Unexplored Territory

Monday, July 31, 2006

Proof positive of why you should never send a child to do a woman's work

Yesterday morning, the whole family was running late for church. Queen Bee could not find a THING to go with her new shoes. She finally settled on the new outfit I bought her. The Monkey did NOT want to go to the bathroom, but Mother Nature finally ran its course. And the Door Man wouldn't put on his shoes.

Ok .... and Mom didn't get in the shower until ... oh ... 8. Ace followed shortly thereafter. At T-minus 10 and counting, Ace finally loaded the girls up in the van, and the Door Man and I were to follow in the car.

We make it outside, get in the car, make it about 1/2 block down the street when I realize .... shit. I forgot my feminine supplies. I waffled on whether I would go back and get them, and decided that I would hate myself if I didn't.

We sped back home, and instead of taking matters into my own hands, I decide to send the Door Man in for them.

Yeah... I like to traumatize my kids. So sue me.

"Hey ... run inside REALLLY quick ... go into Mommy's bathroom and on my counter are two green things that are about this (showing him the length) big ... can you run in and get them?"

Running is a new art form for the Man. He doesn't run. He lopes. Like a horse. Seriously. It is seriously a three-gaited lope, and no he doesn't have three legs.

He comes back out, hand clenched in a fist, shit-eating grin on his face. Uh oh... this could mean one of two things: (1) he is really proud of himself because he found exactly what I needed him to find or (2) his mother's mean streak has come out and he brought something totally wrong out to me.

He chose the latter.

This:

became

This:

However ... I have to hand it to him. They both stop things up.

Sunday, July 30, 2006

Mommy Off the Record soon to leave

MOTR will soon be leaving my little space here. She is busy at BlogHer, but she has a really cool post ... she asked her readers to post two of their favorite blog entries of their own, and she has linked to them on her blog. What a cool way for her to celebrate her 100th post!

Congrats on your 100th post, MOTR. And thanks for taking up tenancy for a week!

And by the by... you will recognize 65 and 66.

Friday, July 28, 2006

Sweet, sweet sound

I am supposed to be getting in the shower in order to take Queen Bee to her swim lesson, but I heard this sound, and I knew I had to blog about it.

The sound is the Monkey's laugh.

There is nothing sweeter in this world. She is the cutest little giggler, and she can crack herself up at a moment's notice.

The Monkey finds the humor in most situations, almost to the point of it being scarey. To think that a child at the tender age of three can find humor.....

Right now, she and the Door Man are out in the hallway with a flashlight, making shadows on the wall. She is giggling with delight as new shadows are formed and the Door Man finds a new shape to make.

Yesterday, the Man was eating lunch and had had quite a bit to eat. He was playing the "which is bigger" game with pretzel sticks. He would hold up a normal-sized one, and a small one, and say "Mommy .. which one is bigger?" and I would say "your head." Well, he didn't like that, so he said "stop saying thaaaaaaaat" as a loud Barney burp emitted from his body.

The Monkey erupted in a fit of laughter. "He.... say ..... THAAAAAT..... burping....... "

She laughed for five minutes about it. And of course, I laughed with her.

Laughter really IS the best medicine. We should do it more often, and children should always be involved.

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

TT # 3

I LOVE Napoleon Dynamite. When Ace rented it from Blockbuster one evening, I thought "great... here we go ... I have to suffer through yet ANOTHER sophomoric movie selection of his." Because you know, Ace has been known to rent some doozies... House of Wax being the last doozie that graced the presence of this house. But ND ... a cult classic, to be certain. My friend, Robin, and I will laugh hysterically as we remember lines from the movie....

So ... even if you haven't seen the movie, hopefully these pearls of wisdom with stay with you throughout this Thursday. You never know. It might save your life. Nah...

Without further ado...

Thirteen Things I Learned from Napoleon Dynamite

1. It doesn't matter if it is family; grapefruit is a good object to throw at cars.

2. Steak fresh from the source is much better than store-bought.

3. The side-loading ponytail ... it WILL make a comeback!

4. Even geeks can wear a sweet suit and make it look good.

5. "I want that" could be muttered by anyone, including your senior pastor during a sermon, and you still get the giggles because we ALL want ships in glass bottles.

6. D-Qwon's Dance Grooves should be on everyone's must watch list.

7. Caboodles were the best things ... EVER! All of those little drawers that pull out and all that storage area underneath .... priceless. Yet another item that WILL make a comeback. Or should.

