Last night when I was tucking in Claire for the night:
Clairey: "Mommy, after you tuck me in, what are you going to do?"
Mommy: "I'm going to go tuck Jenna in."
Clairey: "Then what?"
Mommy: "I'm going to go downstairs and read."
Clairey: "What are you going to read?"
Mommy: "Oh, I don't know. Probably some poetry."
Clairey: "What's 'po-tree'?"
Mommy: "You know...poems..."
Clairey: "Oh, I like ploloms."
Mommy: "You do?"
Clairey: "Yeah, I like to eat 'em."
Mommy: "You don't eat 'poems', honey, you read them."
Clairey: "But they're good."
Mommy: "I don't think we're talking about the same thing. What are you talking about? What do you think a poem is?"
Clairey: "Those little, round black things with holes on the end."
Mommy: [thinking] "....Olives?"
Clairey: "Yeah, I like to eat olives."
Sep 27, 2007
Sep 20, 2007
Sep 19, 2007
The perfect princess room
Man, when I was a kid, I DREAMED about a room like this. The creation of Clairey's room was one of her birthday presents...she LOVES it. I love it. I could sit in there for hours.
Before (there was already a sky painted on the ceiling--thanks previous owners!):
After:
and there's more!
I forgot to mention that before I got on the freeway (wherein my clutch blew), that I had to go through a toll booth. That's right, a TOLL BOOTH--"free" roads are for pussies. So anyways, I get up to the toll booth, look in my purse, and i have NO CASH. I almost just started laughing hysterically. The toll-booth matron had to write me a special toll-booth ticket. I have to mail $1.50 to the county within 7 days or they're going to do something horrible to me. Like arrest me. Over $1.50.
Sep 18, 2007
The Monday to end all Mondays
But first, I must give you a brief rundown on some of the weekend's happenings:
On Friday night, my clutch started slipping.
Saturday morning, I call the Mini dealer and they tell me to bring it in on Monday at 1:30.
Sunday night, I realize that I must have a valid driver's license to get a loaner (mine was expired, had the wrong address, and not my married name).
Let's move on....
Part One
Monday morning, I get up, get the girls dressed/fed/brushed/muzzled, and off to their places of destiny--Jenna, bus; Clairey, babysitter's. And then, thinking I am oh-so-starting off my week responsibly, I head on out to the DMV to renew my license. I'm driving, driving, driving, and realize that the DMV is not where I left it last. I KNOW I'm on the right street, but it wasn't this far down last time. I'm pissed. My car is running like crap, and I need a license. I'm screaming out expletives because the fucking DMV has relocated. My phone informs me what street it's on, and I KNOW i'm already ON that street. I look around. Shit. I'm actually NOT on that street. Sonofabitch. I find the right street and still can't find the DMV. I turn around, go back, and there it is. I passed it. Find a parking spot, walk to the front and realize that I forgot to pull out cash. &*$#%$**!! I think, "Oh, maybe they've come into the 21st century and accept debit cards now." I walk in. "NO CREDIT CARDS ACCEPTED. ONLY PERSONAL CHECKS AND MONEY ORDERS." I don't have any checks, and it's not like I carry around money orders. I go home--fighting the urge to cry.
Part Deux
I go home, answer some emails, and get the courage to go back out. I go to the bank and get a money order. Of course, it takes 30 minutes because I am coerced into opening a new savings account and accosted about how I should own one of their credit cards. No thanks. I get my money order and head back to the DMV--taking the correct street, mind you. I park, get out of my car, and go to the doors. There's a large sign posted to the door that says, "COMPUTERS DOWN." WTF? I open the door, and the 90-year old DMV worker says, "We can't do ANYTHING. All computers are down." I go back out to my car, lock the door, and curse the gods. The closet DMV is frickin FOREVER away, down a major freeway, and in a car with the clutch slipping...UGH.
