In the shower this evening, Clairey looks at me and asks, "Mom, is a peachie [what we call 'girl' parts] really called a 'Vir-ZHEN-ia'?" And, because i'm an excellent mother and lie to my children often, I said yes. She looked concerned for a moment.
"Virzhenia, eh? Hmmm...I always thought that was a state."
"It IS a state," I said. Of course, I had to turn my face into the shower because I was trying so hard to keep a straight face.
Still concerned, she says, "Wow, that really stinks for the people that live there."
Then, piping up from the other room, comes Jenna's voice: "It's not a 'vir-ZHEN-ia! It's a 'vir-zhEYEn-ia'!" Yeah, I didn't correct that one either.
Vagina, Virginia, Virzhenia,Virzheyenia--it's all the same. And, according to Clairey, "You can hurt Virzhenia by littering--so don't litter. Oh, and you can hurt your virzhenia, too--like if you fall off your bike or something."
So take note people--don't litter, and don't fall off your bike.
Nov 9, 2011
Oct 20, 2011
This is what happens when you work from home
I think about random crap. A lot. I also have random dreams. I had a dream that i met my nephew Vincent for the first time, and although only 5mths old, he told me (in a British accent) that everyone is teasing him about his mustache. He was mustachioed. (Is that a word? It is now.) See? Random.
I guess I have a lot of random crap thinking-time because I work from home and have no one to interact with except El Gato Guapo. Yes, he IS muy guapo, but really, I get tired of looking at his handsomeness all day. He likes to sit on my lap and watch me Tweet and Facebook and edit blog posts and it's-about-to-get-posted-on-the-corporate-site documents. He enjoys it. So do I.
I hate it how people think I don't do anything. You know, because I work from home. Yes, it's 2:12pm and I'm still in my jammies. However, it's 2:12pm and I'm JUST NOW taking my lunch break. You know why? Because I have no one to say, "Hey...lets go to lunch!" or "Quit working, you fool, it's lunch time." I'm going to invent a little robot that does that. Or teach the cat to do it.
I also don't get to leave my office. Roll around in THAT one, people. Most people can say, "5pm--I'm blowing this pop stand!" (although, I believe I may be the only 30-something that actually uses 'pop stand' frequently). I cannot say this. I do say, however, "That's it! I'm....going to....um...hmmm....walk OUT of my home office!!" And really, even if I shut my office door, it's still there. The office. AND the door.
NOT complaining though. I realize how lucky I am to put my kids on the bus every morning, and to see them arrive home. It's usually only a matter of minutes before I want to push them back outside and tell them to flag down the bus that just dropped them off, but I digress. I'm glad I get to wake up, brush my teeth, and wander downstairs to my laptop for work--rather than sit in a crappy commute.
I don't think, after all these years (6) I COULD go back to working in an office. The sound of people (when i'm trying to work) generally annoys me now. Not that I don't like people---i just feel like I can't get anything DONE when there are people around. Know what I mean?
I love my job. I also love my plaid, Tiger pajama pants. They make the BEST work pants ever.
I guess I have a lot of random crap thinking-time because I work from home and have no one to interact with except El Gato Guapo. Yes, he IS muy guapo, but really, I get tired of looking at his handsomeness all day. He likes to sit on my lap and watch me Tweet and Facebook and edit blog posts and it's-about-to-get-posted-on-the-corporate-site documents. He enjoys it. So do I.
I hate it how people think I don't do anything. You know, because I work from home. Yes, it's 2:12pm and I'm still in my jammies. However, it's 2:12pm and I'm JUST NOW taking my lunch break. You know why? Because I have no one to say, "Hey...lets go to lunch!" or "Quit working, you fool, it's lunch time." I'm going to invent a little robot that does that. Or teach the cat to do it.
I also don't get to leave my office. Roll around in THAT one, people. Most people can say, "5pm--I'm blowing this pop stand!" (although, I believe I may be the only 30-something that actually uses 'pop stand' frequently). I cannot say this. I do say, however, "That's it! I'm....going to....um...hmmm....walk OUT of my home office!!" And really, even if I shut my office door, it's still there. The office. AND the door.
NOT complaining though. I realize how lucky I am to put my kids on the bus every morning, and to see them arrive home. It's usually only a matter of minutes before I want to push them back outside and tell them to flag down the bus that just dropped them off, but I digress. I'm glad I get to wake up, brush my teeth, and wander downstairs to my laptop for work--rather than sit in a crappy commute.
I don't think, after all these years (6) I COULD go back to working in an office. The sound of people (when i'm trying to work) generally annoys me now. Not that I don't like people---i just feel like I can't get anything DONE when there are people around. Know what I mean?
I love my job. I also love my plaid, Tiger pajama pants. They make the BEST work pants ever.
Oct 11, 2011
Cheetah girl is Ten
Jenna doesn't get nearly as much 'blog time' as she should. It's not because I love her less, or because she's an uninteresting child--it's because every time Jenna talks, it's about the same thing: Cheetahs. I mean, she DOES throw other stuff in there; namely, Harry Potter. And that's really it. Cheetahs and Harry Potter. Not a whole lot of fodder for blog posting, you know? BUT...this post IS about my Jenna because on September 30th, my girl turned TEN.
My J,
Ten. A decade old. Double digits.
At night, before I go to bed, I tiptoe into your room and kiss your sweet face. Okay, I'm lying. Every night, I DO go into your room, but the scenario isn't as sweet. It's usually more like this: Open your door (that we've closed so Tito doesn't knock all your crap over or bite your feet while you're sleeping) and cringe because when I DO open it, it makes this horribly screechy sound; manuever my way slowly to your bed, trying not to step on 1) your pile of dirty clothes that you wait to wash until you're out of clean panties 2) your "vet kit" that somehow always makes it to the middle of the walkway 3) a random cheetah with gauze wrapped around it's lame paw and 4) other random piles of stuff; I finally reach the proper side of your bed, then I pat around where your head should be (usually ending up with my finger in your ear or mouth); find your cheek, then (here's where the sweet part is) lean over and give you kisses. And while i'm smooching your soft cheek, I take in a deep breath--because even at 10 years old, you still smell like a little baby. When that smell is gone, i will CRY. Do you hear me? CRY. So you better always smell like a baby.
