three years old. Three! I can't believe it's already been three years. You, princess, are such a ray of sunshine. You light up everything around you, and no one can resist your amazing smile, or the sweetness of your laughter. Everyone loves you, baby girl, and it's no wonder. Your gravely little voice can melt the toughest of exteriors, and charm anyone. This past year has been such a "growing" year for you--in ability, but not in height! You are so super tiny! Your physical ability is limitless. You swing from monkey bars, jump off tall structures, and run and play like the big kids. YOU, my baby, will be the one that breaks an arm or leg. Me and the sitter have already worked out a plan of what to do when you break your first limb. It's going to happen--it's just a matter of time, you monkey! Yesterday night was your first time in gymnastics class and you took to it like a pro! You looked so adorable on the balance beam, and you listened to your coaches so well. You make me so proud, little one! You are such an amazing child. You bring such happiness to my life! I love you SOOOOOO much (with arms outstretched)! Happy Birthday, sweet girl!

The quick and dirty

Wow...time really flies by. I've been incredibly busy this past month, doing things like....oh, falling asleep on the couch at 330, scrubbing "washable" markers out of kids' butt cracks, and creating birthday montages that tug at my heartstrings and make me wish the girls would stop growing--you know, the usual. On a random note, i've also developed an ant problem at the house. First they were in the shower, then the bathtub, then this morning...this morning the little bastards were on my kitchen counter. Really, now. I hate ants. And they're not the little "sugar" ants--these are the real, "we'll bite you for no particular reason other than you're there" ants. Jenna's the one that found them on the counter, and because it's Jenna, she freaked out. There was screaming and yelling and shrieking because the ants might make a dead leap right for her jugular. You never know.

IN THE NEWS:
*Clairey turns three on September 10th. THREE. Good Lord. She's also entering the "terrible threes." Much like the "terrible twos," except that she's had an additional year to earn patches from the "Jenna Drama Camp."

*There are ants. Oh wait...I already mentioned that.

*Gymnastics starts again. YES...I'm giving it another shot. Let's see if they let Jenna back in the gym.

*"Washable" marker isn't as washable as they say. Maybe if you're sandblasting.

*Jenna turns 15 on September 30th. Actually, she'll be 5, but if we're going by attitude, it's definitely somewhere close to 15.

Right on...

Your Career Personality: Independent, Insightful, and Ingenious

Your Ideal Careers: Architect Artist Business strategist College professor Computer programmer Mathematician Neurologist Philosopher Photographer Video game developer

The Quick and Dirty Career Test

Boobs

The other day, me and the chicks were taking a bubble-bath. Jenna looked at me, and asked, "Mom? Why are your boobs 'hangy'?" Now you see, she usually would say, "Mom? Those breasts of yours, those beautiful breasts that sustained me for the first year of my life..." and then lead up with a question, but alas, she must have been sleepy. So anyways, she asked why they were hangy. 'Hangy'. Now THAT'S an adjective that you want attached to your boobs. Jeesh. So, naturally, I ignored that she said they were hangy, and switched the adjective to 'bigger than mine' and answered THAT question.

Me: "My boobies are bigger than yours because I'm a grown-up."
J: "Oh. Will I get boobies when I'm a grown-up?"
Me: "Yes, yes you will."
C: "Will my get boobies?"
Me: "Since you're also from my loins, yes. Actually, you'll get boobies when you're a teenager."
C: (looking down at her 'baby-fat boobs') "MY a teenager!"

Nice how that logic works. hahahahaha.

Common sense

Claire: Knock, knock
Me: Who's there?
Claire: People knocking on the door.

Steph-throat

"Steph-throat": The title given to me by a co-worker who thought it was a funny play on words of "strep-throat." Which I have. Which my wee chick had last week. Which is not fun. Which hurts, even though I am of the tonsil-less variety. So for all of you that HAVE tonsils, and have strep throat, I'm sorry--I feel for you, I really do.

We (chicks and i) were supposed to go to DWJSD's house yesterday night, which we could not, because I could barely talk. And seriously, what's the point of going to your best friend's house if you can't even utter "More margarita's please"? I mean, what a waste of time THAT would be. Oh yea, and I didn't want to get her kids sick. So, instead of our lovely "Breakfast-for-Dinner" that we had planned, I stayed home and cooked a chicken. Yes, I felt like crap and still prepared dinner. Give me a frickin trophy or something. And it wasn't mac-and-cheese, it was a chicken! And rice! And a vegetable!! A well-rounded meal! I'm so self-sacrificing.

So, here I am, on Day 3 of "the sickness." I wish it would just go away.

"Annie" infatuation

My spawn have become infatuated with "Annie." Yes, the old movie with the uproarious orphans and the hijinks of one red-headed child. I shouldn't make fun of them--my Christmas list in 1982 was comprised of not 10, but 57 "Annie"-related pieces of merchandise, which I lovingly listed in your basic third-grade manuscript, complete with the Spiegel's item number and page where Santa could find it. I had everything listed from the "Annie Wig," to the "Annie-themed, day-of-the-week panties." Out of those 57 items, Santa chose to give me the Annie locket, which I still have to this very day, and wore in the 8th grade when I played the role of "Annie" in the school musical. Seriously, I thought that my life was complete at that moment. Anyways, now my chicks are LOVING "Annie." I burned them a CD with all the songs. Last night, while the chicken was in the oven, I sat on the couch and was entertained with the girls' rendition of "It's a Hard-Knock Life." It's great, and oh-so-entertaining. We're going over to my best friend's house on Friday, and I'm going to cajole them into performing it for her. Jenna knows most of the words, and sings at the top of her lungs, acting it out all the way. Claire knows about every 5th word, and those she knows, she yells out accordingly. So, with Clairey, we get, "It's a hard-knock life!! hmmmmm hmmmmm hmmm US!! hmmmm hmmmmm KISSES!! hmmmm hhmmmmm KICKED!!" But still, just as entertaining.

It's also becoming part of their daily reportoire. Yesterday, when Jenna asked if she could have yogurt and i replied, "No, i'm making dinner," she skulked away and began piteously warbling, "The sun will come out, tomorrow..." And when I asked them to pick up their playroom so the maid doesn't kill herself trying to get in there, they broke out with "It's a hard-knock life, for us!" Oh yes, SO hard knock.

Many people are nodding in agreement...

Your Personality Is Like Acid

A bit wacky, you're very difficult to predict. One moment you're in your own little happy universe... And the next, you're on a bad trip to your own personal hell!

What Drug Is Your Personality Like?

I'm not winking at you...

Seriously, I'm not.

I've had a twitch near my right eye for FOUR weeks now. FOUR fricking weeks. It is the most annoying thing ever--except for maybe the person that gets in front of you at the grocery store and needs a price check on everything and then actually writes a check. Who the hell writes checks? But I digress. The eye is driving me insane. Everytime I think it's stopped, it starts again. I'm sure it's even twitching while i'm sleeping. Meanwhile, I have to deal with people staring at my eye while i'm talking to them.

Today, I was speaking with one of my coworkers, and she's just staring at me. Finally, she says, "What's up with your eye?" I'm in the middle of a never-ending winking session. I'm afraid that whichever muscle that is that's twitching, is going to become really buff. Much more buff than my other eye muscles. Then i'm going to have an eye that looks like it's on steriods--you know, from all that twitching.