8. There is still hope for the underdog.

9. Presidential Election 2008: Vote for Pedro.

10. When faced with incredible odds, adrenaline will kick in everytime when your cousin is being attacked by wolverines, and you have to fend them off with a freaking 12 gauge. Gosh.

11. They don't do things the same in the Gem State as they do down in Juarez.

12. Tots can fit just about anywhere.

13. Music for a Found Harmonium ... sweetest song EVER!

Get the Thursday Thirteen code here!

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Tuesday, July 25, 2006

Musings..

First of all, thanks to Dr. John, someone I have never "met" before ... he is linking to my site today. Thank you so much! And hello to you all who are linking over from there. Hope you enjoy the reading.

I was reading on my renter's blog a few days ago about how she was feeling about the lack of blogging about her child, and how she had come to grips with the fact that you don't need to have every single post about your child because ... well ... as much as we love our children, it is hard to understand the dynamic of them when you aren't there and witnessing them first-hand.

But let me give you a little glimpse into the persona of the Chandelier Monkey, if you don't mind. If you do, well you know where that X is on your screen.

The Monkey is a petite little thing. When she was born, she weighed in at a whopping 4 pounds 13 ounces. After having the Queen weigh in at 9 9 and the Man in at 8 13, I didn't know what to do with a child that size. And she hasn't outgrown it. I feared that she might be meek or not be able to hold her own. So far from the truth.

Now, when she throws her little three year old fits at home, I deal with it in an expeditious manner. She gets whisked off to time outs on the floor. And then she resumes the same activity that landed her in the time out in the first place. This child screams, screeches, yells, corrects her brother, argues with him, tells her sister to sit down... the list goes on and on. And we have to constantly tell her to curb it.

However, the tables are turned when he go out to eat somewhere. The playing field is different. Here, Mom and Dad have NO control over what is said and done by the Monkey. If she even LOOKS like she is going to cry, we try to divert her attention. If the Door Man starts to argue with her, and she gets that mean look in her eye, we tell the Door Man to knock it off. Because let me tell you: heck hath no fury like the Monkey scorned.

We practically bend over backwards to get her to think about something else.

Have you ever seen Twilight Zone: The Movie? It was Episode Three where a little boy could make all his wishes come true. I just remember how they would walk on eggshells around him, making sure that noone ticked him off for fear of what he would do to them. Yeah ... imagine that at a restaurant.

Because you know ... Ace and I don't want to live the rest of our lives inside the tv where our kids could turn us on and off with the remote control. But maybe we already do.

Hot Tot Toy Awards

My renter, Mommy Off the Record, tells it like it is ... well, let's just say ... her babe tells it like it is on how we Mommies are wasting our hard-earned money on plastic toys. Pop over to read her tot's must-have list! And tell her I said "hello!"

Sunday, July 23, 2006

I'm starting to think I need to change his name

The Door Man is obsessive about things. When he gets on something, it is all he can think about. There are times that I truly worry about him turning into Monk. Sometimes we call him Monk. To his face. Yes, scar him for life, I know. But hey ... he doesn't know who Monk is, so no harm, no foul.

I believe that I should change his nickname to: Onion Boy.

Not that he smells like one. Not that he looks like one. But he has a love affair with the onion.

When he goes out to my parents' house, he raids the Mominator's herb garden, ridding her of a majority of her chives. And the other two love to eat them, too. It makes for a very pleasant 15 minute drive back home. He will stand there with 10 chive offshoots in his grubby little hands, shoving them in as fast as he can because he knows that I will be on top of him like a fly on honey, telling him that he will be the one cleaning up the chive-induced hurl in the backseat.

When he gets onion rings, he peels part of the breading off, rips the onion from its home, eats it, and then pops the rest of the breading in his mouth. It is a science.

We go to the Farmer's Market a few weeks ago. I pick up an onion. He is beyond thrilled. We walk into the house, and he looks at me and I shudder. It is the look of a crazed man. Not a boy. A man. The type who will say things like "woman, get me my dinner!" "woman, why aren't my shirts ironed?"

And he said to me in that boy voice of his "mommy ... can you cook that onion up for me tonight for dinner?"

Tonight we were out to eat with my parents. The Door Man LOOOOOVES his PawPaw. PawPaw could do NO wrong.

After the child version of the Dyson vacuum cleaner had consumed his dinner of Plenty O'Pancakes, a sausage link, and 1/2 of my dinner roll, the Man turned his gaze upon his younger sister's dinner. He received a chicken finger, and some smiley face potatoes.

The Door Man didn't eat the potatoes, and my Dad didn't know what they were so, when in doubt, get the Door Man all excited.

Hey ... I think you have some onion rings on your plate.