You are turning into this beautiful, beautiful young woman. You have always been beautiful--when you were a baby, people used to stop me and tell me how gorgeous you were. And one time, this crazy old lady stopped me to say that you had a beautifuly shaped head. OOooookkkaaaaaayyyy. I just nodded and smiled. What the hell was she? A freakin' milliner??
Anyways, you are too pretty. You are gorgeous. You are one of those girls that will never need makeup. Green, green eyes and black eyelashes--so dark, it looks like you're wearing eyeliner. Dammit.
You are just as smart as you are beautiful. Of course, I've always known this, but now I have to hear it from your teachers. In emails, and phone calls, and conferences. And let me tell you, when i go to a parent/teacher conference, and the teachers have your work pulled aside because they were SHARING IT WITH OTHER TEACHERS, I just want to burst with pride. When I hear, "I had to share this because i have NEVER seen a fourth grader write like this!" I just want to cry. When I see your Science/Math teacher throw up his hands and say, "Brilliant. Her mind is BRILLIANT. The way she THINKS is awesome..." I just want to cry. They said these things about YOU, baby. As a writer, I'm thrilled beyond words that you share that with me--but lets be honest, I'm a complete dumbass when it comes to math and science. You're just awesomeness in kid form. Out of all those things though, the best compliment was, "The way she THINKS is awesome." That's what I love about you. Your crazy quirkiness--the way you think WAY outside the box--is amazing. I am so entirely proud of you. To the very, very core of my soul.
One of the things that I am most proud of you for, however, is your kindness. You have SO many "best friends." Of course, we all know that Halle is your "BFFLAA" (as you say), but every other child in your class is also classified as your "best friend." You don't understand how girls can only have ONE best friend, and you don't get the concept of being jealous when one friend plays with another. This is something that I will be forever thankful for. A lot of it has to do with the little 'spectrum' that you fall into, but a lot of it has to do with the fact that you simply don't see why you have to choose one person over another. This will get you FAR in life, pumpshkin. Never EVER just choose one friend. Surround yourself with people you love, and those who love you. And always remember: If a person continually makes you feel bad about yourself, then they're not your friend. Friends lift you up, they don't drag you down. Can I get an Amen?!
You are still playing piano, and playing quite well. Your instructor goes on and on about how you practice so well. I don't have the heart to tell her that you never practice. You're just good. You also started cheering this year! I have to be honest here, kid--we were scared about this. I mean, for the best part of the last 3 years, you've been growing into these limbs and generally walk about looking like a baby giraffe. However, you are doing SO WELL!! You love cheering for your Redskins, and you have such a fabulous little cheer squad. And, I got to make you a mum for Spirit Day--tee hee!
You are at the point in your life, where I couldn't wait for you to be--now I'm sad that you're there. I love the time we spend together, snuggled under your covers before you go to sleep, where you tell me (in great detail) everything about your day. Right now, I'm 99.9% positive that there isn't a thing that you don't share with me. And I know this becauseI'm a sneaky mom and I read your diary. And you have told me everything that's written in there! WHOOP! And since you're not going to see this for many, many years, you can't be mad at me for reading your diary. And even if you are, you can just get over it, because you know you're going to read YOUR kids' diary, too. That is, if you even HAVE kids. Right now, you're telling me that you're just going to have cheetahs. For the love of God. Talk about taking "Crazy Cat Lady" to the extreme.
For all that is positively great about you, you are also a little shit. Oh yes, you are. You've reached a point where you like to argue about EVERYTHING. So, in order to save ourselves time, we've just decided that YOU can make all the decisions. We've noticed that when we say, "Fine, just do whatever you want," you end up doing what we want you to do anyways. Not sure if you realize we're right, or you're just doing it because you feel guilty--either way, BOO YAP! (Which is one of your favorite things to say. We don't have the heart to tell you that it's 'boo yah!' It's funny to laugh at you.)
My Jenna, I SO love you.
Mommy
xoxoxo
My J,
Ten. A decade old. Double digits.
At night, before I go to bed, I tiptoe into your room and kiss your sweet face. Okay, I'm lying. Every night, I DO go into your room, but the scenario isn't as sweet. It's usually more like this: Open your door (that we've closed so Tito doesn't knock all your crap over or bite your feet while you're sleeping) and cringe because when I DO open it, it makes this horribly screechy sound; manuever my way slowly to your bed, trying not to step on 1) your pile of dirty clothes that you wait to wash until you're out of clean panties 2) your "vet kit" that somehow always makes it to the middle of the walkway 3) a random cheetah with gauze wrapped around it's lame paw and 4) other random piles of stuff; I finally reach the proper side of your bed, then I pat around where your head should be (usually ending up with my finger in your ear or mouth); find your cheek, then (here's where the sweet part is) lean over and give you kisses. And while i'm smooching your soft cheek, I take in a deep breath--because even at 10 years old, you still smell like a little baby. When that smell is gone, i will CRY. Do you hear me? CRY. So you better always smell like a baby.
Anyways, you are too pretty. You are gorgeous. You are one of those girls that will never need makeup. Green, green eyes and black eyelashes--so dark, it looks like you're wearing eyeliner. Dammit.
You are just as smart as you are beautiful. Of course, I've always known this, but now I have to hear it from your teachers. In emails, and phone calls, and conferences. And let me tell you, when i go to a parent/teacher conference, and the teachers have your work pulled aside because they were SHARING IT WITH OTHER TEACHERS, I just want to burst with pride. When I hear, "I had to share this because i have NEVER seen a fourth grader write like this!" I just want to cry. When I see your Science/Math teacher throw up his hands and say, "Brilliant. Her mind is BRILLIANT. The way she THINKS is awesome..." I just want to cry. They said these things about YOU, baby. As a writer, I'm thrilled beyond words that you share that with me--but lets be honest, I'm a complete dumbass when it comes to math and science. You're just awesomeness in kid form. Out of all those things though, the best compliment was, "The way she THINKS is awesome." That's what I love about you. Your crazy quirkiness--the way you think WAY outside the box--is amazing. I am so entirely proud of you. To the very, very core of my soul.