I'm not sure what's causing it. Work has been extremely stressful for the past month, so that could be it. The girls have learned how to juggle cutlery, so THAT could be it. Why is everything so stressful? So, this evening, in order to combat all this stress, I decided to ignore all stressful situations. I started by leaving work at 415 to go pick up the girls. Yes, they cause some stress, but I am happiest when the little heathens are with me. So, I picked up the girls. Then, in order to avoid any stress that I might incur from cooking turkey cutlets, we went out to dinner. Jenna's choice. She wanted sushi, so we went to this little seafood joint that close to home. The girls and I dined on edamame, sashimi, and a rainbow roll. The chicks look so cute using their little chopsticks (excuse me while I wipe a tear from my eye). I'm so glad that they're not as picky as my ex. They were so well-behaved at the restaurant that we stopped at the "candy and medicine store" aka Walgreens, so they could pick out a treat. Yeah, i'm rewarding their good behavior with candy--call CPS. Then we came home and played "hide and seek" and "tag" for a good hour. There's nothing like breaking your own rules, and running through the house, leaping over beds and hiding in closets--it's so much fun. The three of us then got all cleaned up and in our jammies, and enjoyed our candy. You know what's funny? Kids and Hot Tamales. They so WANT to like them, but it's really not going to happen. Jenna kept asking, "When i open my mouth, is fire coming out?" Finally, we are finishing the evening by watching "Little Einsteins" together--all snuggled up in the bed.

No. Stress. Is. Good.

When I grow up...

Jenna: "I remember! I want to be a rock and roll star, NOT a lifeguard!"

Clairey's "Word 'o the day"

Gorgeous
And it is always said with the same emphatic flair that a largely flamboyant gay man would bestow upon a pink boa with matching snakeskin boots.

Heard this morning:

"Jenna, that shirt is UG-LY. Where's your green shirt? That one is GORGEOUS!"

"Oh. My. Word. MOMMY! It is GORGEOUS outside!"

Charm THIS

I was taking my lunch break and decided, since i was working from home, that I would go enjoy the Texas sun a bit, while finishing "The Devil Wears Prada." Quite a funny read, by the way. Apparently, i got a little TOO into the book, and overflowed the pool, resulting in an undesired hosing of myself. The hose leapt out of the pool like some snake-charmers mate, and sprayed cold water directly across my midsection. Lovely. Although it IS one-hundred flippin' degrees outside, i have no desire to be surprised by cold water. It IS Monday, right?

I miss my sister

I want to go to NY and eat Chinese food in expand-a-waist pants.

What I do on Friday nights

Let's see. What do I do on Friday nights without the kids? I'll make a list:

1. Lay on the chicks' playroom floor and wonder if they're having fun at their dad's.

2. Brush the My Little Pony's hair, because DAMN! that pony's hair was a tangled mess and no pony looking like that is going to reside in MY house.

3. Read an entire "Parents" magazine from cover to cover with no interruptions.

4. Call my mom, who invited me over this evening, then decided that she should not be home. I always knew she didn't like me, but really, does she have to be so blunt?

5. Call my best friend and offer to come over for drinks and naked Jello-wrestling.

6. Take a shower. A long shower. With no small children smashing their little faces against the glass door.

7. Email my sister the semi-nudie photos that I took of her for her husband. He's a sergeant in the Marine Corps, and I was doing my duty as a good American. He informed me that he needs the pictures to look at while he's in the port-o-john. God Bless America!

9. Talk to my brother, while he's on his way to Dallas.

10. Blog.

Now, seriously. You'd think i'd have something better to do on a Friday night. But no. My only consolation is that my sister's sitting in NY and SHE'S sitting at home eating Chinese food. Hahahahaha! Let's all laugh at HER. So, I'M sitting in Houston, Texas by myself--big deal. SHE'S in New York. On a Friday night. Eating Chinese food in her expand-a-waist pants. Bwhahahahaha!

Change is good

Yee hee! Look at my new "look"! Isn't it exciting? Still evil, still porcine, but with flowers.

Much like the chicken-flu...

The girls have been going to the same sitter since they were each 8 weeks old. Ms. Dot is a no-nonsense, I'll-put-your-little-rear-in-time-out, and-then-I-will-smother-you-with-kisses kind of lady. She's a flippin matriarch. She has grown children of her own, grown grandchildren, then watches a handful of random kids each day ranging from the age of 5 months to 5 years. The woman is either the most patient woman in the world, or so certifiably insane that the government secretly watches her. And my kids stay with her---I am so lucky.

Ms. Dot is a Cajun. She admits it. I swear, the woman drives to Louisiana twice a month just to eat crawfish and soak up the swampy atmosphere. But we still love her. Every once in a while, she says something that makes me just want to keel over and die laughing.

Over the past two weeks, Ms. Dot has lost a lot of her little ragamuffins to a fever. One day, one kid was out; the next two were out; and before you know it, four are missing. Obviously, it's some kind of fun little virus that all the little urchins are sharing. They won't share their toys, but an annoying virus?! Sure! Pass it on! Lovely. I just found out, this very morning, that the wee Loco-boy has chicken pox. I actually haven't gotten confirmation from his mom, but if Ms. Dot says it, it's gospel. So, in my non-medical expertise, I'm thinking that chicken pox is going around, and the kids that have been vaccinated against it are just getting fevers. See? I'm not a doctor, and this is why. I'm not even sure that's possible, but I'm a mom, and there MUST be a reason. So anyways...where was I going with this? Oh yes...so, Ms. Dot and I are discussing this viral occurance, when she says:

"I don't care what they say, it's the foreigners that are bringing all these viruses in. It's the foreigners! It's just like that 'chicken-thing' that's going around. They're crossing the borders and bringing it all in."

I just nod and smile, and try not to give her an odd look. After all, she loves my kids.

Remember this...

Jenna and I were lying in my bed last night, just having some "Mommy & Jenna Time," as she calls it. I was doing a crossword puzzle, and she was helping by writing the letters in the boxes for me. While I was trying to come up with a reasonable (and correct) answer for one of the clues, her little hand covered mine. I looked at her, and she said, "Mommy, when I grow up, I don't want to go to college."
"What? Why?" I asked.
"Because, Mommy. I don't ever want to leave you."

:)

There's no place like home

Okay, I'm holed up in Cupertino, CA working my butt off. I'm ticked because (a)I have to be at work at 7am (b)I have to be at work at 7am (c) I have to be at work at 7am, and d) BECAUSE i have to be at work at 7am and work until 6 or 7, then work for my other clients after that, I have NO time to do anything fun. I have a nice friend that lives close by (Hi Sally!) and I can't even call and get together with her because I'm too busy working. :(

Plus, I miss my chicks!!

Conversations with Jenna

--This is from a while back, but it cracks me up everytime I hear her say it.--

Me: Okay, Jen, it's your night. Pick a movie.
Jen: I want the rest of the cats.
Me: Huh? What?
Jen: I want the rest of the cats.
Me: The rest of what cats?
Jen: NO! I want the rest of the cats.
Me: I have no idea what you're talking about.
Jen: Mooooom! The.Rest.Of.The.Cats.
Me: [blank look]
Jen: This, mom, THIS![holding up a movie]
Me: Ah, "The Aristocats."

She always asks for "The rest of the cats," no matter how many times I get her to say A-RIS-TO-CATS.

I scream, you scream...

then mommy screams because "What is that?! Is that ice cream?! Chocolate?! Oh.my.word. That's her NEW DRESS!!" and Jenna sits quietly, sucking out Spider-Man's gummy eyeballs.













This, this mess, was what I found when I went to go pick the chicks up from their dad's last night. Needless to say, there was a "hosing of the children" before they got into the car...