Practically falling out of his chair, the Door Man exclaims WHERE?!?!!?

Right there on your plate .... those round smiley things.

PawPaw .. those aren't onion rings. Is this your first time here?

Give a shout out!

To my new renter, Mommy Off the Record. Seriously funny stuff over there! So check her out! She will be with me for a week!!!

Friday, July 21, 2006

Opening a can of whoop ass

There is nothing that irks me more than not being somewhere where I wish I could have been. Case in point.

Last night, Ace had to drop something off to me at the school where I teach, and he said he was taking the kids to a local park. This one the kids especially love because it is a huge fort with all sorts of things to do there. The stated age is for 2 - 12 year olds.

What the sign doesn't say is: if you are a smart-ass 11-13 year old kid who smokes at the shed beside the fort, and who throws mulch at the five and six and seven year olds, and who verbally harasses small children, then be prepared to have a can of whoop ass opened on ya!

But it should.

These aforedescribed children decided they would take up residence around the fort and terrorize and harass the Door Man and Queen Bee. Queenie even mentioned that she was about ready to cry.

Where was Ace in all of this? Taking care of the Monkey. And let's face it: Ace couldn't open the same can of whoop ass that I could on these kids. I have a rep at this particular location, physically pulling two children aside who had been playing hide and seek in the small kid area, and they were too old to be over there. And hell hath no fury like a pregnant mom who witnesses her son, who was just the tender age of two, being mauled by these kids. They apologized, but half-assed, so they had a do-over. Then their papa shows up and wanted to know what was going on. I turned, he saw the full-force of fury on my face, and my bulging belly, and he backed off. Rightfully so.

So had I been there last night, I would have had my own private entry in the docket about the superhero Mom who swept in and rid the local park of the teenage riff-raff, giving the small children of this community an opportunity to climb the tire rope without the fear of having their shoes pulled off.

Yeah. I am sure that would have been the entry.

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Thirteen of My Favorite Cereals

I am a self-proclaimed cereal junkie. I would eat it for every meal, if someone let me. Here are a few of my faves:

1. Life.

2. Crunch Berries ... but you have to eat out the yellow cereal first and then eat a bowlfull of berries.

3. Cheerios. I remember when Kenner would put in the box a little pamphlet/catalogue thingy that showed all of their toys. I would sit and dream.

4. Boo Berry. Not the new kind. I hate that stuff. The kind they made in the 80s.

5. Franken Berry ... see # 4.

6. Cocoa Puffs. I ate two full bowls of this when I was in labor with Queen Bee, and then threw it all up when my water broke.

7. Honey Bunches of Oats with Almonds. This is one my MIL got me interested in because that is all she eats.

8. Frosted Mini Wheats ... mmm... nothing like sugar on a haystack.

9. Lucky Charms ... oh yeah, baby!

10. Bran flakes. Strange amongst this sugar fest, I know.

11. Peanut Butter Cap'n Crunch .... yummy goodness.

12. Apple Jacks.

13. Super Sugar Crisp. Had to end the sugar fest with the mother of all sugar-infested cereals.

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

I can't believe we have the same taste

I have a tote in a blue and green print from a fairly well-known (at least in this area) bag maker. I use it to carry the books and stuff that I need for the Legal Research class that I teach at nights.

We went to the library this morning to pass some time away, and it was BUSY there. Someone had decided to bring in their pre-high schoolers to work on something. I have NO idea what it could have been since it is the dead of summer. And not only did they come into the children's section, but they took up EVERY SINGLE TABLE in the library.

Muttering under my breath that they could have at least taken those kids to the adult section, I wrangled my kids in and out of the feet of daycare children who had to take up residence on the floor because of said pre-high schoolers.

We found a chair over by the chinchilla, and the Chandelier Monkey was putting together various puzzles. The Door Man was finding books he wanted to check out, and Queen Bee was promising me that she WILL read these three books that she wanted to check out, even though she returned a Goosebumps book that barely had the first three pages turned in it.

Queen Bee pokes me on the shoulder and says "Hey Mommy ... look! It is the same as your tote!" and I looked at the same pattern on the back of a woman who was standing, talking to another mom. I was sure they were having the same conversation about the sheer amount of non-children in the children's section.

Then I look at her face.

And it is my mortal enemy. Well, one of them at least.

If you read my previous post about being made fun of because I wore glasses, well this person made my life a living hell when I was growing up. I went to private school; she went to public. She made fun of the fact that I didn't "belong" anywhere, that I was an outcast because of my parents' decision to send me to private school.

