Friday, December 18, 2009

On A Different Note....

To spare my poor dad from more puke-related stories (oh, yes, there are more I could share-- from just this morning even!) I have decided to post some illness-free quotes instead. Rest assured that none of the following quotes are nausea inducing.

1. LM: (listing all his complaints about a classmate) "Also, she's an Uncle Bob storier!"
Me: "What does that mean?"
LM: "It means she tells Uncle Bob stories!"
Me: "And is that..........good?"
LM: "No!"

2. Brasileira: (during a conversation about Santa Claus and the like) "And then there's the Bunny of the East."
Me: "You mean the Easter Bunny?"
Brasileira: "Oh.... Yes."

3. LM: "You know kitties? They have more, like, smart brains than dogs."

4. Ruby Jane: "I'm doing Yoga with my butt!"
LM: "Ruby, that's not appopiate!" (Mispronunciation his.)

5. Brasileira: (upon learning that hubby and I had lined up some babysitting for our kiddos) "So, it's just the three of us tonight?"
(Ummmmm. Not quite what I had in mind....)

6. Me: (as I was preparing to hang our new curtains) "LM, get off the curtains please or you'll wrinkle them."
LM: "You got a good point there, Mom."

Thursday, December 17, 2009

Another Red Letter Day

Well, well, well.... No worries everyone! I am pleased to announce that the good Lord is continuing to shape my character in many wonderful ways.

Today, for instance, I got to spend the whole day playing nursemaid to my little boy. And let's just say that more vomit was involved. Like, a lot more. And unlike Ruby Jane (who got it over with in one fell swoop and then seemed none the worse for wear), LM wailed and writhed throughout the majority of his ordeal. Oh, and there was no hubby here to help this time. Dang.

So I washed soiled bedding, fetched cool drinks...and hot ones, rubbed his back and belly, administered medicine, cooed comforting words, held him as he cried and wiped snot and drool all over me, cleaned puke off of the bathroom floors (both), the living room carpet, the bed, his clothes, and yes-- even myself. I told him stories, started a movie, ran two much-needed baths for him, carried him outside for a bit of fresh air, set cool cloths on his forehead.... You know, just general mommy stuff-- no big deal-- goes with the territory.

But do you know what I got for my efforts? As I was holding him in the midst of his tears and pain, stroking his hair, LM cried, "I wish I had someone who could actually help me! Waaaaaaaaaa!"

What am I? Chopped liver? And then it hit me (um, here's the part where I will wax all spiritual for a moment): as much as I wanted LM to notice that I was helping him, all he could focus on was his immediate discomfort. I can only imagine I spurn God in the same way when experiencing less-than-pleasant circumstances myself. Wait-- I can do more than imagine, I have actual memories I could call up. 'Nuff said.

Now, we'll see how aware I am of that little lesson if I'm the one barfing tomorrow. Barf seems to erase much of my reasoning abilities.... But it is great for weight loss! (Hey, humor me, I'm trying to conduct a little preemptive optimism here.)

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Cheery-Oh!

LM has obviously missed the point of the cup of Cheerios placed on the back of the toilet. Hubby's intent was to have a constant supply of flush-able objects available for LM to aim at while using the facilities. The idea was hatched after having discovered (numerous times) juvenile pee splatterings everywhere from the floor to the wall in our bathrooms. One word: disgusting!

Anyway, hubby took the time to show LM this great new idea (although Ruby was not there for the introductory lesson and therefore assumed we were simply making snacks available for those longer bathroom excursions), and we had great hope that this would be the solution to our messy problem. But I now know something must have been lost in translation, because just tonight I caught LM doing a curious thing....

I witnessed LM lifting the toilet lid (but not the seat), peeing whilst looking in my direction and talking animatedly, then tossing a few Cheerios into the toilet before flushing.

Hmmmmmm. This begs the question: what exactly does he think the Cheerios are for? Some sort of flushing agent? Who knows.... But me thinks that hubby will have to conduct another Cheerio tutorial soon.

Monday, December 14, 2009

This Is Just A Nightmare-- Right?

I thought we were past this phase with Ruby Jane.... You see, at some point in a child's life they grow beyond the phase of letting their puke fly out willy-nilly regardless of their current location and position, to the wonderful new phase of projecting their vomit into an appropriate receptacle-- say, the toilet or some such container. And I thought that we had already moved to the latter phase with Ruby Jane, but was actually proved wrong in this regard just last night.