One of the things that I am most proud of you for, however, is your kindness. You have SO many "best friends." Of course, we all know that Halle is your "BFFLAA" (as you say), but every other child in your class is also classified as your "best friend." You don't understand how girls can only have ONE best friend, and you don't get the concept of being jealous when one friend plays with another. This is something that I will be forever thankful for. A lot of it has to do with the little 'spectrum' that you fall into, but a lot of it has to do with the fact that you simply don't see why you have to choose one person over another. This will get you FAR in life, pumpshkin. Never EVER just choose one friend. Surround yourself with people you love, and those who love you. And always remember: If a person continually makes you feel bad about yourself, then they're not your friend. Friends lift you up, they don't drag you down. Can I get an Amen?!
You are still playing piano, and playing quite well. Your instructor goes on and on about how you practice so well. I don't have the heart to tell her that you never practice. You're just good. You also started cheering this year! I have to be honest here, kid--we were scared about this. I mean, for the best part of the last 3 years, you've been growing into these limbs and generally walk about looking like a baby giraffe. However, you are doing SO WELL!! You love cheering for your Redskins, and you have such a fabulous little cheer squad. And, I got to make you a mum for Spirit Day--tee hee!
For all that is positively great about you, you are also a little shit. Oh yes, you are. You've reached a point where you like to argue about EVERYTHING. So, in order to save ourselves time, we've just decided that YOU can make all the decisions. We've noticed that when we say, "Fine, just do whatever you want," you end up doing what we want you to do anyways. Not sure if you realize we're right, or you're just doing it because you feel guilty--either way, BOO YAP! (Which is one of your favorite things to say. We don't have the heart to tell you that it's 'boo yah!' It's funny to laugh at you.)
My Jenna, I SO love you.
Mommy
xoxoxo
Sep 21, 2011
Toasty buns
Yesterday, I was helping Jen with her homework about the earth's rotation. I was trying to make her draw out a deeper explanation of why she chose a certain answer. Yeah, it's kind of mean, but i want to see WHY she thinks a certain way.
So, the earth's rotation---anyways, we were discussing how when it's cold here, it's Summer in Australia because of the tilt of the Earth's axis. When you look at the picture of the tilt, I can see how it could be a bit confusing. Lucky for Jen, I had just turned off the oven, so I figured i'd use that to my advantage.
We stepped over to the oven--"Let's pretend the oven is the sun," I said, and opened the oven door.
Jenna: "It's not very hot."
Me: "It's hot enough."
Jen: "But it's not as hot as the sun."
Me: "Yes. I. Know. But let's just pretend. Okay, so this is the sun, and you're the Earth."
Jen: "I'm not round."
Me: "I. KNOW. We're pretending. YOU'RE the Earth, and the OVEN is the sun. Get it?"
Jen: "Okay."
Seriously. This kid and her literalness (is that a word) kills me.
Me: "So, tilt your head towards the oven. Your head is the Northern Hemisphere, and right now, it is Summer. Why is that?"
Jen: "....."
Me: "Because the sun is...."
Jen: "Close to my head."
Me: "Yes, exactly! Now turn around and bend over. Your bottom is the Southern Hemisphere. Why is it warm?"
Jen: "Um...because my butt's in the oven??"
NICE.
So, the earth's rotation---anyways, we were discussing how when it's cold here, it's Summer in Australia because of the tilt of the Earth's axis. When you look at the picture of the tilt, I can see how it could be a bit confusing. Lucky for Jen, I had just turned off the oven, so I figured i'd use that to my advantage.
We stepped over to the oven--"Let's pretend the oven is the sun," I said, and opened the oven door.
Jenna: "It's not very hot."
Me: "It's hot enough."
Jen: "But it's not as hot as the sun."
Me: "Yes. I. Know. But let's just pretend. Okay, so this is the sun, and you're the Earth."
Jen: "I'm not round."
Me: "I. KNOW. We're pretending. YOU'RE the Earth, and the OVEN is the sun. Get it?"
Jen: "Okay."
Seriously. This kid and her literalness (is that a word) kills me.
Me: "So, tilt your head towards the oven. Your head is the Northern Hemisphere, and right now, it is Summer. Why is that?"
Jen: "....."
Me: "Because the sun is...."
Jen: "Close to my head."
Me: "Yes, exactly! Now turn around and bend over. Your bottom is the Southern Hemisphere. Why is it warm?"
Jen: "Um...because my butt's in the oven??"
NICE.
Sep 13, 2011
The Munch is EIGHT
On September 10th, the wee Clairey turned EIGHT. I was still grasping seven. I told her that since she's so small, we can still just pretend she's 7--give me another year. She didn't go for it. Crap. And so, another letter (albeit a few days late) begins...
Pumpshkins,
You are now eight years old. Holy crap. Where did the time go? I swear, I ask myself that same question every.single.year. And here you are--a big eight-year old. Well, not really 'big'...you are still teeny-tiny, but jeez almighty kid, you have a personality that doesn't quit. I've said this before, and i'll say it again--you are a light. Like absolute sunshine. There's really no better way to describe you. YOU, in and of yourself, are simply infectious. Somewhat like a transmittable disease but full of complete awesomeness instead of death and destruction.
You do so well in school, and all the teachers love you--particularly, since you told your first grade teacher that I was a whore. When I came to eat lunch with you that next week, the secretary saw me and busted out laughing. When your mom's a whore, word travels fast, I suppose. When we went to meet your 2nd grade teacher, I introduced you and she said, "So THIS is Clairey." Why yes, yes it is. This is THE Clairey. I'm sure there will be many more fun stories THIS year--can't wait.