She made fun of the way I walked. She was just an all around cruel person, and she had a partner in crime, which made matters ten times worse.

That all around cruel person has grown up to be an all around snobby beyotch. Our paths crossed about 10 years ago when Ace was working for a bank here. Mortal Enemy # 1's husband also worked with Ace, and when Ace told me that ME#1 would be at the Christmas party, I did not look forward to seeing her after so many years. And time had not changed a thing. She was still stuck on herself and nasty.

And still, over all this time, she waves at me like I am some fly in the air that she is trying to shoo away. Sometimes it is just easier to not even acknowledge each other.

However, I took great joy in the fact that she was standing there, staring at the Door Man who was busily working on a puzzle of the United States, and putting the states in their exact locations.

Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Mindy.

Monday, July 17, 2006

It's all in the eyes

When I took the Door Man to his two week newborn checkup at the local pediatrician office, I thought that I was going in for just another normal newborn checkup. I mean, he had gotten the clean bill of health at the hospital upon our release.

It never really dawned on me that his lack of eye contact meant something. I just thought it was the typical lack of newborn focus, and that we would see some improvement over the next few weeks.

The doctor took a long look at his right eye, and then his left, and moved back to his right eye. He said "have you noticed that he isn't focusing on you at all?" and I responded that I had noticed that, but thought it was normal. I mean, come on ... I was already the mother of one child and she was still alive.

He started talking about there being a lack of red reflex in the eyes. You know that red eye you see in pictures of people, the red eye that people will try to Photo Shop out of pictures? Well apparently, the Door Man had no light getting through his lenses to the retina to have it then bounce back. Hence his lack of focusing.

The doctor then said two words ... cancer and cataracts. That first one floored me. Something called neuroblastoma. Something I couldn't fathom because I just didn't want to think about it. But the second one didn't sound as threatening because I knew about cataracts. I was born with them.

I told the doc that I had them (and still did at that appointment), and he was very relieved. He got us scheduled in for an appointment with my opthamologist.

When we had that appointment, it was all I could do not to turn into a blubbering pile of goo in the dr's chair. But that is what I did when he told me that the Door Man did indeed have cataracts in both eyes. Handing me a tissue, the doctor instructed that we needed to move quickly on getting them removed because days with the cataracts were that many days that his vision was deteriorating. And having had to live through all of this myself, I knew of the urgent need.

We were scheduled to visit a pediatric eye specialist the next day, who then scheduled us in for the Door Man's first of two cataract surgeries the following week.

Putting contacts in the eyes of my child at the tender age of six weeks was one of the most difficult things to do. But I kept reminding myself that we could have gotten off a LOT worse than we had, especially considering that one of the first words out of our ped's mouth was neuroblastoma.

We now have a thriving five (soon to be six) year old who can take his own contacts out of his eyes. And let me tell you ... we have been through SOOOOO many pairs of contacts in the last five and half years to supply a small country.

I only hope that people can see past the size of the Door Man's eyes. I only hope that people can see past the fact that the Door Man still has to have books up close to his face. I only hope that people can look past the fact that the Door Man sometimes can't recognize his own father in an aisle in the grocery store. And I can only hope and pray that friends will be merciful and not hateful when the Door Man starts to wear glasses to read. I have lived through it all. It is a hurtful place to be when a peer calls you "four eyes" or "funny looking" because of the thickness of your glasses.

But I know the Door Man will be just fine. He has a good sense of humor and a wonderful sense of self.

Sunday, July 16, 2006

Robert Palmer knew nothing

When I was growing up, the heat didn't really bother me too much. I could be outside for hours and hours on end, playing like a maniac was always one step behind me with a machete.

When I grew into a mature high schooler (THAT is tongue in cheek), I could be in band camp and not have one problem.

However, once I hit college, and those band camps of high school years were a distant memory, I would SWEAT like nobody's business on the band field. I could be standing stick still and break a sweat. I would sweat all over the step during step aerobics. I was just a sweaty, nasty beast in college. And I was in pretty good shape then.

As the years have gone by, and unfortunately the pounds added on, that sweating hasn't gone away.

However now ... I fear that sweating is caused by something else: the hot flash.

Yes, you read it here first. I fear that I am peri-menopausal.

I am 36, going to be 37 in a few months. And here, my dear readers, is when you click on the X if you wish to not gain too much information:

I started my cycle when I was nine. Yes. Nine. I was home with my father, of all people, because the Mominator and mini Martha had taken off shopping in another town. Needless to say, it was a rather demeaning experience.

But now ... I thought that I had experienced sweating to the max. Was I ever wrong.