Part Three
Fighting back tears, I start the trek to the other DMV. My car goes from 0-10 in 2 minutes. Sucks for the people behind me. I FINALLY get to the other DMV, and can't find a parking spot. I find one, but there's a sign by it that says, "Parking only for [blah, blah, blah]." Whatever, I park there. I go in, wait for 35 minutes, and get a number: A15. I look up at the counter: 36. Hooray. It's got to go all the way to 99, then count up to 15 before it's my turn. Geez almighty. Two-and a half hours later, I'm on my way home. Whoops, no i'm not. It's 12:30 and I have to be at the Mini dealership at 1:30. I'm on my way to the Mini dealership.
Part Four
I'm going 65mph down the freeway. My clutch blows. Totally. I pull over and am stranded on the side of a busy interstate. Do I cry? NO. But I want to kill people now. I call the Mini dealership. They tell me to call Mini assistance or some crap like that. I call them. They send a tow-truck. 35 minutes later, the tow-truck is there. He loads up my car--while he's doing so, I get into the truck and do a quick inspection for any type of deadly-looking instrument--there's a UT shirt and a pair of boots. I think I'm safe. The driver gets in, and takes me to the dealership.
Part Five
I find out that if it IS my clutch, it's going to cost me $1800 to fix. Oh yes, and it's NOT covered by my warranty. They give me a loaner and I drive home. I'm STILL not crying, but am oh-so-close. I spend the drive home thinking of which corner would be best to sell my body to earn the $1800.
Part Six
Mini-lady calls--I'm giving the girls a bath so I don't hear it ring. It IS my clutch and it's going to cost $1825 and change. I go into the bathroom to either puke or pee. I decide to pee. My phone rings.
Part Seven
I get the message. It's my boss. Yelling at me. The client is EXTREMELY pissed at me for something. I consider drowning myself. I sit on the floor and instead of crying, I eat a popsicle. It didn't work. I still feel like crying. I wake up on the couch. I go upstairs and go to bed.
Exuent Monday
P.S. It's Tuesday. I just found out that my boss was laid-off and that my company has lost our account and all our work is being outsourced to India. We have a big meeting at 430. I hope I still have a job.
On Friday night, my clutch started slipping.
Saturday morning, I call the Mini dealer and they tell me to bring it in on Monday at 1:30.
Sunday night, I realize that I must have a valid driver's license to get a loaner (mine was expired, had the wrong address, and not my married name).
Let's move on....
Part One
Monday morning, I get up, get the girls dressed/fed/brushed/muzzled, and off to their places of destiny--Jenna, bus; Clairey, babysitter's. And then, thinking I am oh-so-starting off my week responsibly, I head on out to the DMV to renew my license. I'm driving, driving, driving, and realize that the DMV is not where I left it last. I KNOW I'm on the right street, but it wasn't this far down last time. I'm pissed. My car is running like crap, and I need a license. I'm screaming out expletives because the fucking DMV has relocated. My phone informs me what street it's on, and I KNOW i'm already ON that street. I look around. Shit. I'm actually NOT on that street. Sonofabitch. I find the right street and still can't find the DMV. I turn around, go back, and there it is. I passed it. Find a parking spot, walk to the front and realize that I forgot to pull out cash. &*$#%$**!! I think, "Oh, maybe they've come into the 21st century and accept debit cards now." I walk in. "NO CREDIT CARDS ACCEPTED. ONLY PERSONAL CHECKS AND MONEY ORDERS." I don't have any checks, and it's not like I carry around money orders. I go home--fighting the urge to cry.
Part Deux
I go home, answer some emails, and get the courage to go back out. I go to the bank and get a money order. Of course, it takes 30 minutes because I am coerced into opening a new savings account and accosted about how I should own one of their credit cards. No thanks. I get my money order and head back to the DMV--taking the correct street, mind you. I park, get out of my car, and go to the doors. There's a large sign posted to the door that says, "COMPUTERS DOWN." WTF? I open the door, and the 90-year old DMV worker says, "We can't do ANYTHING. All computers are down." I go back out to my car, lock the door, and curse the gods. The closet DMV is frickin FOREVER away, down a major freeway, and in a car with the clutch slipping...UGH.
