ANAPHYLACTIC REACTION. Now THERE'S a fun way to spice-up the workday!
All I can say is, Damn! Damn those crafty tree nuts! And thank God for a Walgreens right across the street that sells liquid Benadryl, and for my steroids-in-a-whiffer.
Mar 31, 2005
She's a super-cool exploradora
A few weeks ago, we went to go see Dora at our local mall. I just can't stand people, so I tried to forget about it, but my husband remembered. So, on Saturday the 5th, we threw the kids in the Jeep and set off for the mall. For those of you without children, Dora is that little Mexican cartoon-girl that hangs out with the boot-wearing primate. She's EVERYWHERE. You just can't get away. You know you've hit it big when you become a fruit snack, and believe me, we have eaten our fair share of Dora fruit snacks. Back to the adventure...
We get to the mall, and it's so crowded with little kids, that I think I'm going to die. There are TONS of kids. There are a million little 2 to 6-year-old Mexican ninas dressed to the nines like it's their quincenera. Have you ever seen a 3-year-old in heels? I have. And here are my gringo kids, not even wearing a Dora shirt. I'm a terrible mother. Here we are, the only people in a radius of 50 yards speaking English, waiting to take a picture with Dora.
The line is hideously long, and Scott is about to blow a gasket, so I keep commenting on how fast the line is moving. Meanwhile, I'm looking for lice in the kid's head in front of me. Dark hair always makes me do that--look for lice, I mean. I don't know why. The time passes pretty quickly when you're doing lice-checks on random kids, so before I knew it, we were pretty far up in the line. Jenna is hanging on my leg like a pair of bad hose, and Clairey is in my arms, trying to jump out so she can see Dora. In the line, there was this cut-out of Boots (the monkey Dora hangs with), and Clairey just starts pointing and saying, "Boots! Boots!" But you have to imagine she's German, because she says "Boots" with a German accent--it comes out something like, "Byuts! Byuts!" So Claire's showing off her variable accent, and Jenna is still just hanging on my leg. I figure we'll get up there, Jenna will take one look at Dora, and scream. Because, seriously, she hates big-headed characters that look like they could possibly eat you, and, she just always embarasses me that way.
It's FINALLY our turn, Claire's breaking from my grip, Jenna's hanging from my leg, we turn the corner and THERE'S DORA. In a move that will shock me for the rest of my life, Jenna tears away from my leg, runs up to the huge-headed Dora and hugs her! Then she's just hanging on her. My kid, hanging on Dora. Giving her high-fives even, and saying, "Oh, Dora! I love you! I love you, Dora!" Being that Claire was just super-excited to see Dora, I walked her over there and went to set her down...not happening. She did that thing where you try to set her down, and she stays in the "I was just riding your hip" position. If you're a mom, you know exactly what I'm talking about.
We HAD to get a picture with Dora, so I squatted down on the floor next to Jenna and Dora, so Scott could take our picture. Right as he pressed the shutter, Dora decided to pat Clairey on the head. The look on Claire's face is priceless: it's a mix between "Holy Mother of God, what ARE you?" and "What the FUCK are you doing?!"
What a lovely outing. Gracias Dora, Gracias.
We get to the mall, and it's so crowded with little kids, that I think I'm going to die. There are TONS of kids. There are a million little 2 to 6-year-old Mexican ninas dressed to the nines like it's their quincenera. Have you ever seen a 3-year-old in heels? I have. And here are my gringo kids, not even wearing a Dora shirt. I'm a terrible mother. Here we are, the only people in a radius of 50 yards speaking English, waiting to take a picture with Dora.
The line is hideously long, and Scott is about to blow a gasket, so I keep commenting on how fast the line is moving. Meanwhile, I'm looking for lice in the kid's head in front of me. Dark hair always makes me do that--look for lice, I mean. I don't know why. The time passes pretty quickly when you're doing lice-checks on random kids, so before I knew it, we were pretty far up in the line. Jenna is hanging on my leg like a pair of bad hose, and Clairey is in my arms, trying to jump out so she can see Dora. In the line, there was this cut-out of Boots (the monkey Dora hangs with), and Clairey just starts pointing and saying, "Boots! Boots!" But you have to imagine she's German, because she says "Boots" with a German accent--it comes out something like, "Byuts! Byuts!" So Claire's showing off her variable accent, and Jenna is still just hanging on my leg. I figure we'll get up there, Jenna will take one look at Dora, and scream. Because, seriously, she hates big-headed characters that look like they could possibly eat you, and, she just always embarasses me that way.
It's FINALLY our turn, Claire's breaking from my grip, Jenna's hanging from my leg, we turn the corner and THERE'S DORA. In a move that will shock me for the rest of my life, Jenna tears away from my leg, runs up to the huge-headed Dora and hugs her! Then she's just hanging on her. My kid, hanging on Dora. Giving her high-fives even, and saying, "Oh, Dora! I love you! I love you, Dora!" Being that Claire was just super-excited to see Dora, I walked her over there and went to set her down...not happening. She did that thing where you try to set her down, and she stays in the "I was just riding your hip" position. If you're a mom, you know exactly what I'm talking about.
We HAD to get a picture with Dora, so I squatted down on the floor next to Jenna and Dora, so Scott could take our picture. Right as he pressed the shutter, Dora decided to pat Clairey on the head. The look on Claire's face is priceless: it's a mix between "Holy Mother of God, what ARE you?" and "What the FUCK are you doing?!"
What a lovely outing. Gracias Dora, Gracias.