Almost Elton...

but a whole helluva lot cuter.

SPF!

This week from Kristine:
1. Something you have 2 of.
2. Something you wish you had 2 more of.
3. “Two”.





1. 2 glass-thingys with corks in 'em (and 2 kids in the background).

2. A girl can always use more shoes!

3. "Two"

Photo Scavenger hunt

1) Sports
2) Danger
3) Blue
4) Outdoor furniture
5) Trash can
6) Pool
7) Sold
8) Overkill
9) Larger than life
10) What is it?

You interpret them. Play!

My "big-girl toddler"

Below, you will find a portrait of Clairey, my big-girl toddler--or so she says. She is, as they say in "mommy speak," "nummy, nummy, delicious." If you so feel compelled, you may send money to her college fund.

Notice there is not a picture of the larger child. That's because Miss "I-will-not-take-a-picture-because-that-would-imply-that-I-have-cooperated-with-an-older-and-wiser-being" didn't want to.

Borrowed from my friend Al...

a list of 20 things that make me feel good:

1. Little hands in my hair
2. Kisses from my babies
3. A clean house
4. No laundry
5. Watching the kids play together (without killing each other)
6. Good wine
7. Pedicures & massages (it's a package deal)
8. Being told I look beautiful when I've put in the extra effort
9. Slow dancing
10. Laughing hard
11. Remembering the good times
12. Listening to the girls sing
13. Hugs from my mom
14. Important conversations with my dad
15. Mind-sparking conversations with anyone
16. A good book
17. Beautiful words
18. Attention (the good kind)
19. Snuggling with the chicks
20. Finally taking a good poop, when you've had to go for a while. (Don't gross out, you know you like it.)

I like to see him cringe

Clairey to the husband:

"When my get big, my going to have tampons!" [insert huge smile]

Seriously, child, it's not that fun.

Dare ya

Claire was just sitting on the counter, while I was taking my medicine. I swallow the stack with orange juice, turn around, get some water to swish and walk back to Clairey. There's something frothy on the counter, which she's sticking her finger in and sucking on. Of course, I freak out, because I figure that it's some of my medicine that escaped the confines of my glass (I break apart the capsules and disolve it in juice)and landed on the counter. But before I freak out, I have a small moment of, "Wow, Prozac and a hyper 2-year old...bed before 10?" Nevermind. So anyways, I commence freak out, and say, "Oh my gosh! Claire! What is that!" and while I'm saying this, of course, I'm dipping my finger into the frothiness and tasting it to make sure it's not Prozac.

Are you ready for this?

"It's 'pookies.'"

Translation: "It's puke, you dumbass."

I just tasted my kid's puke. Send money. Now.

"God bless us, every one..."

Wait...that's Christmas.

Happy Easter, Happy Passover, Happy Spring...um...[insert your higher-being of choice] bless us, every one... There, that should cover it.

So, Gamma (my mom) is up North, visiting the family. She left us all here, because she obviously doesn't care enough to be here on Easter to see her grandbabies that love her so very much. So INSTEAD...she's off galavanting around with my aunts and cousin Brit. Yeah, we know what you're doing "Gamma." Don't worry, I won't tell the girls that you have forsaken them for large amounts of wine, beer, and giggling with your siblings. MMMmmmmmHmmmm....I'm onto you, woman.

So, here are the girls. It was awfully hard getting a "happy" picture of them, since they've been crying for days because they miss their Gamma so very much...

Here's Jen...shying away from the camera--trying to hide her tears...



"I love you, Gamma!!"



"Uh, huh....SURE."


"We miss you!"


We miss you, mom, and love you bunches! Have fun with everyone!

Conversations with Clairey

"Mommy, I love you...big time."

SPF!

1. Macro: take a picture of something ‘close up’. Don’t use your zoom, make sure you have good lighting and make sure you’re steady. If you have to, set your camera down on something and then take the picture.
2. NO FLASH: try swiching the flash off and taking pictures of your stuff without it. It may take a lot of pictures to get the right shot, but open the windows and find artifical light to get it to work.
3. Perspective: get up high or down low…either way, change the perspective of your picture..tilt the camera sideways. Change the layout of the picture. Instead of having the subject framed perfectly in the middle of the picture…move it to the left or the right.

Macro: Jenna and her cat, "Shadow"


No Flash: I like to call this, "Carnivore." My kids have a penchant for t-bones. Crazy.


Perspective: it's blurry, but still cute.


I know, no fantastic pics, but cut me some slack. I was unprepared, so had to go with stuff that was already on my laptop. :D

It's HNT!

Yay! Almost the weekend!

*if you look close, you can see the camera's reflection in the ball...

My very first WBW

...and I am oh-so-proud. Here I am at 6 years old. I was a bit of a floozy.



Actually, you'll notice I'm wearing tap shoes. I was a dancing hooker. Just kidding. It was for a recital.

America's Favorite

Dear Kraft Foods,

You had me with the "Cheese and Macaroni"--indeed, it IS the cheesiest. I didn't think you could do it, Kraft. I didn't think, for a minute, that you could develop something that would rival powered-cheesy goodness. But you did. Oh.YOU.DID.

Your "Jet-puffed Toasted Coconut marshmallows" are indescribeably scrumptious. There's marshmallow! Then there's coconut! Together!! Life is good. And, indeed, you are right on target when you throw out the 'ol "Guaranteed Jet-Puffed Perfect!" Oh, you silly people. Of COURSE they're perfect! It's a coconut marshmallow! You can't f-that up!

So, I bow to you, Oh creators of coconutty-marshmallowy goodness. I bow to you.

He played with what?

Jenna learns lots of fun stuff in Pre-K--mostly little songs/games--you know: "Eeny-meeny miney-mo," "Hot potato," "Duck, duck, goose" etc. Well, today she learned "This Old Man." You remember it:

"This old man
He played one
he played knick-knack on my thumb"

Remember? I knew you would.

I picked her up from school, and she was singing it for me, and I was just eating it all up. They're so cute when they're not killing small animals, you know? So, she's going through it--the old man played knick-knack on her thumb, her shoe, her tree, her door, and on something she called a "shrive." Don't know what that is, but it rhymed with 'five,' so I let it go. She gets to six, and belts out: "This old man, he played six, he played knick-knack on my dick!"

Silence befalls me.

"Excuse me, Jen? He played knick-knack on what?"

"On my dick."

"Oh, okay...Hmmmm...actually, it's 'he played knick-knack on my STICKS."

"Sticks? Okay. 'This old man, he played six, he played knick-knack on my sticks...'"

Entertaining? Always.

Conversations with Clairey

Clairey to me:

"My pooped on the potty today! It was big and stinky! Whew!"

Oh, if we could all be so candid.

Clairey to me (we were lying in bed watching "The Easter Bunny's Coming to Town"):

Her little foot waves in my face:
C: "Smell my feet."
M: "Clairey, get your feet out of my face."
C: "Smell 'em mom, smell my good feet."
M: "No thanks."
C: "MOM! Smell my feet![sniff, sniff] They smell goooooood!" (singing that last part)
M: laughing too hard to say anything at all


Me, mom, and the chicks went to The Cheesecake Factory on Saturday. For those of you that are unfamiliar with the likes of TCF, get down on your knees and thank God that you don't. It's one of those establishments wherein you gain 10 pounds from walking in the door and sniffing. It's like hell without the heat (and lots of waiters). So anyways, Clairey was wearing "big-girl" panties and she had to go pee. I rushed her to the Ladies Room and, as the stalls were all empty, we occupied the handicapped stall (you need lots of room when you have a potty-training kid--mostly to avoid the inevitable pee-stream that sneaks out between the toilet and the toilet seat). We're in there, and Clairey's concentrating really hard on going pee ("Mine pee's stuck!"), and someone else comes in, and occupies the stall next to us. No big deal, right? hahahahahaha...whatever. The woman, in the middle of peeing, farts. Loudly. I said a quick prayer that Claire didn't hear it, although waiters in the middle of the restaurant were ducking for fear of nuclear attack.