In October of last year, you made a big decision. After 5 years at your current gym, you decided that you wanted to change gyms. You told me that you were getting bored and wanted to try out someplace new. So we did, and we switched gyms, and you have just amazed me with the way you have improved over this past year. Your dedication to gymnastics, at 8 years old, is something that most people don't have to ANYTHING. Because of this, you often have to make difficult choices: you don't get to play like most kids your age, you don't get to 'try' anything new...and you are fine with it. Every time you bring up how you want to audition for a play, I'll say, "Okay, but you'll have to make a decision--theatre or gymnastics." Then you act like I'm a complete fool for even asking the question.
Speaking of which...
This summer you were in the musical "Annie." You played the part of Molly, and child, you stole each scene you were in. Yes, I ended that sentence with a preposition. Moving on... The crowd loved you; that part was so entirely perfect for you, that I wanted to cry every time you came on stage. And now, I want to cry every time I watch the videos. Which is a lot less now that it's been over a month. But not a WHOLE lot less. Because you're so damn cute and funny and talented, and it's so fun to watch!
Pumpshkins,
You are now eight years old. Holy crap. Where did the time go? I swear, I ask myself that same question every.single.year. And here you are--a big eight-year old. Well, not really 'big'...you are still teeny-tiny, but jeez almighty kid, you have a personality that doesn't quit. I've said this before, and i'll say it again--you are a light. Like absolute sunshine. There's really no better way to describe you. YOU, in and of yourself, are simply infectious. Somewhat like a transmittable disease but full of complete awesomeness instead of death and destruction.
Yes, you are 8 and I still threaten to eat your face at least once a week. Okay, so maybe twice a week. Oh hell, you know I do it every day, and then I sneak in your room when you're sleeping and nibble on your cheeks--so HA HA! Mommy wins. You lose. But I can't help it. You have the most precious little face--such rosy little cheeks and nummy freckles. You are too cute. And one day a long, long, LONG time from now, you will be 16 and I will still be eating your face. I'm just happy that you don't fight it. In fact, you've taken to yelling, "Mommy! Eat my face like a goat!" Acceptance is the first step--looks like you're on your way.
You do so well in school, and all the teachers love you--particularly, since you told your first grade teacher that I was a whore. When I came to eat lunch with you that next week, the secretary saw me and busted out laughing. When your mom's a whore, word travels fast, I suppose. When we went to meet your 2nd grade teacher, I introduced you and she said, "So THIS is Clairey." Why yes, yes it is. This is THE Clairey. I'm sure there will be many more fun stories THIS year--can't wait.
In October of last year, you made a big decision. After 5 years at your current gym, you decided that you wanted to change gyms. You told me that you were getting bored and wanted to try out someplace new. So we did, and we switched gyms, and you have just amazed me with the way you have improved over this past year. Your dedication to gymnastics, at 8 years old, is something that most people don't have to ANYTHING. Because of this, you often have to make difficult choices: you don't get to play like most kids your age, you don't get to 'try' anything new...and you are fine with it. Every time you bring up how you want to audition for a play, I'll say, "Okay, but you'll have to make a decision--theatre or gymnastics." Then you act like I'm a complete fool for even asking the question.
This summer you were in the musical "Annie." You played the part of Molly, and child, you stole each scene you were in. Yes, I ended that sentence with a preposition. Moving on... The crowd loved you; that part was so entirely perfect for you, that I wanted to cry every time you came on stage. And now, I want to cry every time I watch the videos. Which is a lot less now that it's been over a month. But not a WHOLE lot less. Because you're so damn cute and funny and talented, and it's so fun to watch!
You are dynamite in a small package. You have the sweetest heart and are such a loving little girl. My bedside table is full of drawings and knick-knacks and other stuff that you make for me. Every paper you bring home has, "I [heart] Mommy" written on it somewhere. You are just so full of love.
I am so proud to be your mommy. My sweet baby...I love you SO very much.
Happy Birthday my presh!
xoxoxox
Aug 10, 2011
Camaros and cooties
On the way to drop Clairey off at theatre today, a young kid in a 1980s-era Camaro was beside us at a light. That thing had huge meats on the back end and a exhaust system that cost more than the car. It was LOUD. Clairey just sat there, in her princess booster seat, looking out the window.
"Why is that car so loud?" she asked.
"See all those pipes coming out the back, at the bottom? That's why."
"Oh."
The light turned green, and we were off. The rapist-mobile got caught behind some cowboy in a huge dooley. I saw the kid come around the truck--then he started speeding up. "Here he comes...." I said. And about 5 second later, he goes speeding by us. Clairey audibly sighed, "WHY do boys do that?!"
"Because," I said, "some boys are just dumb."
"I understand, mom." [Big pause] "They also have cooties."
She's so matter of fact.
"Why is that car so loud?" she asked.
"See all those pipes coming out the back, at the bottom? That's why."
"Oh."
The light turned green, and we were off. The rapist-mobile got caught behind some cowboy in a huge dooley. I saw the kid come around the truck--then he started speeding up. "Here he comes...." I said. And about 5 second later, he goes speeding by us. Clairey audibly sighed, "WHY do boys do that?!"
"Because," I said, "some boys are just dumb."
"I understand, mom." [Big pause] "They also have cooties."
She's so matter of fact.
Jul 27, 2011
Entertainment gold
She goes by many names: The Clairey, The Munch, Bit, Pumpshkins, Little Bit... She is more than a 7-year old kid--she is entertainment GOLD, I tell you. I mean, look at this kid:
See that ring on her legs? That's because she spent 30 minutes on the crapper reading. AND SHE LET ME TAKE A PICTURE! I was all, "Ha! You have a toilet ring on your butt! Let me take a picture." And The Munch was all, "Ha! Okay!!" Then stood there. Hello? Awesome kid. And that sponge in her hand? She was cleaning the tile on the pool. Because it was FUN.