I dry my hair, I sweat. I sleep, I wake up drenched, my pillow is drenched, and so is the pillow that I clutch at night.

But what is the most embarassing is when I am singing in front of the whole congregation. I am on microphone one or two Sundays a month. The last two times, I was worse than any Sweathog you could ever imagine. Bleck.

So when the church decides to have the family picnic on THE hottest day of the summer so far, count me OUT! However, it wouldn't be anything for the church to witness me sweating.

So really, Robert ... Some Don't Like It Hot.... because that feeling of sweat dripping into your bra.... Gah!

Saturday, July 15, 2006

Good Saturday Morning

And I wouldn't even have been here this morning ... I was supposed to go to a conference at the crack arse of dawn yesterday morning, but it ended up that I had to finish up some work. Now work is finished, and I have the weekend FREE!!!! FREEDOM!!!!! It is a wonderful feeling, really considering that I have been working about every single weekend.

I wanted to give a shout out to my new renter! She is from California, and she is also a Blueberry Martini. Check her out!!

Friday, July 14, 2006

Dinner AND a movie

We live on the corner of a side street and a fairly well-traveled throughway. So we always check out the people who are pulled up at the top sign to see if we know them, if they are picking their nose, eating their breakfast, talking on the phone, or singing with the radio.

One time, one of our neighbors from down the street who owns a Hog, pulled up the to stop sign and was waiting to make a left turn. I was standing in our living room, watching him. He started to make the turn, must have stalled out his motorcycle, and he fell over. He wasn't hurt because he wasn't going at any great amount of speed. I don't even think his bike was scratched.

But the best show ever was when two cars pulled onto the side street at the same time. Of course, because they pulled in right next to one another, we had to watch. Ace was home for the day. One was only occupied by its driver, a female, and the other car was occupied by two females.

When the cars came to a stop right beside our house, the driver jumped out of the first car, and ran over to the rolled down window of the passenger in the second car. Ace and I were sure we would see her sucker punch the passenger, so we stood at the window, soaking it all in.

Queen Bee was smaller ... probably about three or so ... but she was also interested in seeing what Mom and Dad were gawking at.

Much to our surprise, the girl who jumped out of the car hangs into the second car and she and the passenger GO AT IT! They are french kissing right there in front of all of us.

It took me about a minute or so to fully understand what was happening, and there is Queen Bee just STARING at these girls. I pulled her away from the window, and ordered Ace to get out of the window. Instead, Ace decides that this is better than any porno and hopes that they keep going.

They finally had to stop because there was a car coming down the side street, and of course as soon as they did, the one looks up at the house and sees Ace standing at the window.

I probably should have popped some popcorn for him.

Before she leaves....

Please go give my renter some love ... she's only here for another two or three hours. Thanks!

Thursday, July 13, 2006

Thirteen Things about Me!

I have wanted to do this for a few weeks now, and now I am finally getting around to doing it. So here goes.... Thirteen Things About Me!

1. As much as I outwardly show that I am confident, there is always that little person in me who second guesses EVERYthing.

2. I still seek my mother's advice, and listen to it.

3. I once hit a car ... and left the scene without reporting it. Hey ... it was icy, and I was in high school. Yeah... doesn't make it better, I know.

4. I knew I was going to have three kids.

5. I once was a local beauty queen.

6. I have the same disease that German Shepards get ... hip dysplasia.

7. I SOOOOOOOO would have married our German exchange student. Or had his children. Or something. You get the drift.

8. I hate Sex and the City and Seinfeld.

9. I don't know why I went to law school because I don't practice.

10. I want to be a high school teacher.

11. I would LOVE to live in London.

12. I would return to my high school and college years in a heartbeat.

13. Ben Kingsley told me to be quiet during a Shakespeare performance.

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

Yookah me

Aren't I cute?

I am now a blogging chick.

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Why family planning is not a community endeavor

When Ace and I started having children, we started off with one. You know, that sweet little thing that sleeps in the carseat at dinner. That sweet little thing that gets compliments about her big hazel eyes. That sweet little thing that smiles when a stranger would pay attention to her.

Then we added another. You know, that sweet little thing has a brother now. Isn't that precious, but boy ... what is the age difference between them? Wow. You sure had them close together (when hearing the answer of 23 months). Imagine the looks I received when I had a toddler in tow, and was extremely pregnant.

Then we added that third one. Now we have gone from "aren't they a precious family?" to "what in the hell did you have three kids for?" stares in restaurants.