"Haha! That lady made a poo-stinky! HA HA HA!!"

"claire...shhhhh!!!!"

"Dat was LOUD! Hahahaha!! POO-STINKY!!"

I just covered my mouth and tried hard not to make any noises. Let me tell ya--I wiped that kid quicker than a wink, washed hands at the speed of light, and got outta there. Jeesh.

What's the theme?

What's the blogging theme for Mondays? I can't remember, so hopefully, it's, "I'm going to bitch and whine about all the random shit that happens to me Monday." How's that workin' for ya?

So...I ran two miles this morning. Not a lot, I know, but get this: NOTHING WAS CHASING ME. Oh yes. Now that's impressive. 

I am a shitty runner. 

This morning, I ran two miles without stopping. Okay, I stopped once. Well, I didn't STOP, per se, but slowed down to a quick walk. I thought there was a dead cat in the street and I had to slow down to look. Eh, it was just a wet and flattened newspaper. BORING. I might try this whole "running" thing again tomorrow.

On another note, my right hand is pretty swollen. I'd think I had broken it, but seeing that I'm sitting here typing away, I think it's safe to assume that I have not. And how did I go about semi-breaking my hand? I'll be damned if the fricking linen-closet-doorknob hit me. I was just walking down the hall, and it hit my hand. Don't know HOW it happened, as the doorknob has been attached to that door in the very same spot for the past 5 years, but it did. Asshole doorknob.

Other randomness:
1. Clairey's been peeing and pooping in the potty since Friday. REJOICE! The end of diapers draws near...

2. My dad was able to bump-out the boo-boo on my MiniCooper. Some dickweed ran into my front fender last week, and DIDN'T LEAVE A NOTE. The person also took my fender flare with them. Asswipe. But dad just saved me $575. Dad, you rock.

3. I have so much laundry to do, that I'm considering donating it all to Purple Heart, and starting over.

4. Jenna just informed me, that she knows the Hollaback Girl lyrics say, "That's my shit," rather than the "That's my SHIP" that I've been substituting. I tried to get her to believe that Gwen Stefani's a sailor. That SO didn't work.

5. Claire has informed me that I am a "silly monkey-box-head." Alrighty then.

6. I love chocolate-covered marshmallow bunnies. Actually, I like the chocolate-covered marshmallow eggs, too. And seriously, a serving is actually 6 pieces! Rock on! Somebody finally figured out that, hell, I'm gonna eat half a dozen, so just make THAT a serving. Nobody eats just one marshmallow egg--that's sacreligious.

7. My formal dining room table is a mess from a redecorating stint...that I finished 2 weeks ago.

8. I still haven't set all the clocks in the house. I'm waiting for little elves to do it for me. Screw the shoes!! Set my clocks, you little bastards!

9. I bought a Barbara Streisand/Barry Gibbs CD. That's more of a confession...

And so ends "I'm going to bitch and whine about all the random shit that happens to me Monday."

I vant to suck your bluuuud???

The smallest chick is frightening me. I'd love to be sitting here, typing, "Oh, little Clairey has a thing for babydolls and butterflies!" But, no, it's blood. The wee one has a thing for blood. ANY blood--her blood, the other chick's blood, my blood... The minute someone says, "OUCH!" Clairey's all in your face, asking, "You got bluud?" It's creepy, man. It makes me think I'm raising some kind of weirdo kid. Like, she's going to be the one in middle school that wants to dissect the frogs, because she's hoping they'll bleed. She's going to be all, "C'mon, man! Let's make it BLEED!" Ew. What's next? Kicking puppies? I can't take it.

She came running out of her room with her finger stuck in a cardboard box--I don't even know how to begin explaining that, so I'm not even going to try--so, anyways, her finger's stuck in the box. She was doing that two-year-old whimpering act, so after looking at her with total amusement, I released her finger from the clutches of the evil box. She looks at her finger, looks at me, and says, "My got bluud!" Of course, there is no blood. There's not even a scratch on her finger, but she's crying, "My got bluud! My got bluud!"
"You DON'T have blood."
"Yes! My got bluud!"
"Look. No blood."
She looks.
"Oh. No bluud?"
"No blood."

Then came a scream from the bedroom--Jenna hit her head on the bed. What can I say? The chicks are accident prone. Claire runs over to Jenna: "You got bluud?" Jeesh. What is it with this kid?

Conversations with Jenna

J: "Mom, I want to be a rockstar when I grow up."

M: "You can be anything you want to be, sweetie."

J: "Well, then I'm going to be a rockstar and sing this song on a big stage." (song was Kelly Clarkson's 'Since U Been Gone')

M: "You better start practicing your guitar."

J: "Oh, I'm not going to play the guitar. I told my friend Kaitlin that she was going to play the guitar, Sierra's going to play the drums, and I'M going to be the girl with the microphone, singing."

M: "You have it all planned out, eh?"

J: "Oh yea, that's how it's gonna be when I'm a grown up. Man, I can't wait 'til I'm FIVE."

For the guys...

I hate my uterus. Really. I fricking HATE. MY. UTERUS. The only good thing to come of it was the chicks. Now it's completely frickin useless and I no longer want the damn thing, nor do I want the lovely monthly reminder that comes with said uterus. UTERUS FOR SALE! Really, who the hell am I kidding. You can have the damn thing. FREE.

Uterus Haters, UNITE!

Conversations with Jenna

J: "Mom, when Punkin goes to heaven, you need to buy me a white cat and Clairey a black cat."

M: "Okay..."

J: "You never know, Punkin might get sick. She's been throwing up a lot lately."

M: "You think?"

J: Yeah, I think it's her food, or maybe it's just hairballs, I don't know. But anyways, I want a little, white cat."


Punkin better watch out. Jenna's gonna hire a cleaner to take her out.

ugh

Topics of the day: Stuffy noses. Itchy, watery eyes. Annoying fricking gnat-like fruity-fly thingies. "Mom, you can just go to hell." "Keeping it real."

Let's start at the top, shall we? (If anyone wants to get some cheese, I'm about to bring on the whine.)

My nose is all stuffy. Wahhh! It's that annoying stuffy nose where it's stuffy, but it keeps running. How is that possible? I'm about to just shove Kleenex (see? With the proper brand-capitalization even)up my nostrils just to save myself the time of continually wiping my nose, which is sure to result in some form of carpal tunnel syndrome in my wiping hand and already, a very red nose. Let's just add the watery eyes to the mix. Yay. I feel like ass.

Topic 2: Annoying fricking gnat-like fruity-fly thingies. They are all in my office. There is no rotting fruit here. There is no NOT rotting fuit here. There is me. And I am not rotting either. There is no reason for these flies. There are 2 live plants. One, I have already taken home, because it was surrounded by fruit-fly corpses, and I thought surely, SURELY, this plant was the bearer of the fruit flies. But no, the plant was my friend. It was the MURDERER of these obnoxious bastards. The other plant is going home with me today, and if the flies are still here, don't be surprised to see the 6-ft. tall banana tree outlined with chalk on the front walk. Oh yea, it's going DOWN. Excuse me, whilst I pick a fruit fly out of my teeth...