She's too much. At the grocery store last night, she let out this huge sigh. I ask, "What's up?" and she comes back with, "Oh, nothing. I could really just use a pina-colada right now." As she sits there, leaning against the shelves of organic peanut butter in her gym leo, hair in pigtails, and bar chalk all over her forehead.
At the moment, she's in theatre camp. See how I spelled 'theater' there? Yeah, you like that don't you? I don't like spelling it -er. Looks too harsh. ANYWAYS, they're doing Annie, and Bit got the part of Molly. She's going to rock that part. And you know why? Because she's a freakin' scene stealer. She was running around the house this morning, yelling, "You'll clean this dump, 'til it SHINES like the top of the Chrysler Building!" and then she asked me how to act drunk.
Entertainment GOLD.
Jul 18, 2011
Clairey's camp journal
Clairey attended her first week-long camp from 7/10-7/15 2011. It was called, "Messy Munchkins," and was about an hour from our house. She stayed in a treehouse, with no air conditioning. All spelling and punctuation is exactly how she wrote it.
Sunday
I <3 U mommy. You are The Best! [then there's a picture of a tooth and a heart] In The showr, my tooth got rely loos! <3 <3 <3 <3 :) :)
Monday
Mommy I am haveing so much fun. it is asume. what are you doing? <3
Tuesday
I <3 U Mommy. I am haing so much fun! <3 kiss kiss woowoo Jass hans hans hans! to night i saw a coper head :( I donot like this camp i hate it
*The "kiss kiss" thing is our 'special' kiss. We kiss twice, then say, "woo woo!" then make jazz hands and say, "jazz hands!" The "hans hans hans" is her doing the echo of "hands." Yeah, we're crazy.
Wednesday
Mommy last night when i was going to slee I herd screeming I ran out my tree hous and ran in the cichin. an ges what ther was a coper head! bnana cild it with a hoe and then they berid it and then we livd hapaly ever after! <3
* "cichin"= kitchen. She has trouble distinguising Ks and Cs, because the C in her name makes a K sound. "bnana" is her counselor, Banana. They all have fake names.
Thursday
Mommy i have little bups on my stimmick and they ich. I <3 U!
*She got heatrash all over her back and stomach (stimmick).
Friday
I <3 U mommy I am so glad we are going home! I <3 U
All in all, she had a great time, and said she wants to go back next year. She's a sweaty little thing, so we'll probably send her to Camp Misty--where they stay in ac'd cabins.
Sunday
I <3 U mommy. You are The Best! [then there's a picture of a tooth and a heart] In The showr, my tooth got rely loos! <3 <3 <3 <3 :) :)
Monday
Mommy I am haveing so much fun. it is asume. what are you doing? <3
Tuesday
I <3 U Mommy. I am haing so much fun! <3 kiss kiss woowoo Jass hans hans hans! to night i saw a coper head :( I donot like this camp i hate it
*The "kiss kiss" thing is our 'special' kiss. We kiss twice, then say, "woo woo!" then make jazz hands and say, "jazz hands!" The "hans hans hans" is her doing the echo of "hands." Yeah, we're crazy.
Wednesday
Mommy last night when i was going to slee I herd screeming I ran out my tree hous and ran in the cichin. an ges what ther was a coper head! bnana cild it with a hoe and then they berid it and then we livd hapaly ever after! <3
* "cichin"= kitchen. She has trouble distinguising Ks and Cs, because the C in her name makes a K sound. "bnana" is her counselor, Banana. They all have fake names.
Thursday
Mommy i have little bups on my stimmick and they ich. I <3 U!
*She got heatrash all over her back and stomach (stimmick).
Friday
I <3 U mommy I am so glad we are going home! I <3 U
All in all, she had a great time, and said she wants to go back next year. She's a sweaty little thing, so we'll probably send her to Camp Misty--where they stay in ac'd cabins.
May 5, 2011
This is my life. How's yours?
Ah, Facebook and Twitter--you make it so unnecessary for me to blog, because i get to spew random bits of well..RANDOMNESS at any given moment, rather than wait to write about it on here. But alas, here I am...
Alright..not going to mince words here. There's a dead lizard in our freezer. It's actually a leopard gecko, but who cares? It's a reptile, it's dead, and it's in our freezer. It's not, however, just hanging out next to the frozen peas. Like, you don't open the freezer and yell, "HOLY CRAP! Is that a dead lizard?" No, no, my friends. Steve the Dead Leopard Gecko is lying in wait within a special lizard sarcophagus. Wait...i must take a picture...
See? There he is--on top of the whole wheat tortillas, next to the...what is that? Breakfast sausage? Yeah, there he is.
Here's a shot of the top of his casket:
He even has a lining--it's red with sports balls on it. He was a sporty little guy--what can I say? Poor Steve--such a noble gecko. So loved by Jenna. I wish that he would've just keeled over, but that's not what happened...
On Thursday night, April 28th, poor Steve was just minding his own business, trying to stalk a cricket while Jenna and I watched. He missed, and was heading back to his cave for a Dos Equis, when all of a sudden, he went into convulsions. Or seizures. Or whatever it is when a gecko screeches really loud then just goes stiff and starts shaking. Jenna freaked the hell out, which, you know, she tends to do, and started yelling. A few moments later, what we had left, boys and girls, was a limp lizard. Please, no offensive jokes. This is a lizard's life of which we're speaking.
What the hell kind of lizard has a seizure? It looked like he was breakdancing, and i said so, but Jenna didn't buy it. Dammit. So i told her that i don't think this is normal lizard behavior, and perhaps, we may begin to be a little concerned about his general health and well-being. Of course, Jenna was crushed.
Friday morning, Steve hadn't moved much. As we looked at him, he began seizing again. This time it was for about 10 minutes...then his tail just flickered around for another 10 minutes. Really?? I MEAN, REALLY?
[Seriously--WTF? We have the WORST luck with animals. We recently killed 3 fish, and now it's GECKO DOWN. I. CAN'T. WIN. I mean, we have a cat that we wish would die, but that fat bitch is still alive. How does THAT work?]