We have gone from "look at those two ... they could be TWINS! (and really, the Door Man and Queen Bee have been mistaken for twins on more than one occasion)" to "you know, they have a cure for those kids ... it's called birth control" comments.

We have gone from "I bet they play wonderfully together, and how smart you were to have them so close together" to "what in the hell were you thinking, having THREE kids so close together" statements (all unsolicited, of course).

And then there is this morning. The chilluns and I got into the family roadster and headed off to that thar learnin' place with all them thar books ... the libairy. Man... we was in for some GOOD times....

There was a man sitting in the lobby and he looked at me with my three in tow and said "WOW! you have your hands full! (I ABHOR LOATHE HATE DESPISE that comment)." It is like people feel that they can make a comment about your family size once you have that extra kid above two. Normally when I get that comment, I just smile and say "yep... we were tired of man to man defense so hubby and I wanted to move to zone. Works much better."

I just smiled in return. Seeing my smile as an invitation to make yet another comment, he said "wow... are all them yours?"

Smiling more I responded "Oh these are just the three most well-behaved ones. I left the other five in the van because they weren't listening to me."

Sunday, July 09, 2006

Dramamine and the DVD

When Ace and I went down to his parents "lake house" (read: a three bedroom pretty nice cabin but it scares the bejeebus out of me because it is built DIRECTLY into a hill and has about 1000 stairs that go straight downward that don't like me and make me fall on their slicker than snot steps to only have me put my tail between my legs and have my MIL dress my wounds for me) ... where was I?

Oh yeah ... the house. We took a trip down there, and it is a good 7 hour drive, but we broke it up and stayed in that town where they Run for the Roses every year. We had discovered a few years prior to this trip that the Door Man gets carsick. And does he ever get sick....

So, I have started doping him up with Dramamine. You never know when he might light up, so he gets a dose when we start off for someplace, and a dose for when we head on home.

I want to know who is responsible for not putting this out in some parent newsletter somewhere: Dramamine makes kids SLEEPY. And they don't have a fighting bone in their body. And when you pair that with a DVD player, SpongeBob SquarePants, and some headphones, you have the makings of a trip made in Heaven. Oh ... and I don't give them the medication just so I can have a peacful trip ... I give it so I don't have to sit there playing catch with projectile vomit.

Oh .... and just in case you wanted to see those stairs

Saturday, July 08, 2006

Just don't let me stand next to a computer monitor

Snore. Snore. Deep breathing. Creak! Sit straight up in bed, looking around the room.

Hmmm... nothing. Must have been my imagination. Resume deep and even breathing.

Crack. Door closing. Shuffling down the hallway.

And then this... standing right next to my side of the bed.....

GAH!!!! WHAT in the HELL is it about ME that these kids are attracted to? Is there some internal Mommy magnet that I didn't know about? Something the hospital implants in your vagina or abdomen after you give birth? These children NEVER go to their father's side of the bed. It is ALWAYS mine, and it is ALWAYS when I have my freaking back turned to them.

I need to find this implant and have it removed immediately.

Give her some love!

My new renter for the week has arrived! Mama MAMA Come Here will be with me for a week, so be sure to get over and check her out. She will especially need your comments as she is set to embark upon time with ..... the inlaws this morning!

Friday, July 07, 2006

Pass the bong but don't tell the Pastor

One evening a few years ago, I was making dinner. I like to listen to the radio when I make dinner as it (1) gives me something to do as I chop onions and (2) drowns out my famished children's pleas for something "normal" for dinner.

I listen to our local station that plays more classic (read: 70s and 80s music ... so classic to my generation) music. I am not all into that new stuff ... although I do have ... choke, gasp ... Ashlee Simpson on my iRiver. There ... deep breath ... I feel better admitting that.

I LOVE me some Floyd. Love a lot of their songs. I had never really watched The Wall until college but I knew all of the music from it.

I was singing along ... We don't need no education ... we don't need no thought control ...

Queen Bee, who might have been all but three and a half to four year old is sitting at the kitchen table, coloring. She was swaying back and forth to the music when all of a sudden...

this lightbulb blinks on over her head.

"Mommy!!! Mommy!!!!" excitedly pointing to the radio ... "we sing dat song in Sunday school!!!"

Stopping mid-chop, I turned the radio up to verify that it was Pink Floyd. It most certainly was.

"You WHAT?" I ask.

"Dat song ... on the radio" still excitedly pointing her tiny finger in the radio's direction ... "we SING dat in Sunday school!!!!"

"Oh honey ... I don't think you sing THIS song in Sunday school."

"Oh yes we do.... we get in circle time and Pastor XXXX starts singing it!"