Topic 3: "Mom, you can go to hell." Funny, she's only four, but has already mastered the "go to hell" look. See for yourself:

She's a professional. I have so much to look forward to.

Topic 4: "Keeping it real." This, my friends, is the slang word of the day. Keep it real; keeping it real 1. to tell the truth 2: to behave in an unaffected manner, as true to one's personality rather than putting on airs or acting like someone else. Even though we were in the midst of renovating the kitchen, Punkin continued to keep it real by shoving her catnip mice-stash under the stove.

The beginnings of an NFL phenom

And here he is, ladies and gentlemen: the World's first ever, 6-month old draftee! Going by "Loco" --he just MIGHT be crazy...Crazy for FOOTBALL, that is-- this little guy has been genetically engineered to be the next big thing in the NFL.

Exhibit A: Here is Loco's foot (on the right), compared with that of a 2.5-year-old.


And here he is in all his burly glory:


To see more of this big guy, visit his homepage.

*and to think...I'm lucky enough to live across the street from this little guy!

Overheard

"You know, daddy, if I see an old lady walk by, I'm going to whip her butt."

But apparently, this will only take place if she's a MEAN old lady.

Boys. They sure are different.

How to end a date in four words...

"Oh, fuck YOU bitch."
"Wanna see my cooter?"
"It's only a booger."
"Is slimy discharge bad?"
"Hey, there's my boyfriend."
"I invited my mom."
"Oh yea...it's small..."

Your turn...

25 questions that I stole from another blogger because I'm bored but really have nothing of great importance to say

1. When you looked at yourself in the mirror today, what was the first thing you thought? "Hey! I think this wrinkle cream is working!"

2. How much cash do you have on you? I shouldn't publicize this, since I don't want to risk getting hit in the head with a heavy object and robbed of all my worldly possessions, but I'll tell you: $1.47. Don't worry. I'll spend it wisely.

3. What's a word that rhymes with "TEST" (not last person's answer!): Vest. As in, "Really, I can't take you seriously as long as you're wearing that sweater vest."

4. My favorite planet? Uranus. hahahahahaha...cracks me up every time. No, not really. Probably, Neptune. That's like the forgotten planet. Random fact: Neptune is smaller in diameter but larger in mass than Uranus. hahahaha. I am laughing so hard.


5. Who is the 4th person on your missed call list: Ironically enough--the person whom I stole this blog idea from. bwahahahahaha....

6. What is your favorite ring on your phone? Pantera's "Cemetary Gates." I hear it a lot, and it always makes me smile.

7. What shirt are you wearing? I should have done this questionnaire on a more exciting day--I'm wearing a green camp shirt. Woo.

8. What do you label yourself? People label me enough--I don't need to be creating any labels for myself...

9. Name the brand of your shoes you're wearing? Um...hang on...must take shoe off...Cherokee. Target specials. They're brown leather, mary janes. My two-year old has the same shoes.

10. Bright or Dark Room? Bright. I love the way the sun paints patterns on the floor.

11. What were you doing at midnight last night? Apologizing for being an idiot.

12. What did your last text message you received on your cell say? ":-D thank you bg! Ilu2...mtw!!" Can I hear a collective, "awwwwwwwww...."?

13. Where is your nearest 7-11? Probably in the closest Northern state. But let me tell you--if there was a 7-11 I'd be all over that Slurpee machine like white on rice.

14. What's a saying that you say a lot? Not really a saying, but a word: "random". Example: one of the chicks says, "Mom. Pigs are pink." I'll say, "Yes, they are. Thanks for that random fact."

15.Who told you they loved you last? My boyfriend. But I don't like to call him my boyfriend--that sounds so ridiculous. I don't know what to call him. So, I don't know, if anyone can come up with a good substitute, let me know.

16. Last furry thing you touched? Of course, something dirty came to mind. Wait, I can't remember the last time I actually touched my cat--maybe the "something dirty" is the right answer.

17. How Many Drugs Have You Done In The Past three Days? 3, at least. And that's not counting the illegal variety. Just kidding, people. Just. Kidding.

18. How many rolls of film do you need to get developed? Rolls? The only "rolls" I have in my house are the toilet paper, the one around my waist, and the ones on Clairey's baby-thighs.

19. Favorite age you have been so far? Hmmmmm...I don't think i've hit my favorite age yet.

20. Your worst enemy? Pistachios. Man, those are MY enemy and anyone within a 10-foot radius.

21. What is your current desktop picture? My super-fun car.

22. What was the last thing you said to someone? Out loud? "Good luck, i love you!"

23. If you had to choose between a million bucks or to be able to fly, which would you choose? Hmmmm...how fast can I fly? Fast enough to...say..."borrow" a million bucks and fly away without being noticed? I think I'd actually choose to fly. I mean, I could blow a million bucks by the time I'm 90, but if I'm 90 and have arthritic knees, I'm gonna love me some flying!

24. Do you like someone? I like a lot of people.

25. The last song you listened to? I don't remember. However, I've been singing "Senor Don Gato" in my head for the last hour.

What's wrong with Cyril?

Have you guys ever seen "Maisy"? As in, "Maisy mouse," the children's animated cartoon character and storybook friend? No? Oh really, you must--you MUST. The show is crudely animated, or is it that the characters are just crudely drawn? They look as if a third grader took a Sharpie and tested their animal-drawing prowess. None of the animals, be it Maisy, Tellulah (a bird), Eddie (elephant), or Cyril (the alligator) speak--but they make noises and a happy-sounding, male narrator tells us what they're saying. It's so very nice of him. Well, all the animals make little squeaky sounds EXCEPT for Cyril. Cyril is....special. Cyril sounds like a confused drunk. A REALLY confused drunk. He's all, "da duh...aba du da do?" Which means, "Hello, Maisy. May I borrow a cup of sugar?" or perhaps, "buh ba boo? Da ma nuh ba noo?" Which translates to, "How are you? I'm fine, thanks." Cyril has taken one too many hits off of Maisy's special lemonade. What the hell's wrong with Cyril?

Memories

The post I started when I got back from New York but forgot about and just finished.

Valentines, schmalentines

Your Candy Heart Says "Get Real"

You're a bit of a cynic when it comes to love. You don't lose your head, and hardly anyone penetrates your heart. Your ideal Valentine's Day date: is all about the person you're seeing (with no mentions of v-day!) Your flirting style: honest and even slightly sarcastic What turns you off: romantic expectations and "greeting card" holidays Why you're hot: you don't just play hard to get - you are hard to get

What Does Your Candy Heart Say?

I'm not 100% against Valentine's Day, by any means. If someone wants to get me chocolate, then hey, I'm not going to complain. I think Valentine's Day should be used as, not a cheesy holiday, but just a day to remind your special someone that, indeed, they are someone special. I think cards are fantastic. I think little gifts are amazing--especially the type that are uncommon and unexpected. I know what I'm getting for Valentine's Day, and I can't wait for it to get here! tee hee!

