Sunday, April 30, 2006
The Door Man awoke me this morning at *thankfully* 5:25 "I frew up in bed ... all over."
And he wasn't lying. But the "all over" was, thankfully, contained to the ugly brown reversible throw with the bear on it. That will now give me an excellent reason to rid this house of the monstrosity. This is one of the blankets that you just can't stand to cover up with, let alone put down for a picnic somewhere.
Door Man has gotten sick some more since that, which totally shot to shit my thought that he drank the water at Great Wolf Lodge, or that he drank his chocolate shake from our local ice cream establishment way too fast.
So now this is the waiting game. The thing I hate the most. Waiting for the other two to light up and grace us with either the noise of someone getting sick to their stomach, or the oldest coming in to deliver the same message of doom.
Why can't I have children who don't start puking until they are nine years old? Someone in choir with me said she had to TEACH her then 9 YO how to puke in a trashcan. That can't be us, though. We have to have the Vomit Kids.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
A bone to pick
I had heard about this *tribute* to Britney Spears giving birth to her firstborn, who is now some seven months old, in the form of a scupture.
Now ... tell me this: This is supposed to depict the *beauty* of Britney, giving birth on a bearskin rug.
First ... did anyone else assume this position when they had their spinal administered to them before an elected c-section?
Second .... did anyone have a bearskin rug in the operating room during their c-section?
Because, if you did, I am going to have to call the hospital in which the Chandelier Monkey was extracted from my body, and ask for my money back because I didn't get ANY of those things when I had MY c-section. But apparently, Britney did.
I guess it is all about the star power. Because not only can you have a nice bearskin run upon which to lounge during your section, but you can also fool hundreds of thousands of people into thinking that you gave birth vaginally, when in all reality, you were scared shitless by your mother when she told you that childbirth pain is the most excrutiating pain you will ever feel in your natural life.
My props to Susie Sunshine for giving me the information about Britney's mother, and the reminder that I truly cannot stand that piece of *artwork*.
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
From now on, Ace gets the duty...
From here on out, Ace will take the kids in for their shots. I am done with them. I am done being the one who physically holds the child down to administer pain to them. But maybe that is the payback for child birth.
Monday, April 24, 2006
And then there are the people who forward them on. My MIL used to do this ALL the time; now she does it SOME of the time. But there is one person in particular who is in our choir who does it on a regular basis, to the main mailing address of the entire choir.
Let's see... this informed citizen, let's call him Bill Paver, has now enlightened the choir with (1) telling the difference between the common brown house spider and the brown recluse, accompanied with pictures of what a recluse bite looks like (let's put it this way: recluse bites eat the flesh, so you can well imagine the picture that was attached); (2) optical illusions that I will abashedly admit to have looked at for a total of five minutes; and (3) the infinite wisdom of the Internet Christians, who believe that the only way to being Saved is to forward some sappy email with some equally sappy picture of an angel, telling you that you will enjoy life everlasting if you forward the email on to five people in five minutes; if you don't, the guarantee is no longer there.
Seriously, I don't see how our choir director is allowing this to go on. I keep waiting for him to inadvertently hit *reply all* and then cuss this guy out. Wouldn't THAT be a hoot?!?!? Let's just say Phil, oops, I mean BILL, would probably no longer want to sing with the choir. Or he could just keep going in his normal fashion and think that the director wasn't talking to him.
Sunday, April 23, 2006
Being the mother of a 2 1/2 year old, a 5 year old, and a 7 year old, do you really think there is much enjoyment having to entertain all three of them at the same time? Really, no. There is really no enjoyment there. If there was to be enjoyment in that endeavor, then we should rid our churches of all Sunday school opportunities and force everyone to sit through service with their children in the lap at all times.
Better yet, give the children to those people who came up with the concept of Family Day for them to watch and entertain and soothe when they find a coach's whistle on the seat and their father allows them to put on their neck but then their mother rips it from their tiny little grasp and they start wailing because Mommy just took something from them that Daddy was going to let them have. Of course, that wasn't US. That wasn't the Chandelier Monkey who had found that whistle.
Why WAS there a whistle on her seat anyway? A sick joke? Hey ... for shits and giggles, let's leave this whistle here amongst this THRONG of small people. That should liven things up a bit.
Things actually were fine, especially when the Monkey sat with her now adoptive mother, Robin. Cannot thank her enough for taking care of the Monkey this am.