Now, if you even KNEW our Director of Children's Ministries (and some of you, my dear readers, do), you would know this is a ludicrous concept.

However, it did conjure up some good images ...

"Come on, children! It's circle time. I need to light the incense to cover up the smell of the bong .... shhh.. we don't want Mommy or Daddy knowing that I am toking during children's worship. Ok ... any requests? Yes Billy ... oh ... you want to hear some Floyd? Sure, honey! Another Brick in the Wall? Absolutely. Now now now, Kelly ... we can sing Comfortably Numb AFTER we sing about our irreverance of authority."

And the sad thing is ... when I wanted to tell our Director this what I thought was hilarious story, she just gave me a blank stare and said "Pink who?"

Thursday, July 06, 2006

Don't forget about my renter!

Don't forget to get on over to Mom is Nutz before she leaves me tomorrow morning!

Things we get honestly

When I was growing up, I always heard "well, at least you get it honestly." It being: (1) my clumsiness (we don't know who I "got" that from); (2) my singing voice (from my mother's side of the family, and my Dad's deceased brother); and (3) my vision (from my mother's mother, we think).

I look at the Door Man and his clumsiness, and I know where he got it. He and I can walk into walls that have been there for 10000 years and swear it wasn't there the last time we walked through. He and I share our vision issues, which is sad, I know. But it did make it a lot easier when we had to put contact lenses in the eyes of a six week old (yes, you read that right ... six weeks) infant. And the Man's obsessive/compulsive behavior he gets from both Ace and my Dad.

The Chandelier Monkey, although only a tender age of three, can start to match tones when I sing to her so we know where she gets that.

Queen Bee is a worrier. She is JUST like Mini Martha, who could worry the bejeebus out of something. It totally amazes me with MM. She can make worrying an art form, and I think that there would be a lot of universities who would like to put her skills to good use.

But the one thing that cracks me up the most about Queen is her absolute love of office and school supplies. We just spent some time at a national office supply chain, and the two of us could so totally spend a whole day in that store. We looked at pens, pencils, erasers, grips, glue sticks, pads of paper, highlighters, rulers, glue, and day planners. We could seriously spend lots of money in these stores.

And it doesn't matter that we have a whole drawer full of pens and pencils at home. It doesn't matter that we might have 30 glue sticks already. We need MORE. We need the new stuff.

I think it is cute. Others might see it as a co-dependency. But until someone can point us in the direction of a 12-step program for office supply addictions, give us a Sharpie marker and double-sided tape anyday!

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

and to end the evening ...

To the Door Man's future wife:

I promise that this will not be in his suitcase for your honeymoon.

Feeding the mosquitos ... one kid at a time

Let me tell you this: I have hated mosquitos since I was little. I remember them buzzing in my ear at night, and I HATED it. I started wearing glasses when I was three years old, so by the time that I was six or seven, my sight had gotten worse (as an aside ... I was born with cataracts that deteriorated my vision over time ... I just had them removed about 3-4 years ago, and it was a GODSEND, let me tell you). And why do I tell you this? Because I couldn't see these things ... these miniscule pains in my ass. So I would cover my head with my sheet, not even thinking about the poke through factor.

Fast forward a few years, and now it is my kids getting munched on. Damn parasites. And we even sprayed them down GOOD last night. But when you live on the banks of a river that is not known for its flow, you deal with mosquitos.

Queen Bee has a welt the size of a golf ball on her arm, and the Door Man looks like someone took a baseball bat and smacked him on the forehead.

So what do I do? I, of course, go on Google and look up the syptoms for West Nile virus. Of course I do. And did you know that the incubation period for that can be as little as two days? And you know, I have already decided that these were WNV-bearing mosquitos. Do I have proof? Heck no. Will I? Probably not.

But the next time we are out after dark and the Monkey is with us, I will have to plaster her with bug spray because she's just small enough that a good 20 mosquitos could just carry her off to some far away land.

Tuesday, July 04, 2006

You know it is time to leave the family get together when ....

your drunk nephew by marriage hits on you.

There's your sign.

Monday, July 03, 2006

Tell 'em Jimmy Honk sent you

When Queen Bee was smaller, I kept expecting to see her have tea parties with imaginary friends. I expected to hear her ask if "so and so" could go with us to the store, or could I get something to eat for "whatshername." We never got that. In a way, I was a bit disappointed. I always thought that imaginary friends were fun (as long as they weren't blamed for things), but Queen Bee, in all her literalness, could never wrap her mind around something so foolish.