Rant-of-the-year

Guess what I did today? No, not that. Nope, not that either. And certainly, CERTAINLY not THAT. I did, however, get divorced. Yep. Divorced. And might I just make a suggestion to anyone that's thinking about it? It is so NOT easy, and so NOT fun. Not that I was expecting it to be a cakewalk with confetti and champagne, but it sucks--even when you're the one that wants it. I think what kills me most, is the "other shit." Not even the actual shit that is part of the divorce, but the OTHER shit--which involves OTHER people, who have NOTHING to do with your divorce or WHY you're getting divorced, but hell, they just have to develop their own opinion based on anything and everything they've heard and then you're just screwed. Yeah, THAT other shit. I've lost quite a few friends during this process, and really, it just ticks me off. I understand how it happened, but it STILL pisses me off. You have to understand, this was an amicable divorce, and by "amicable," I mean we didn't try to kill each other with wooden spoons and plastic knives. There were the accusations and the yelling, and the hateful words, and the trying to be nice and move alongs. There was lots of crying and the thinking that I'm a horrible person, and the "oh-my-God-what-am-I-doing-to-the-kids." But there were also the "I am so proud that I was able to break away," and the "I am amazingly happy." Lots of feelings. But people...people are so nosey. People want to be informed. People want to know the dirt; know what's going on behind the closed doors. The thing is, when it's something that hurts me, I don't want to talk about it. I don't tell anybody--not my best friend, not my sister, not my mom. My sister takes the brunt of most of it, then my mom, but that's about it.

I've found that it's pretty easy to lose friends that way--by way of "not talking." It upsets me, but you know, not everyone is the same. Some people don't like to talk about it--that would be me. I just need someone to talk to ME, and remind me that things around me are still normal. That's what I need. I've had enough stress in my life, recently, where I refuse to deal with any more. I don't need anyone to lecture me, or tell me I'm not a good friend, or that my concept of friendship is wrong. To each his own. Lives change, and people change, and in order to build/retain lasting friendships, people have to respect those changes. I suppose, "roll with the punches," in a way.

Then there are the friends that you lose because they were kind of your ex's friends first. There's one couple in particular that I really loved hanging out with. We didn't hang out very often, but when we did, it was a blast. Of course, my ex will still see them often, as he plays softball and golf with the male part of that configuration. Me? I'll most likely never see them again. Not only because I don't want to feel like I'm "moving in" on his friends, but because they have heard my ex's opinions on this whole divorce, so I'm sure they have developed their own thoughts on it, based on what he's told them. I can guarantee you that his opionion is not nice. It doesn't paint a pretty picture. --sigh--

Then there's the family. My ex's family, which I miss, but have found out that one of his sisters "never liked" me anyway, and that my favorite sister-in-law has said some choice words about me. I'm telling ya. It's killer. What really sucks, is that my brother has basically taken sides. That truly deserves an ass-kicking. If he wasn't much bigger than me, and an ex-Marine, I'd beat him within an inch of his life. My dad has also taken sides--haha--the two men who I've built all my opinions on men upon...tell me THAT doesn't suck big goat balls.

Okay, I think I'm finished bitching about this. Today is the beginning of a new life in love for me. I've learned what I can deal with, and what I can't; what I need, and what I don't; what truly makes me happy, and what causes me to cry. The most important thing I've found, is ME.

I've also found that chili and cheese on tator tots is pretty damn awesome.

Gimme some comments, people. I need to laugh.

Friday Haiku

Rain, rain, go away
I just got divorced today.
Boy, does it feel strange.

Feeling blue

Today, me and my chicks are sporting blue streaks in our hair. I work for a very young, hip, and kickass company, where blue-hair is accepted. Plus, I'm the only one in my office, so it really doesn't matter. Anyways, after the chicks saw my hair, they wanted blue hair, too--and why would I deny them?! Jenna has a few streaks in the front, to which she replied, "MOM. This is absolutely COOL." And Clairey has a few streaks in the front, to which she replied, "Boo hair! boo hair! Yeah!"

visual:


Their dad is picking them up from school/sitter's today--wonder how that's going to go over.

NOTE TO THE FATHER OF THE CHICKS: It washes out.

Reminiscing.....
When I was in 5th grade, my mom let me dye large chunks of my hair electric blue. She was the coolest mom ever (and still is). I know that story's around here somewhere...

Not surprising...

The Movie Of Your Life Is A Cult Classic

Quirky, offbeat, and even a little campy - your life appeals to a select few. But if someone's obsessed with you, look out! Your fans are downright freaky. Your best movie matches: Office Space, Showgirls, The Big Lebowski

If Your Life Was a Movie, What Genre Would It Be?

From the mouths of babes

Jenna: "Mommy, I love you--you're my girl!"


Clairey: "You're a neck!"
Mommy: "A 'neck'?"
Clairey: "You such a neck!"


Pre-explanation: Claire's poop has been vibrant green for the past week...
Mommy: "Clairey, what's up with all the green poop? What have you been eating? Grass?"
Jenna: "I think it's the pickles."

Hear the voice that causes mean 'ol bastards to melt

This is Clairey, age 2.5. She's going through this stage where she likes to talk like a baby--i don't know what's up with that. So here ya go--Claire discussing her recent painting of a pink, sparkly kitty; and a few lines of "The Itsy Bitsy Spider."
Enjoy!

Everyones favorite mom

Kid: "Mom, I'm hungry. I want breakfast."
Mom: "You want cake?"
Kid: "No."
Mom: "Well, that's what we're having--chocolate cake."
Kid: "No! I don't want cake!"
Mom: "Listen, we're out of cereal; I have to go to the store. You either eat chocolate cake for breakfast, or you're not eating."

I remember thinking, once, that my kids would always have a nutritious breakfast...

Tag!

I've been tagged, blogger style:

Here are the rules: The tagged victim lists 8 different points of their perfect lover/partner, mentioning the sex of said partner. Tag 8 victims to join this game & leave a comment on a post letting them know they've been tagged. If tagged before, no need to contribute.

I will spare you all the trouble, and will be not be tagging...

So, let's see...my "perfect" partner must:

1. Be courteous. I can't stand rude people. If someone says, "Thank you," you say "You're welcome." Smile at people, for God's sake. If you want to be a mean bastard, then feel free, but you won't be doing it with me.

2. Be interested, meaning: please take an interest in some of the things that interest me. I'm not asking you to love it, i'm not asking you to take on my hobbies; i'm asking you to RESPECT what I like and, perhaps, be open to learning about some of my favorite things.

3. Be health-conscious. I'm not asking for someone who is constantly counting calories, but please, if you're my "perfect partner," I'd like you to be around to grow old with. Know what I mean?

4. Have a sense of humor. I'm silly. It helps if you are too. That would readily eliminate any of the "You're such a dipshit" looks that I'm so accustomed to getting.

5. Be a communicator. If you can't talk to me, it's just not going to work. I really do want to know what you're thinking.

6. Love my kids. They are my life. I'm a package deal, baby.

7. Be romantic. I'm a sucker for romance. You don't have to buy me things, but if you leave me a love note, I'll melt.

8. Be intelligent. I'm not saying you have to be an Einstein, but come on, you HAVE to be able to carry on an intelligent conversation with me.

I could keep going, but I'm limited to 8...

The post that I started when I got back from NY, but then got sidetracked and forgot that I had started it until I just now found it.

My plane landed at 1am this morning. It was delayed because there was a light, rainy mist happening in New York, and apparently, that's a totally horrible thing, and all flights must be delayed. Meanwhile, at Houston Intercontinental, they're throwing planes out into a hurricane, "Look at that windshear! Woooo doggy! You don't even need that thar runway!"

The pilot also decided to take the longest route home to Texas. It took us 3 hours to get to NY, and 4 hours to get home. I don't understand what his realm of thinking was. Perhaps something to the effect of, "Let's see...the plane's already over an hour late leaving, it's rainy--bound to be some turbulence, the inflight movie sucks...I got it! Let's keep 'em on the plane as long as possible!" If this is payback for the flight-attendant joke I made a few years ago, I'm sorry. It's just, that, I don't think he MINDED being called a "stewardess." And I had a feeling that I might have gone too far with the panty-line comment. Again, I'm sorry.