And you know something else I observed? Strangely, Family Day fell on a day that our senior pastor had decided was a good time to leave the state to go visit his daughter in another state. Our senior pastor is not known to have a special place in his heart for small people. Today would have totally driven him over the edge.
And then there were those times when I sat there and thought that the son of a man who I think is total eye candy would make a perfect mate for Queen Bee, and that when she reaches 21, he will only be 28. So really... nothing wrong with that, I don't think.
So the next time I hear those two words uttered again, I will find someplace that I have to be because Family Day only made me want a vacation from mine.
Saturday, April 22, 2006
Doritos and Moon Pie
This afternoon, I called Ace to see how the Door Man's soccer game was going, and he said "where are you?" to which I responded that I was at the church. He said they were pulling in. So I go out, scoop up the Chanderlier Monkey, who emitted that overwhelming smell of Doritos. I thought maybe she had them for lunch (you see, my very dear friend, Robin, took Jenna for the morning so I wouldn't go SO crazy trying to get my stuff done), so I didn't think anymore about it.
One of the kids in Queen Bee's elementary choir made a comment about how the Monkey smelled like Doritos. Yeah... thanks, kid. Now get my kid off your lap and go listen to your director before I have a come to Jesus talk with ya. Ace says ... yeah. Those are the Door Man's Doritos she was eating. That was part of the Door Man's snack. Doritos and Moon Pies.
Seriously. Could there be any MORE of a disgusting combination? I asked Ace if they handed out 20 ounce bottles of the Dew to wash it down with. Ace smiled, but never agreed or disagreed. That means they could have, but Ace drank it in 20 seconds flat.
To me, there is nothing more disgusting, other than Ale-8-1 (you Southerners know what that is), than Doin' the Dew. I am not sure if it is an urban legend, but I heard tell once that Diet Dew has more acidity than human urine. Probably should Snopes that sometime.
So if you happen to drive by my house and see an extremely wired five year old boy, still in his soccer attire, hanging from his swingset, blame it on the Moon Pie.
Friday, April 21, 2006
This damn street
And then there are the emergency vehicles. Not that they come down this way all the time, they do use it some and THAT is really nice. And you know when it happens? 11:00 at night. I think that the local ambulance service has a memo they pass around ... hey ... you need to go down that street at LEAST two times in the next two weeks to hit our quota. The residents are getting too comfortable.
Speaking of sidewalks and the city engineers, we have this really cool looking monstrosity about three blocks down that looks like a blind contractor put it in for the city. It curves and winds ALL over the place. Ace talked to someone from the city about a few years ago, and he was told that they HAD to do it that way because it was along the river bank and they ran into a lot of rocks and trees and things. Well here's a suggestion: don't put in the sidewalk. Seriously ... that takes the impetus off the people across the street to put in their own walks. WE had to do it; so should they!
Sidewalks and this town are a sore subject, one that is revisited at least 3-4 times a year. Who's going to repair it? Who's going to replace it? Who's going to put it in? Who really cares? I was salty when we got the notice that we had to install one because there is a completely WONDERFUL sidewalk across the street. Yeah... so what if they have to cross that traffic? The sidewalk actually starts at our house and goes about 3 blocks, and then ends. Don't ask me what the real purpose of putting that in was because I don't rightly know.
Well, I have about 1000 things to do before 9 am, so I suppose I should get cracking. I have to go read to the Door Man's preschool class this morning, get Queen Bee to school, and take some stuff over to the local college where I teach.
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Queen Bee, the Brownie
But seriously, Door Man is all boy. He says things like "can I see what your poop looks like?" and "smell my feet." What is it about the brain of a little boy that just allows these things to filter through and reach their lips? Oh yeah... they are men in the making. Why should I expect my five year old to be any different than my 35 year old? I live in a world of delusions.
And you know what? I went to bed last night, winning something on Ebay, something that really would hold NO interest to anyone but myself. I was confident that I had it in the bag with only three hours left. I went to bed at midnight, expecting to be the proud owner of the item.
Woke up this morning, and wouldn't you know? That dreaded email was sitting right there in my email box. This really was nothing stellar. But now it is nothing stellar in someone else's home. Thanks a lot, you sniper.
I have a Pampered Chef party to go to tonight. It should be a night full of entertainment.
