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.
Oct 20, 2011
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.
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