Anyways, about 1/2 way through the FOUR HOUR FLIGHT, my leg started getting restless. No, not both of them, just one. My right leg. Seriously, that has to be the most annoying thing in the world. I have no leg room, and it's impossible to stretch when you're in the middle seat. By the time we landed, I was about to saw the damn thing off with a coffee stirrer--compliments of Continental. But I'm sure that if I would have sawed off my leg and carried it out, I would have been busted for having one too many carry-ons.

My New York trip was awesome--just what I needed--a little vacation and some time with my mom and sister. I NEVER get mom+sister time anymore, and let me tell you--I totally miss it. I'm so glad they talked me into going, because I needed that time to rebuild. You would think, with the three of us crazies there, that we would have painted the town red. Nope, not so much. I went to work with my sister on Friday, wherein I did such crazy things as make labels! and clean the storage room! Saturday, we shopped in Brooklyn (all damn day), ate at a kickass place called, "Pegasus" (where I ate entirely too much, but alas, was able to impress all the locals with my impressive breakfast-eating abilities), and then later, got sushi. But not before I was able to take some awesome pictures with my trusty 'ole camera. I'll have to post some later. That night, rather than going out and partying, we went grocery shopping, then watched movies. I told you---CRAZY. We DID try to make this blue-raspberrytini thing, but it ended up looking like that "1000 flushes blue" stuff that you put in your toilet, and tasted like rat poison. But I digress.

2 thumbs up

Look! Look! I can take off my do-rag, wear makeup, and pretend to be exotic! Here I am: The Exotic Mom. Don'tcha love photoshop?



I'm sure, however, that there must be a My Little Pony or at least a dried-up Spaghettio somewhere in that picture...

New York Religion

In Texas, there is a pretty wide-range of religions. There are Baptists, then there are Korean-Baptists, then the Chinese-Baptists, and the Southern-Baptists. It's all very diverse. With all these churches, comes the sign out front. And with the sign, is usually the topic of this Sunday's sermon, or "message." You know, the "message"...things such as, "Living your best life with the Lord," or "Do you know Jesus?" or "What Would Jesus Do for Dinner?"

New York has diverse religions, too--at least in Brooklyn, because in Brooklyn, you have Catholics and Lutherans. It's crazy insane. And the churches in New York all have their church signs, too, and they even have messages! Messages! On the church signs! Good messages, like, "The Problem with Meat." OH yes.

Exhibit A:



I mean, it was a Lutheran church, so if it was, "The Problem with Catholics," I'd understand. But MEAT? Do Lutherans have that much of an issue with meat, that they have to have an entire SERMON on it? A sermon on the "problem" with meat. How, exactly, is this meat problematic for the Lutherans? Really, enquiring minds want to know. I just may attend Lutheran church on Sunday, just to find out if meat really is a problem.

Maybe it's just a "Vegan Lutheran" church.

Friday Haiku

I'm in NYC.
I am freezing my ass off.
It's too cold for me.

Missing something

Your Personality Is

Idealist (NF) You are a passionate, caring, and unique person. You are good at expressing yourself and sharing your ideals. You are the most compassionate of all types and connect with others easily. Your heart tends to rule you. You can't make decisions without considering feelings. You seek out other empathetic people to befriend. Truth and authenticity matters in your friendships. In love, you give everything you have to relationships. You fall in love easily. At work, you crave personal expression and meaning in your career. With others, you communicate well. You can spend all night talking with someone. As far as your looks go, you've likely taken the time to develop your own personal style. On weekends, you like to be with others. Charity work is also a favorite pastime of yours.

The Three Question Personality Test

*Funny, it doesn't mention anything about being a sarcastic bitch. Hmmmm...

The PC term is, "Vertically Challenged"

Okay, the stats are in, and the consensus is: My children are midgets. I'm sure that's not pc, but if I call my chicks midgets, they don't seem to care, so I'm going with it.

This evening, my neighbor and her kids came over for "breakfast for dinner." At one point, this was going to be a weekly thing, but then I got a boyfriend and she went and had a baby. Jeesh. Like it's not hard enough flipping pancakes with a new boyfriend in the picture, she had to go and add a whole 'nother kid to the mix. The nerve. Anyways, it was "breakfast for dinner" at my house. The moms start cooking, and the kids start screaming, because really, that's what they do. We're in the kitchen burning pancakes and flinging bacon grease in our eyes, and the kids are in the playroom beating the hell out of each other. It's quite the normal situation. Just louder. And more entertaining. Yea, that's it. So, there's bacon grease in my eye and on my friend's lip and thumb, and the kids are screaming and the eggs are smoking and the pancakes are burning. It's pretty much like a kegger, but instead of beer, there is milk; and instead of a keg, there's a plethora of sippy cups. "Soccer Mom Kegger 2006! Woooooo!!!"

I have no idea where I was going with this, so I'll just revert back to the title of this post, and go with that. My kids are small. Actually, Jenna's pretty much caught up to her peers and is simply described as "petite." Clairey, on the other hand, still looks funny when she runs because she's just SO SMALL. It's generally not too apparent to me, I mean, I'm a smallish-type person, so I expect my chicks to be of the "smallish type." When it becomes extremely apparent how small they are, however, is when you stand 'em right next to my friend's little girl, Loo. Now, I have to explain: My kids are small, her kids are so-not-small-because-they-come-from-stock-that-usually-eats-people-of-my-stature. Loo's daddy was a college football player, and her mommy was a college rower (that can't be the correct term for that...). They are both tall, built, and could kick your ass. Yeah, YOUR ass--I'm talking to you. Anyways, these people make large children. Case in point: Their 4-month old is the size of your average 9-month old. I'm not kidding. He's already being scouted by NFL teams.

So, this evening, simply for the joy of taking pictures of our kids so we could poke fun at them, I present to you, "Study in Height."



The kids, from left to right, are: Clairey (2), Loo (3), and Jenna (4). The age difference between Clairey and Loo is TEN MONTHS.

Good things come in small packages. Just remember that.

Friday Haiku

Dear Client

Another meeting.
We know you don't do jack shit.
You're not fooling us.

Overheard

"I'm going to take off my clothes and do ballet!"

Wherever are people going to tuck their singles?

Mac & Cheese: The Neglected Main Course

I'm a follower of the "Mac is Main" party--a grassroots effort to prove that Macaroni and Cheese is, indeed, a main course and not a side dish. I believe that the only people who treat mac and cheese as a side are Texans (maybe other Southerners?) and the people who work at Luby's. It's noodles. It's cheese. It's no different than spaghetti. I stand firm in my belief!

She can work it

"Mom. Water." (sliding her cup towards me)

"Ummm...I don't think so." (sliding her cup back)

"Hello? I want water."

"Hello? You can get up and get it."

"But mom, you're the boss. YOU'RE supposed to get my water."

I'm such a sucker.

I don't use sidewalks

Last night, as we were taking a walk with the neighbor, Jenna was complaining because her wagon was being pulled on the sidewalk, and I was pulling Clairey's wagon in the street. To explain to Jenna why I was in the street, I simply stated, "Mommy doesn't follow the rules--I'm a 'streetwalker'."

Nicely stated. NICELY stated.