Mar 30, 2005
Quote of the day
"Yeah, I know what you mean. Like, when I'm reading the Bible, and then later I do, you know, 'man' stuff--like touch my penis. I always feel really guilty and think I'm going to hell."
Indeed, I am in caloric hell
Since the last week of January, I have been working out at least 2x a week. Yes, I know that's not much by the standards of many, but when you've popped out two midgets, have to work for the man, and have more laundry than a Russian orphanage, your time is limited. So, I do Step Interval on Tuesdays, and Kickboxing on Thursdays. Both of which kick my ass. Hard. I'm often left on the floor, wheezing for breath, lying in a pool of my own sweat and tears. But I digress.
When I met with my "Nutritional Advisor" (read: blonde, cute, most likely wears a size 3, fresh-out-of-college chick with a bachelors in Fitness), she could not understand why I hadn't lost A SINGLE FUCKING POUND. Not one. ZERO. So, she asked me to keep track of my calories. "Okay," I said. Boy, am I an idiot, or what? For 3 weeks, I keep track of all the calories that make it to my mouth, the ones that I lick off my fingers, and the ones that secretly make it into my mouth because Jenna took a sip of my pop and good Lord that kid can't drink anything without leaving a smackerel of something behind. I presented it to Aleta--yes, that's her name. Doesn't she sound like some kind of goddess?--and she said she'd look over it and get back to me.
She called me back a few days later to tell me that she conferred with a dietician, and essentially, I am such a sporadic eater, that my metabolism doesn't know if I'm eating or starving. Nice. She told me to eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day. While she's telling me all this, I'm looking up "liposuction" on my laptop, because seriously, wouldn't that be so much easier?
When I met with my "Nutritional Advisor" (read: blonde, cute, most likely wears a size 3, fresh-out-of-college chick with a bachelors in Fitness), she could not understand why I hadn't lost A SINGLE FUCKING POUND. Not one. ZERO. So, she asked me to keep track of my calories. "Okay," I said. Boy, am I an idiot, or what? For 3 weeks, I keep track of all the calories that make it to my mouth, the ones that I lick off my fingers, and the ones that secretly make it into my mouth because Jenna took a sip of my pop and good Lord that kid can't drink anything without leaving a smackerel of something behind. I presented it to Aleta--yes, that's her name. Doesn't she sound like some kind of goddess?--and she said she'd look over it and get back to me.
She called me back a few days later to tell me that she conferred with a dietician, and essentially, I am such a sporadic eater, that my metabolism doesn't know if I'm eating or starving. Nice. She told me to eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day. While she's telling me all this, I'm looking up "liposuction" on my laptop, because seriously, wouldn't that be so much easier?
Mar 29, 2005
She wore an itsy, bitsy, teeny, weeny, yellow, polka-dot bikini...that she shouldn't be wearing because her butt is WAY too large
The horror has set in. In exactly 17 weeks, I will be vacationing with my best friend and her husband--who just happens to be a coworker. How scary is that?! Do you understand?! Let me spell it out for you: COWORKER. Still don't get it? Let me drop a few more details of this trip: Mexico. Beach. SWIMWEAR. Ah yes, now you've got it. A BATHING SUIT. In front of a coworker. BATHING. SUIT. Will all the women in the house please hold my virtual hand and cry with me?
Yes, these people are our best friends, and yes, I know they don't care about what I look like in a bathing suit. However, they have no idea that when I put on a swimsuit I look like sausage in casing with a tropical floral print. They have no idea that when my ass is not contained within the restrictions of pants or a skirt, it explodes outwards into a bulbous, jello-y mass that rivals Santa's dear old belly. And J.Lo?? Shit, J.Lo ain't got nothin' on me! Jenny-from-the-block needs to back her little ass up because I'm in all her shiznit. Sorry...slight break in sanity there. Back to the nightmare that is my life...
There is no way to get out of wearing a bathing suit. I mean, we're going to be there for five days, and all you do while there is swim and drink at the swim-up bar, and swim, and drink at the swim-up bar, and drink, and swim, and drink, and drink. Well, we're going to have the kids, and it would be way too irresponsible to drink that much, so cut-out most of the swimming. There's just going to be a lot of bathing-suit-wearing going on. I've thought about this a great deal, and my butt is just not receptive to cover-ups either. Last time I wore a sarong on vacation, the waiters kept calling my ass "senorita" and asking it what it would like to drink. I look like I have an undeveloped twin attached to my back.
I'm just going to name it Shirley and get on with my life.
Yes, these people are our best friends, and yes, I know they don't care about what I look like in a bathing suit. However, they have no idea that when I put on a swimsuit I look like sausage in casing with a tropical floral print. They have no idea that when my ass is not contained within the restrictions of pants or a skirt, it explodes outwards into a bulbous, jello-y mass that rivals Santa's dear old belly. And J.Lo?? Shit, J.Lo ain't got nothin' on me! Jenny-from-the-block needs to back her little ass up because I'm in all her shiznit. Sorry...slight break in sanity there. Back to the nightmare that is my life...
There is no way to get out of wearing a bathing suit. I mean, we're going to be there for five days, and all you do while there is swim and drink at the swim-up bar, and swim, and drink at the swim-up bar, and drink, and swim, and drink, and drink. Well, we're going to have the kids, and it would be way too irresponsible to drink that much, so cut-out most of the swimming. There's just going to be a lot of bathing-suit-wearing going on. I've thought about this a great deal, and my butt is just not receptive to cover-ups either. Last time I wore a sarong on vacation, the waiters kept calling my ass "senorita" and asking it what it would like to drink. I look like I have an undeveloped twin attached to my back.
I'm just going to name it Shirley and get on with my life.
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