Part Three
Fighting back tears, I start the trek to the other DMV. My car goes from 0-10 in 2 minutes. Sucks for the people behind me. I FINALLY get to the other DMV, and can't find a parking spot. I find one, but there's a sign by it that says, "Parking only for [blah, blah, blah]." Whatever, I park there. I go in, wait for 35 minutes, and get a number: A15. I look up at the counter: 36. Hooray. It's got to go all the way to 99, then count up to 15 before it's my turn. Geez almighty. Two-and a half hours later, I'm on my way home. Whoops, no i'm not. It's 12:30 and I have to be at the Mini dealership at 1:30. I'm on my way to the Mini dealership.
Part Four
I'm going 65mph down the freeway. My clutch blows. Totally. I pull over and am stranded on the side of a busy interstate. Do I cry? NO. But I want to kill people now. I call the Mini dealership. They tell me to call Mini assistance or some crap like that. I call them. They send a tow-truck. 35 minutes later, the tow-truck is there. He loads up my car--while he's doing so, I get into the truck and do a quick inspection for any type of deadly-looking instrument--there's a UT shirt and a pair of boots. I think I'm safe. The driver gets in, and takes me to the dealership.
Part Five
I find out that if it IS my clutch, it's going to cost me $1800 to fix. Oh yes, and it's NOT covered by my warranty. They give me a loaner and I drive home. I'm STILL not crying, but am oh-so-close. I spend the drive home thinking of which corner would be best to sell my body to earn the $1800.
Part Six
Mini-lady calls--I'm giving the girls a bath so I don't hear it ring. It IS my clutch and it's going to cost $1825 and change. I go into the bathroom to either puke or pee. I decide to pee. My phone rings.
Part Seven
I get the message. It's my boss. Yelling at me. The client is EXTREMELY pissed at me for something. I consider drowning myself. I sit on the floor and instead of crying, I eat a popsicle. It didn't work. I still feel like crying. I wake up on the couch. I go upstairs and go to bed.
Exuent Monday
P.S. It's Tuesday. I just found out that my boss was laid-off and that my company has lost our account and all our work is being outsourced to India. We have a big meeting at 430. I hope I still have a job.
Sep 12, 2007
Before and After: Family Room
All walls had dark paneling on them (no sheetrock underneath) that had been painted pale yellow. Painted really crappily, may I add. Both sides of the fireplace had these obnoxious built-ins going on, that that I had to DEMOLISH to get outta there. Whew.
All the walls have been textured...that horrendous front door will be getting a makeover soon...
Sep 11, 2007
Conversations with Jenna
As I was lying down with her in bed last night going through her 'sight words':
Me: What does a-s spell?
Jenna: A-S....(big eyes) That's a bad word.
Me: No it's not. What's it spell?
Jenna: Ass is a bad word mom.
Me: hahahaha! It spells "azz."
Jenna: Well, ass really isn't a bad word. But we call asses 'donkeys.' Why is ass a bad word?
Me: Well, it's just not nice to call someone an 'ass.'
Jenna: Why are stupid, heck, and shit bad words?
Me: (laughing) 'stupid' and 'heck' really aren't bad words--they're just not nice to say. 'Shit' IS a bad word, but I don't know why. Somehow, over time, it just became a bad word.
Jenna: Can I say 'heck'?
Me: yeah, you can say 'heck.' But not 'shit.'
hahahahaha!
Me: What does a-s spell?
Jenna: A-S....(big eyes) That's a bad word.
Me: No it's not. What's it spell?
Jenna: Ass is a bad word mom.
Me: hahahaha! It spells "azz."
Jenna: Well, ass really isn't a bad word. But we call asses 'donkeys.' Why is ass a bad word?
Me: Well, it's just not nice to call someone an 'ass.'
Jenna: Why are stupid, heck, and shit bad words?