Today's Meme

Four jobs I have had in my life:

Nanny
Jewelry salesperson
Pre-K teacher
Editor

Four Movies I could watch over and over:

The Princess Bride
Army of Darkness
Ferris Bueller's Day Off
Pride and Prejudice (the BBC version)

Four places I have lived:

Royal Oak, MI
Sterling Heights, MI
Kingwood, TX
Spring, TX

Four TV shows I love to watch:

Um...I really don't watch tv

Four Places I have been on vacation:

Germany
Austria
Cabo San Lucas
Acapulco

Four websites I visit daily:

Countless Blogs
Houston Chronicle
a BB that I've belonged to for 5 years
....

Four of my favorite foods:

Salad. I love lettuce.
7-layer cookies (does that count as food?)
artichokes
bagels

Four places I'd rather be:

In my bed, sleeping
At the movies
Outside, reading
Cozumel

Four CD's I can't live without:

My "Mommy Mix"
and 3 others that, if I don't have them, all hell breaks lose in my car and the chicks threaten to jump out:
Kelly Clarkson
Beastie Boys
Laurie Berkner

Good point

Never explain--your friends do not need it and your enemies will not believe you anyway. - Elbert Hubbard (1856 - 1915)

Conversations with Clairey

Setting: Mommy and Clairey, sitting in the armchair, watching 'Dora'.

Clairey: (holding up a Strawberry Shortcake pony) "Wass dis ponie stmell like?"
Mommy: "Ummm..." *sniff, sniff* "I'm not sure...I think green apples."
Clairey: "Geen appohss?"
Mommy: "Yeah, I think so."

(Claire takes the pony and bends it's legs back, then sniffs the pony again.)

Clairey: "Mommy! Stmell, stmell!!"
Mommy: *sniff, sniff* "Yep, green apples."
Clairey: "See? Pony's *peachie stmells like geen appohss, too!"

*insert "your" word for a girls private part.

This kid is trying to kill me.

Sunday at our house

Somehow, Clairey's finger "accidentally" went up Jenna's nose. The finger up the nose resulted in a gi-normous bloody nose on Jenna's part, which, amazingly enough, happened with no screaming. Indeed, today was a holy day.

Did ya miss it?

It's back, people!! The "Friday Haiku!"

Petroleum Jelly

My hands are so dry.
I put Vaseline on them.
Now they feel greasy.

Crusty Cat Boogers

Cat, what's in your eye?
It's a crusty cat-booger?
That's so disgusting.

Friends

There are so many different kinds of friends: There is your best friend, whom you see (or at least talk to), nearly every day--this is the friend that buys you diapers, then delivers them to your house, because only SHE knows exactly how low you are on diapers when you say, "I'm low on diapers"; there is the best friend whom you don't see every day, but have an uninterruptible connection with--the one whom you "catch up with" over coffee and just want to sit on her couch all day, because her friendship feels so comfy; there is the "forever" friend whom you haven't seen in years--maybe you've talked on the phone a couple months ago, maybe you email semi-often, however, this friend will always be your friend, no matter what.

I count myself lucky to have all of these friends.

Thanks for the diaper delivery.

Thanks for the couch and coffee.

Thanks for the email and nice words.

You're all so important to me.

I forgot the most important friend--the sister. The sister who won't change a poopy diaper, drinks all your coffee, then calls you a 'bitch' but you gotta love her because she's blood.

Wow, this post was almost all serious.

"Why I only have two" or "If I have another, I will surely end up admitted"

Last Saturday, I believe it was (see how I've already tried to erase the memory?), I had the very unwise idea to go with my friend to Sam's Club. Not only was it unwise because of the copious amount of money I can spend on Cheeze-It's in bulk, but because we have 4 children between the ages of 4 months and 4 years. Getting there wasn't the hard part--she has a mini van, I have a mini cooper. She just flipped down her backseats, and I pulled in. Damn, those automatic doors are nice!

Anyways, we get to the warehouse, and I'm all ready to save loads of money by buying in bulk, which is a smart thing to do these days, because my boyfriend's two little boys are very much like shrews--they eat 12 times their own body weight per day. I know little boys need food to grow, but sweet baby Jesus, what kind of person can eat 3 pounds of animal crackers in one day?! It's fascinating, more than anything. The little one shows me his belly, so I can witness the success of his caloric intake; and the big one must burn it off as quickly as he eats it, because he's a skinny thing. But he does run fast--it must be those animal crackers and the they-turn-your-tongue-green Cheetos. But I digress...

So my friend and I load up the kids in these nifty, double-seated shopping carts, and steer our way into the mecca of bulk-food buying. We have the 3 year-old and 4-year old in one cart, and the 2 year-old and 4-month old in the other cart (2-year old's in the back, and the baby's in his seat in the front). This all works out fine and dandy--for about 5 minutes. Then the little one wants to ride in the other cart. Then the older two want to walk. So we play cart-switch with the little one, and take the older two out of the cart. Chaos ensues. They like to hold hands and run. Pretty soon, they're dodging other shoppers, and elderly people handing out samples of bagel bites. Between my friend and I, there's the constant warning of, "Girls! Slow down!" "Girls! Stay by the mommies!" and "Girls! Watch out!" It's really a good show, and several people are eyeing us. While the girls are holding hands and charming the other shoppers with their hijinks, my friend and I are loading our carts with oatmeal cream pies the size of my head, and cheesecake. I didn't say it was a healthfood store, people. Who wants to buy healthy fare in bulk? Not I. Bring on the Little Debbie snackcakes.

We finally make it to the checkout line, where we both find out that we spent way more than we planned to, but since we were "buying in bulk" and there were "so many good deals," we talked ourselves into thinking that we were amazing shoppers and had just saved the entire country's financial woes by the money we spent. We're both very persuasive. So, being the smart women we are, when the kids started getting rowdy, we decided that I would take them out to the car. Again, that's a 4-year old, a 3-year old, a 2-year old, and a 4-month old. I'm not sure at which point in the shopping extravaganza that we were secretly injected with crack, but surely, we had to have been. I stroll out of the store--the two oldest holding hands, walking on my right; the toddler, holding onto my pants, walking on my left; and the baby, in his carrier, on the basket seat.

It was all going really well, and then we got outside. Where there were cars, and people, and bright lights and noise, and all the other things that distract kids from listening to the boss. Pretty soon, I was trying to corral the older two by fervently yelling at them to "hang on to the cart!", keeping the little one close by, by holding out my left leg and hooking her in with my foot; hopping on my right leg, pushing the cart, and preventing the baby from tipping out of the shopping cart with my right arm. Have you ever seen one of those street performers than can play 15 instruments at once? Yes, it was much like that, but without the cymbals or the harmonica. My friend exited the store just in time to see me nearly get run over by a Suburban, in which the driver had failed to check the rear-view mirror; and to which I ignored the man in the truck, flailing his arms and telling me to stop--assuming he was just waving at the kids. Come to find out, he was trying to flag me down to tell me to stop because of the impending flattening of me and the orphanage that I was trying to keep under control.

My friend met up with me, and we tried to group the kids together--which didn't work as we had planned. Thankfully, a grandma was walking by, took pity on us, and commandeered my shopping cart, allowing me to arrest the toddler and carry her, football style, across the parking lot. Meanwhile, my friend and I are yelling to each other over parked cars, "NO MORE! THIS is why I stopped at two!"

Urinal Stance

Apparently, there is the "Superman" and the "Urinal Hugger." Nice.

Robert Mondavi...can I marry you?

1 ENORMOUS bottle of white wine, 1 regular bottle of red, 3 people, 2 kids and a spread on the "My Little Pony" market= a damn good time.