Anyways, so as soon as the girls go off to school, I start scoping the net for "leopard gecko seizure," and other such gems. I found a few gecko breeders, shot them Steve's stats, and they all came to the conclusion that it was most likely a congenital defect caused by the el crappo conditions that chain pet stores buy their geckos from. YAY ME. So, all these breeders basically give me three options:
I picked up Steve. His little body was pretty much shot to shit at this point--he was just floppy and to be honest, it was kind of gross. I was afraid I was going to squish him. I looked at his sweet little lizardy face, put a few napkins in a tupperware, then put him in the fridge...Farewell, speckly Steve...
I couldn't take it. Ten minutes later, I took him out and put him under his heat lamp so he could warm back up. I could not be a lizard killer. Then i tried to hand feed him crickets and mealworms and calcium powder to make him better. I'm such a nurse, but NONE OF THAT SHIT WORKED.
Then, on cue, Steve started convulsing. He was hardly breathing at all. So, with a heavy heart, and reeking from germy gel because he is, afterall, a reptile so he carries salmonella, I put him back into the tupperware and entombed him in his wintry grave. --sigh-- I'm glad the light goes out when you shut the door.
Steve was in a lizard cold coma within 30 minutes, then i put him in the freezer and he quickly became a Gecko Pop. I DO wish this were the end...and if you're still reading this, you're insane. It's about a lizard, people. A DEAD lizard. But please...continue on if you so desire...
I knew that when Jen came home, it would go from "the little lizard we had for two months has died" to Code Red. I braced myself. The bus pulled up. I felt sick. I broke it to her gently; she cried--not as hysterically as we had prepared for--and then calmed down. I told her that we'd bury Steve beneath our little tree, and plant flowers there to commemerate his lovely lizardy life.
On Sunday, I went to grab the shovel to dig the hole for Steve. The damn yard crew must have taken it.
Status: Frozen lizard--still next to the tortillas.
Alright..not going to mince words here. There's a dead lizard in our freezer. It's actually a leopard gecko, but who cares? It's a reptile, it's dead, and it's in our freezer. It's not, however, just hanging out next to the frozen peas. Like, you don't open the freezer and yell, "HOLY CRAP! Is that a dead lizard?" No, no, my friends. Steve the Dead Leopard Gecko is lying in wait within a special lizard sarcophagus. Wait...i must take a picture...
Here's a shot of the top of his casket:
He even has a lining--it's red with sports balls on it. He was a sporty little guy--what can I say? Poor Steve--such a noble gecko. So loved by Jenna. I wish that he would've just keeled over, but that's not what happened...
On Thursday night, April 28th, poor Steve was just minding his own business, trying to stalk a cricket while Jenna and I watched. He missed, and was heading back to his cave for a Dos Equis, when all of a sudden, he went into convulsions. Or seizures. Or whatever it is when a gecko screeches really loud then just goes stiff and starts shaking. Jenna freaked the hell out, which, you know, she tends to do, and started yelling. A few moments later, what we had left, boys and girls, was a limp lizard. Please, no offensive jokes. This is a lizard's life of which we're speaking.
What the hell kind of lizard has a seizure? It looked like he was breakdancing, and i said so, but Jenna didn't buy it. Dammit. So i told her that i don't think this is normal lizard behavior, and perhaps, we may begin to be a little concerned about his general health and well-being. Of course, Jenna was crushed.
Friday morning, Steve hadn't moved much. As we looked at him, he began seizing again. This time it was for about 10 minutes...then his tail just flickered around for another 10 minutes. Really?? I MEAN, REALLY?
[Seriously--WTF? We have the WORST luck with animals. We recently killed 3 fish, and now it's GECKO DOWN. I. CAN'T. WIN. I mean, we have a cat that we wish would die, but that fat bitch is still alive. How does THAT work?]
Anyways, so as soon as the girls go off to school, I start scoping the net for "leopard gecko seizure," and other such gems. I found a few gecko breeders, shot them Steve's stats, and they all came to the conclusion that it was most likely a congenital defect caused by the el crappo conditions that chain pet stores buy their geckos from. YAY ME. So, all these breeders basically give me three options:
- I can take Steve the Seizing Reptile to the vet and have the vet put him down.
- I can wait for him to die himself (he'll either starve or die of dehydration, since he's now practically paralyzed).
- I can refrigerate him, then when he's in a reptile coma, put him in the freezer.
I picked up Steve. His little body was pretty much shot to shit at this point--he was just floppy and to be honest, it was kind of gross. I was afraid I was going to squish him. I looked at his sweet little lizardy face, put a few napkins in a tupperware, then put him in the fridge...Farewell, speckly Steve...
I couldn't take it. Ten minutes later, I took him out and put him under his heat lamp so he could warm back up. I could not be a lizard killer. Then i tried to hand feed him crickets and mealworms and calcium powder to make him better. I'm such a nurse, but NONE OF THAT SHIT WORKED.
Then, on cue, Steve started convulsing. He was hardly breathing at all. So, with a heavy heart, and reeking from germy gel because he is, afterall, a reptile so he carries salmonella, I put him back into the tupperware and entombed him in his wintry grave. --sigh-- I'm glad the light goes out when you shut the door.
Steve was in a lizard cold coma within 30 minutes, then i put him in the freezer and he quickly became a Gecko Pop. I DO wish this were the end...and if you're still reading this, you're insane. It's about a lizard, people. A DEAD lizard. But please...continue on if you so desire...
I knew that when Jen came home, it would go from "the little lizard we had for two months has died" to Code Red. I braced myself. The bus pulled up. I felt sick. I broke it to her gently; she cried--not as hysterically as we had prepared for--and then calmed down. I told her that we'd bury Steve beneath our little tree, and plant flowers there to commemerate his lovely lizardy life.
On Sunday, I went to grab the shovel to dig the hole for Steve. The damn yard crew must have taken it.
Status: Frozen lizard--still next to the tortillas.