I got my wish with the Door Man. You see, Mominator always tells me how much the Man reminds her of my brother when he was little. How my brother used to talk ALL the time about things. How my brother would run into the wall just for the fun of it. How my brother had this imaginary friend named Jimmy Honk.

Jimmy went everywhere with my brother. He would never stay home, no matter how many times Mom told Jimmy that he wasn't invited on their trip to the grocery store. Jimmy was quite the mainstay at our house, until Jimmy met an untimely demise. I do believe that my mother ran over him with her car one day, but she couldn't be certain.

The Door Man has not one, not two, but THREE imaginary friends. Hassalussent (who knows how to spell that one), Anchie, and The Great Oneofit.

Anchie is a bus driver. She has been known to be unkind to the Door Man, so much so that the Man decided that he no longer needed Anchie as a friend. Translation: Queen Bee made Anchie say something mean to the Man.

Hassalussent is a great companion to play board games with because H knows how to lose... every single time. And H doesn't nark on the Door Man when the Man takes more than one turn.

The Great Oneofit is also good for some board games. He loves to play Penguin Math with the Man.

Last week, I kept telling the Man to get in his seat and buckle in. He said "I can't yet ... I have to buckle Anchie in first." Anchie is teaching the Man to be considerate and think of others before himself, even if that means pissing his mother off as she is running 20 minutes late.

The Man has some great conversations with these three. They talk back to the Man, but are never disrespectful or rude. So I suppose I couldn't have asked for better imaginary friends for the Man.

So as far as imagination goes, the Man's got it. Of course, he isn't much more different than me ... I didn't have any imaginary friends, though. However, I spent an entire summer on vacation, sitting on a rock in Tennessee, barking at passing cars. And that is for another blog post.

Saturday, July 01, 2006

And with a dismissive wave of the hand...

Queen Bee whittles me down to the land of the insignificant as she embarks tonight upon her first real sleepover.

Mother is feeling a little .... verklempf.

I am no longer the "one" in this child's life. I have been temporarily replaced by another mother. One who lives in a 1/2 million dollar home, drives a Corvette convertible, and takes her children to the pool for hours and hours of water fun.

Damn.

It never hurts to ask, does it? Well I don't know ... depends on what you're asking!

Garage sales bring out the best in people. Long gone are the days of some semblance of decency, really. However, I keep putting myself out there for this personal torture.

All in all, we had a great sale ... much better than when the inlaws were here .. about $ 700 more better. But we won't brag or anything ...

A person could be standing in front of a table with 20000 things on it, all marked with price tags, and they ask if the table is for sale ... well, it never hurts to ask.

Or a person could be holding up a Longaberger basket (ok ... there are some who might know what Longaberger is ... it is a local basket maker that is sold at those ... you know ... home shows .. we all love and adore those, don't we?) that is clearly marked $ 40 and ask if they can have it for $ 25.... well, it never hurts to ask.

Or someone could be standing there after you have given them a freaking tutorial on your Creative Memories oval and circle cutters and then ask if I would go lower than $ 15 on them... well, it never hurts to ask.

I HATE that phrase. Seriously, if you want to know the answer, just freaking ask without the passive/aggressive copout of "well .. it never hurts to ask."

You know what, yes it does because I will curse you and all yours as you walk out to your car without making ONE purchase.

Yes it does because when you ask me and insult my intelligence and question my pricing prowess, I will only hope that your projects will all come out looking wonky because you needed to have that buck or two knocked off of the already basement prices.

I mean, do you ever hear that question asked in a doctor's office? Hey ... I was wondering if you could submit these claims to my best friend's insurer because I don't have health insurance ... hey, it never hurts to ask.

Or a dr. to his patient: hey ... while I have you under, you want me to get rid of some of that flab on your arms for ya? Hey ... it never hurts to ask.

Or the grocery store: hey ... can I get this cartfull of groceries free? hey ... it never hurts to ask.

Maybe it doesn't hurt the person you are asking, but it sure hurts your credibility.

So yes ... it DOES hurt to ask.

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.

The nine-year-old who seems to be growing older every minute, has an opinion and a comment for everything, and has a true servant's heart.

The seven-year-old who loves the organization of things, will someday be someone's therapist because of his kind soul, and will more than likely be living with us until he is 40 years old.

The five-year-old with the 13-year-old attitude, who has a dictator's personality, asks you to watch her all the time and say "hold on" to keep your attention, and will someday come home on the back of some dude's motorcycle with 10 tatts and a body piercing or two.

The man of the house, the fixer of things, the winner of prizes, and the only person in his family to escape the South.