Maybe I should just rename this blog ... I seem to be doing a lot of griping. I am not a griping kind of person. Really. Just ask Ace. No wait, don't ask him. Ask my kids. No wait.. don't ask them either. Ask any random checker at our local Wal Mart. I don't think they know me.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Spiders and bees and ants .... OH MY!
You would think with all the carrying on that goes on with her and flying, stinging insects that she has been stung like a google times already. In one spot. But she hasn't. Her brother, on the other hand, met up with a wasp down by the river at my parents house, about 1/2 a mile away. We could hear him screaming all the way down to their house. Now that is well-founded fear.
But Queen Bee. No way. She has NO idea what a sting feels like. She just has a paralyzing fear that is now being transferred to the Door Man and the Monkey.
They were outside playing last week during the Monkey's nap. Queen Bee had to come back inside because she saw "shadows of bees" flying around.
Give me an effing break. Seriously. HOW could I raise such mealy-mouthed kids when it comes to bugs? Is it because I am such a strong person that they want to be weak? The Monkey calls everything a ladybug, which would have a cute connotation if it weren't for the fact that she is deathly afraid of them.
But the real kicker today outside was when the Door Man came up to me to let me know that his toenail was "coming off." It had ripped a little at the side, nothing debilitating, really. Well, in MY opinion, nothing debilitating. To the Door Man ... well, his TOENAIL WAS BEING RIPPED OFF! And to make matters worse, he doesn't like the toenail clippers. They are from the devil, I tell you!
So, here I have Queen Bee, who is supposed to be going inside to get the Door Man some clippers, screaming at the bees that are swarming the house like in some really bad made for tv movie about the dreaded African Bees that allegedly were in Mexico and making their way into Texas back in 1984, and the Door Man, screeching at the top of his lungs about how much he hates!!!!!! toenail clippers, saying they are going to maim him for life. You can well imagine how much the neighbors are looking forward to this summer.
And SO am I.
Well guess what?
In two minutes, the Door Man will be running around the church sanctuary with the rest of his class, hunting for plastic Easter eggs. Do I feel guilty that this is his last hunt and I won't be there to witness it? Some, but not enough to throw the Monkey in the car to run over there to watch. I was at EVERY one of Queen Bee's events at this school. For the Door Man, not so many. But isn't that expected treatment for a middle child? I think so. I think there is some scientific evidence that backs this up. If you are the middle child, you will have to suffer through many heartaches, including the fact that your mother is too lazy to go watch you run around, looking for those little eggs.
I won't miss his graduation, and I will be going into his class on Friday to read a book to them. I will let the Man pick it out on his own.
Well, Nana has emerged with the Monkey, who bumped her head. Nana automatically ran to the freezer ... typical. She is like worst case scenario.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
And if you consider entertaining a 2 1/2 year old who has discovered the glorious world of gum, and who can't take NO MORE GUM for an answer, as doing something, then I did SOMEthing.
And if you consider taking a 7 year old to school, and picking her up as doing something, then I did SOMEthing.
Or meeting with my IS students. Or entertaining the Door Man when all DM wanted to do was talk to me the ENTIRE time I was trying to watch the scrapbook marathon on QVC. Much to his father's chagrin, he couldn't stop the Maniac from ordering 2 packs of Wild Asparagus paper, and a buttload of foam alphabet letters.
The Chandelier Monkey decided that dipping her now empty Princess Pull Ups wipe box in the toilet and calling it "mmmm... GOOD water" was an awesome pastime today. It makes me nervous to think there was more than just dipping going on.
Queen Bee didn't make it to soccer tonight as she was complaining of a headache and had a lowgrade fever. Don't know if those two things are related or not...
And Ace and I just had a conversation (read: argument) on how Rotary and MOPS are two totally different things, but that it is ok to miss a meeting every once in a while. Seriously, what is the POINT of Rotary?
A bunch of people who eat a free breakfast, put in their *happy dollar* (which is what led Ace and I to have the argument), and *network.* Network, my ass. Attending Rotary meetings for the year that Ace didn't have a job REALLY put him a good position. Must have been all that *networking* he was doing at these meetings. I was waiting for them to catch on that he was a freeloader, and they would boot his butt out the door.
You can well imagine that his Rotary club loves me. They had their little shebang on being chartered (WOO HOO! the Rotary gods are smiling down on them!), and when I walked in the door in my tye dye shirt, jeans, and Birkenstocks, I was politely *HA* told that this was the Rotary meeting ... I don't think there is anything for you here. I just glared at this self-serving wench of a woman, and blew right past her, finding Ace in a sea of suits and Republican do-gooders.