Mar 29, 2011
Hormone-itis
Jenna is 9. Jenna is becoming hormonal. We should all pack and move to another country before it gets out of hand. Oh wait...too late.
On Sunday night, Jenna was in a real state. A real state of WHACKED OUT, is what it was. She had just come back from a really bad Girl Scout camping exprience, and apparently, while at GS camp, she contracted a major case of hormone-itis.
Sunday evening, she sat at the breakfast table, bawling, because of the so-called 'nature' center this campground had. Apparently, there was a bobcat display that, according to Jen's description, was 'just a head and a bunch of clumpy fur lying around.' Now, in MY head, i'm picturing a diseased carcass with tufts of fur that have been ripped off it's body just blowing around in a box--the kid has a way with descriptions. Regardless, the bobcat display bothered her. HORRIBLY. Horribly enough, in fact, that I had to listen to her cry about it for about 25 minutes. And not just cry, but well up with tears and get all slobbery and messy about it. I must see this bobcat exhibit. Somewhere in between the sobfest, I started making spaghetti for dinner [yes, this sounds random, but remember this little tidbit]. Jenna offered to help, and I said okay--simply because i wanted her to stop crying. But THEN, because we were on the subject of 'nature' exhibits, she started talking about the Africa exhibit at the museum. THAT started another whole round of sobs. She hadn't realized, up until this point, I guess, that those were REAL lions/cheetahs/etc. that have been immortalized through the fun of filling 'em full of stuffing. So I spent the next 15 minutes telling her that no, people do NOT go out and shoot these animals simply for the fun of stuffing them and putting them in a museum. She FINALLY started to settle down.
I shot a glance over to the stove and saw that the water was boiling, "Oh, the water's boiling!" and I got up to throw the noodles in. Jen broke out into wailing tears and ran into the bathroom. Clairey just looked at me like, "What the hell???"
"That's DEFINITELY hormonal," I said.
"I don't like this," she said.
Because, truthfully, no one is ready for the wrath of hormones. NO ONE. No one is safe.
I gave Jen a minute, then walked to the bathroom and opened the door. She was sitting up on the counter, hunched into a ball, sniffing. I put my hand on her shoulder, "Baby, what's wrong?"
"I should have KNOOOOOOWN!!!" she wailed.
"Known what?"
"That the water was BOILING!!!" and more hysterical crying ensued. I tried not to laugh. I did well (patting myself on the back).
"Um...it's okay that you didn't know the water was boiling. I'm not mad that you didn't know. Really, it's okay."
"Okay..." [sob, sob, sob] "I think i've just had a really disappointing weekend."
I am SO not ready for this.
On Sunday night, Jenna was in a real state. A real state of WHACKED OUT, is what it was. She had just come back from a really bad Girl Scout camping exprience, and apparently, while at GS camp, she contracted a major case of hormone-itis.
Sunday evening, she sat at the breakfast table, bawling, because of the so-called 'nature' center this campground had. Apparently, there was a bobcat display that, according to Jen's description, was 'just a head and a bunch of clumpy fur lying around.' Now, in MY head, i'm picturing a diseased carcass with tufts of fur that have been ripped off it's body just blowing around in a box--the kid has a way with descriptions. Regardless, the bobcat display bothered her. HORRIBLY. Horribly enough, in fact, that I had to listen to her cry about it for about 25 minutes. And not just cry, but well up with tears and get all slobbery and messy about it. I must see this bobcat exhibit. Somewhere in between the sobfest, I started making spaghetti for dinner [yes, this sounds random, but remember this little tidbit]. Jenna offered to help, and I said okay--simply because i wanted her to stop crying. But THEN, because we were on the subject of 'nature' exhibits, she started talking about the Africa exhibit at the museum. THAT started another whole round of sobs. She hadn't realized, up until this point, I guess, that those were REAL lions/cheetahs/etc. that have been immortalized through the fun of filling 'em full of stuffing. So I spent the next 15 minutes telling her that no, people do NOT go out and shoot these animals simply for the fun of stuffing them and putting them in a museum. She FINALLY started to settle down.
I shot a glance over to the stove and saw that the water was boiling, "Oh, the water's boiling!" and I got up to throw the noodles in. Jen broke out into wailing tears and ran into the bathroom. Clairey just looked at me like, "What the hell???"
"That's DEFINITELY hormonal," I said.
"I don't like this," she said.
Because, truthfully, no one is ready for the wrath of hormones. NO ONE. No one is safe.
I gave Jen a minute, then walked to the bathroom and opened the door. She was sitting up on the counter, hunched into a ball, sniffing. I put my hand on her shoulder, "Baby, what's wrong?"
"I should have KNOOOOOOWN!!!" she wailed.
"Known what?"
"That the water was BOILING!!!" and more hysterical crying ensued. I tried not to laugh. I did well (patting myself on the back).
"Um...it's okay that you didn't know the water was boiling. I'm not mad that you didn't know. Really, it's okay."
"Okay..." [sob, sob, sob] "I think i've just had a really disappointing weekend."
I am SO not ready for this.
Mar 23, 2011
Of indivirdginal pictures and hobos
Sorry...it's always Clairey. Jenna is more refined in conversation and only talks about cheetahs.
Last night, as i was tucking Clairey into bed, she was staring off into space:
Me: What are you thinking about?
C: Oh, i'm just hoping hobos don't break into our house and eat my fish.
Me: [Where the heck did she learn the term 'hobo'??] Um. Okay. Why would they do that?
C: Because hobos are mean. Well, the BOY hobos are. The lady ones are probably nice.
I just stared at her, because really...what do you say to that? She continued on...in a different direction, because it's Claire.
C: The guy that took our indivirdginal pictures at school today was nice.
[Ahem...'indivirdginal' = 'individual']
Me: Well, that's good.
C: Yeah, but the lady that took our class picture was really mean.
Me: Oh, yeah? Why? What did she do?
C: Oh, she just kept yelling at the kids in the front row to 'STAND on your knees!!' You know what i'm talking about?
Me: Yeah...when you're on your knees, but your butt is off the ground?