Me: (laughing) 'stupid' and 'heck' really aren't bad words--they're just not nice to say. 'Shit' IS a bad word, but I don't know why. Somehow, over time, it just became a bad word.
Jenna: Can I say 'heck'?
Me: yeah, you can say 'heck.' But not 'shit.'
hahahahaha!
Off to a good start
Jenna has been in kindergarten for, oh, 2 weeks now--this is her third week. On the Friday before school started, Jenna and I went up to her school for the annual "Meet the Teacher" day. Actually, not so much a day, but an allotted 1 hour to get to take a nervous, non-social kid into a strange place and get her to "mingle" with a random woman who will take up 7 hours of everyday until the next summer. Sounds good, eh? So, we listen to the principal introduce the seven k-garten teachers, then we hear the spiel on how k-garten is so fun because they get to play with blocks! and read books! and color! and don't worry parents, because they're actually learning at the same time. Yeah. Okay. Then we all get to stand in this crowded hall in front of locked double doors to wait for the magic moment when the PTA member opens the door and we can all rush into the hallway and hunt down our kids' teacher/classroom. It was a lot like waiting to get into Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. Without the candy. And with a lot of small children that looked like they were about to have diarreah on the freshly cleaned carpet.
The door finally opened, and we all piled into the hallway. Jenna and I just walked further and further down the hall, because Jenna was lucky enough to be assigned to a portable building outside. Yay. Portable buildings! It's like a trailer park on campus, minus the tornadoes and greasy men in wife beaters. We found Jenna's trailer and walked inside, wherein Jenna decided that this would be the perfect opportunity to glue her 40 pounds to my left leg. Her teacher approached us and asked, "What's your name?" I think Jenna growled. I answered for her: "This is Jenna."
"OH, Jenna! I remember you from my list!" No response.
"She's nervous," I say. The teacher squats down next to Jenna and sweetly asks, "Don't be nervous Jenna. Tell me, what are some of your favorite things?"
Jenna looked at her and answered, " Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens." Just kidding. She actually looked at her and whispered, "I like the 'Four big cats'." Her teacher smiled and replied, "Well, gues what? I have a big cat at home!" I thought it was a nice gesture--trying to bond with my kid. But let's not forget--Jenna's not typical. Jenna hears her, unattaches from my leg, gives her poor unassuming teacher this LOOK, and replies," Not DOMESTIC cats, the 'four BIG cats': Lions, tigers, leopards, and cheetahs. JEESH!" She delivered it in a tone that said, "You stupid, stupid woman! Don't you watch National Geographic??"
I just looked at the teacher and shrugged. Off to a good start, wouldn't you say?
The door finally opened, and we all piled into the hallway. Jenna and I just walked further and further down the hall, because Jenna was lucky enough to be assigned to a portable building outside. Yay. Portable buildings! It's like a trailer park on campus, minus the tornadoes and greasy men in wife beaters. We found Jenna's trailer and walked inside, wherein Jenna decided that this would be the perfect opportunity to glue her 40 pounds to my left leg. Her teacher approached us and asked, "What's your name?" I think Jenna growled. I answered for her: "This is Jenna."
"OH, Jenna! I remember you from my list!" No response.
"She's nervous," I say. The teacher squats down next to Jenna and sweetly asks, "Don't be nervous Jenna. Tell me, what are some of your favorite things?"
Jenna looked at her and answered, " Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens." Just kidding. She actually looked at her and whispered, "I like the 'Four big cats'." Her teacher smiled and replied, "Well, gues what? I have a big cat at home!" I thought it was a nice gesture--trying to bond with my kid. But let's not forget--Jenna's not typical. Jenna hears her, unattaches from my leg, gives her poor unassuming teacher this LOOK, and replies," Not DOMESTIC cats, the 'four BIG cats': Lions, tigers, leopards, and cheetahs. JEESH!" She delivered it in a tone that said, "You stupid, stupid woman! Don't you watch National Geographic??"
I just looked at the teacher and shrugged. Off to a good start, wouldn't you say?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