I don't do well with the mainstream. I don't do well with people who think I should be more conservative, more quiet. I don't tolerate those type of people well. Because you know what? I am who I am, and there's no changing me. I stand up for what I believe in ...
And that is why I had to run away from my other blog because I am SUCH a strong person and stood up for my rights, instead of telling my MIL to quit reading my blog.
I am SUCH a fighter!
So that story about my father in law
Conversations can be free-flowing at times, but at others, it can be stale. This weekend was not one of those stellar conversation visits.
Here are some observations about my inlaws:
1. They come to see their son; seeing the grandkids is a bonus, sometimes. They never come to see their daughter in law. And really, why?
2. They can take the kids in bits and pieces. They can't be around them more than 8 hours at a time. My FIL HAS to take a nap in the middle of the day. I call it an excuse. Yes, he had open heart surgery about four or five years ago due to a massive heart attack. But then, this is the man who will make 2-3 trips up and down 100+ stairs built into a hillside. It is all about priorities, people.
3. They have never really liked me. They tolerate me, and I, them. It is a relationship of co-existence, really. We have had our bouts of screaming matches on the phone. We have fought over the STUPIDEST things, and there have been times when I would just like to have left that relationship in the dust.
4. No matter how hard I try, they get under my skin. Case in point:
We are out to eat Sunday for Easter. Nice little get together at a local establishment. Hardware Man (nah... not gonna stick with that one) used to play saxophone. Ask his parents. They have at LEAST 5 different photo albums with at least 100 pics a piece of HM playing on at least EVERY SINGLE piece of grass on his HS football team's field. And hence the conversation:
FIL: Hey... have you gotten out your sax (he had asked his parents to bring it one visit because he HAD to have it for some reason or another)?
HM: Some, but not a lot.
FIL: Have you thought about playing in your church's band?
HM: No ... there are too many people playing sax as it is, and that didn't even include the Worship Arts pastor.
FIL: Well, I just figured ... since she's up there doing HER thing (that would be ME he is talking about), I just thought it would be nice that you could get up there and do YOUR thing. You've been busy corraling the kids; let them corral themselves.
Nice. Right there in front of my kids. He considers a man taking care of his OWN children, HIS grandchildren, to be "corraling" them. AND he thinks that because I have this ONE thing that I do on my own that poor pitiful HM is having to deal with the kids, and he gets to do NOTHING.
Whattheeffever. HM was asked to usher; he said no. He has been asked, repeatedly, to join the choir. He has said no. HM does damn well whatever he pleases, and then it looks like I am some sort of pushy bitch who gets her way constantly because POOR HM ... he can't do what he wants to do in church.
Nice Christian attitude, huh?
Am I this famous?
I wanted a new blog. My mother in law was reading my other blog ... one that I post on every day. Do you know how disconcerting it is to know that (1) just the sheer fact that she reads it and (2) you can NEVER, I mean NEVER speak of anything remotely related to them. I can't speak in code because she will break it. I posted something a few weeks ago about my husband doing something, and calling him The Prodigal Son (having an interview in his home state and calling his parents to let them know he was "coming home" for the interview), and he looked at me and said "you know, my MOTHER reads your blog."
Well... that PISSES me off. It really and truly does. Seriously. Does she have the right to do that? Does she have the right to see what this family is doing EVERY SINGLE DAY of their LIVES?
The short answer: no.
The long answer: well, you know, you put your life out there on that blog, and STRANGERS can read it, so why can't your mother in law?
Well... because ... I don't WANT her reading it. I don't WANT her looking into my life. I don't WANT to be constrained by the fact that I can't speak freely about the things that went on this past weekend (which I will discuss in another post because I just don't have the time to do it now because it PISSES me off). I want to be able to speak freely, to have a place where my blogging friends (and my blogging non-friends) can read up on my life.
And I am speaking on anonymity now. I am going to come up with some really cute names for my family ... like the Hardware Dude for my husband. I will have to give some good thought to the kids.
All right ... speaking of those kids, gotta go. Friends, read on. But no mother in laws allowed.
I'm a mom of three peeps ... Queen Bee, The Door Man, and the Chandelier Monkey, and wife to Ace, the Helpful Hardware Man. I created this space to get away from the people known as my inlaws, and because life with three kids and a hubby is all Unexplored Territory.
Retiring the Blog