C: Yep. Anyways, she kept telling Ashley to stand on her knees, but Ashley kept standing up on her feet. So the lady was getting mad and yelling at her.
Me: Isn't Ashley the "special" girl?
C: Uh-uh, but i gotta admit...she does get rather annoying sometimes.
Me: Clairey, that's not nice.
C: Well, it's true! She's really ann...Man, she has the GREATEST t-shirts though! Oh my gosh, they're SO CUTE.
Really??? This is how our nightly chats go. No direction whatsoever. It's entertaining, to say the least.
Last night, as i was tucking Clairey into bed, she was staring off into space:
Me: What are you thinking about?
C: Oh, i'm just hoping hobos don't break into our house and eat my fish.
Me: [Where the heck did she learn the term 'hobo'??] Um. Okay. Why would they do that?
C: Because hobos are mean. Well, the BOY hobos are. The lady ones are probably nice.
I just stared at her, because really...what do you say to that? She continued on...in a different direction, because it's Claire.
C: The guy that took our indivirdginal pictures at school today was nice.
[Ahem...'indivirdginal' = 'individual']
Me: Well, that's good.
C: Yeah, but the lady that took our class picture was really mean.
Me: Oh, yeah? Why? What did she do?
C: Oh, she just kept yelling at the kids in the front row to 'STAND on your knees!!' You know what i'm talking about?
Me: Yeah...when you're on your knees, but your butt is off the ground?
C: Yep. Anyways, she kept telling Ashley to stand on her knees, but Ashley kept standing up on her feet. So the lady was getting mad and yelling at her.
Me: Isn't Ashley the "special" girl?
C: Uh-uh, but i gotta admit...she does get rather annoying sometimes.
Me: Clairey, that's not nice.
C: Well, it's true! She's really ann...Man, she has the GREATEST t-shirts though! Oh my gosh, they're SO CUTE.
Really??? This is how our nightly chats go. No direction whatsoever. It's entertaining, to say the least.
Feb 28, 2011
The best Claireyism yet...
It's 3:47 pm on Monday. I just got a call from Clairey's first-grade teacher:
Teacher: Hi, Mrs. Wisdom? This is teacher's name here, um...i need you to educate Clairey about something.
Me: Sure...what about.
Teacher: Well, she was acting all 'loosey-goosey' today, and I told her to 'please settle down, or i'll have to call your mommy'. She looked at me and said, "Oh no! Please don't call the whore!"
Me: WHAT? She called me a 'whore'???
Teacher: Yes. I'm pretty sure she didn't know what it meant, so i quickly told her that that's a naughty word, and we don't say that. Then i had to deal with the group of little girls that were standing around, asking, 'What's a 'whore'?'
Me: I have no idea where she heard that. [Honestly, i really don't. I would say 'hooker', or 'dirty leg', but never 'whore'.] I'll talk to her!
And we signed off.
I looked at Clairey. "Did you call me something bad at school today?"
"No."
"Are you sure? Did you call me a 'whore'?"
"OH...yeah."
"You did. You called me a whore?! That's a bad word."
"I didn't know!"
"But why would you say that? What do you think it means??"
"I didn't want her to call you because that would be bad and i'd get in trouble!"
"So, you called me a whore."
"Yes! I said, 'No, don't call! The whore!!"
[and here, i figure it out.]
"You mean, 'the horror'?"
"YES! Don't call--THE WHORE!"
Teacher: Hi, Mrs. Wisdom? This is teacher's name here, um...i need you to educate Clairey about something.
Me: Sure...what about.
Teacher: Well, she was acting all 'loosey-goosey' today, and I told her to 'please settle down, or i'll have to call your mommy'. She looked at me and said, "Oh no! Please don't call the whore!"
Me: WHAT? She called me a 'whore'???
Teacher: Yes. I'm pretty sure she didn't know what it meant, so i quickly told her that that's a naughty word, and we don't say that. Then i had to deal with the group of little girls that were standing around, asking, 'What's a 'whore'?'
Me: I have no idea where she heard that. [Honestly, i really don't. I would say 'hooker', or 'dirty leg', but never 'whore'.] I'll talk to her!
And we signed off.
I looked at Clairey. "Did you call me something bad at school today?"
"No."
"Are you sure? Did you call me a 'whore'?"
"OH...yeah."
"You did. You called me a whore?! That's a bad word."
"I didn't know!"
"But why would you say that? What do you think it means??"
"I didn't want her to call you because that would be bad and i'd get in trouble!"
"So, you called me a whore."
"Yes! I said, 'No, don't call! The whore!!"
[and here, i figure it out.]
"You mean, 'the horror'?"
"YES! Don't call--THE WHORE!"
Feb 9, 2011
Fred
Last night, Clairey and I were in the shower and i was removing my eyelashes--I wear beauty-tube mascara--the kind that, once you get it wet, the lashes just 'slide' off. So, I was pulling off my eyelashes, and rinsing them off my fingers...
Clairey: Those look like Fred.
Me: Fred? Hmmm...is Fred a spider? [the lashes looked like spider legs]
She looked at me like I was an idiot.
Clairey: No, FRED.
Me: Who's Fred?!
Clairey: FRED, mom, FRED. You know, the stuff you sew with.
Ahh...THREAD.
Clairey: Those look like Fred.
Me: Fred? Hmmm...is Fred a spider? [the lashes looked like spider legs]
She looked at me like I was an idiot.
Clairey: No, FRED.
Me: Who's Fred?!
Clairey: FRED, mom, FRED. You know, the stuff you sew with.
Ahh...THREAD.
Jan 20, 2011
Alas, poor Ken...
...I knew him well.
I found Ken on the floor--his dead, plastic body face-up. I think it's easy to conclude that Edward (yes, this is he of 'Twilight' fame) veered from his "deer" diet, attacked Ken, left him for dead, then decided to take a relaxing bath with his favorite rubber ducky.
I believe the Barbie girls are off shopping. Jeesh, what a mess THEY have to come home to.
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