Ruby walked into our bedroom at nearly midnight last night, and before she even uttered a word the smell of wretch hit me like a freight train. "I threw-up," she whimpered. Hubby, cognitive abilities not quite functioning at full-speed yet, replied, "what'd you do that for?" Hmmmm, I knew then that I needed to attempt to address this situation solo. But, as many of you already know-- regurgitated food and I do not get along so well. But I steeled myself as best I could and followed Ruby Jane downstairs to her room. After all, how bad could it be?

What I found there was akin to a barf-a-phobic's worst nightmare. Shall I describe it to you? First of all, it was bright pink. Barbie pink, in fact. And copious. With chunks and lumps and mystery pieces in it. It spread from her pillow, onto the bed itself and down the side (not missing any piece of bedding mind you, from her comforter to her dust ruffle) and finally pooling on the floor in a great big circle. I came, I saw, I ran away gagging. I needed back-up.

I called hubby down and he, like a war-hardened trooper, came immediately. He took one look at the puke and one look at me dry-heaving into my elbow and said, "ugh, please get out of here before you make me start gagging too." With pleasure! But I knew it would be frowned upon if I simply skipped back to bed scott-free (although the thought did cross my mind and was given serious consideration) so I took Ruby into the bathroom to see what kind of assistance I could be there. And, yikes.... She looked like a character in a horror movie. Pink vomit was matted in her hair, swiped across her sweet face, and spread down the front of her jammies Interview with a Vampire style. "This is disgusting," she said, a little too perkily for my liking. "You need to shower," was all I could say through clenched teeth, attempting not to breathe at all. She stripped down (a nasty job indeed) and commenced cleaning off in the shower-- giving me much unwanted commentary all the while. "Wow-- it's up my nose!" and such. In fact, she was quite chipper about the whole thing.

Meanwhile, hubby was stripping her bed, scrubbing the mattress and floor, and throwing soiled linens into the washing machine. My hero! How does he do it?? He's tried to teach me his method before by saying, "don't breathe through your nose, breathe through your mouth." But you know what? That is quite possibly the most disgusting thing I've ever tried. Suddenly you're not just smelling puke, you're tasting it. Forget it, hubby. But, hey, if it works for him....

After we got Ruby Jane cleaned up, dried off and in fresh pajamas, I took her upstairs to sleep on the couch in our bedroom. I lined it with a towel, placed a bucket strategically by her head and sent her off to dreamland. I then looked longingly at my own bed, but instead of climbing in I returned to Ruby's room, nose firmly pinched between my fingers, and asked hubby if there was anything else I could do for him. He said no, and mercifully sent me away. Again, my hero....

Ya know, morning came much too soon today. And upon waking, Ruby recalled the events of last night almost fondly-- finding the whole ordeal oddly novel and humorous. (Okay, okay-- she has her mother's sense of humor.) But me? Well, it would be far more amusing if I did not have a mountain of vomit-soaked bedding and clothing awaiting me in the laundry room. But, alas.... A mother's gotta do what a mother's gotta do.

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

I Survived Another One!

Last night I had to (I mean, got to) attend Ruby Jane's Christmas music program. For those of you tempted to think that this is an enjoyable experience, let me set you straight. It is, in fact, the perfect kind of torture.

First of all there's the matter of expecting LM to sit through over an hour and a half of any activity that is not a Transformers cartoon marathon. Oh, and don't think I didn't bring things for him to do! I did! I brought Magnetix, paper and pens, a G.I. Joe knock-off figure, and snacks. But do you know what he found even more interesting than all those grand items? The little girl sitting behind us. He could not keep his eyes off her or his mouth quiet. I'm trying to believe that the family left so early due to the fact their baby nearly barfed in the middle of the program rather than the fact my son would not leave them alone. Because he just could not contain himself.

But more than just trying to reign my little guy in, there's the matter of the program itself. Call me heartless if you will, but I only found the Kindergarten performance entertaining. (Could'a watched them all night long, actually.) I mean, seeing 40 small children dressed to the nines in tiny sparkly dresses and mini vests and ties, all the while nearly screaming their songs out (because they were told to "project" their voices) and with hand motions to boot-- well, if that's not pure entertainment I don't know what is. And there's always at least one kiddo doing a bang-up job with their expressive interpretive dance moves. (Oh, little girl, I have fond memories of thee....)

But after the Kindergartners performed things tended to go downhill a bit. I'm sorry Ruby Jane-- but your class's recorder performance was barely survivable. Tweet, tweet, tweet, squeak! Tweet, tweet, squeak! Oh, mylanta.... But I clapped dutifully because Ruby was looking so very lovely in her holiday dress (which I had to pay her to wear, but it was worth every penny, believe me).

If I thought the recorders were horrendous, they were nothing compared to the beginning band students. I must have gleaned some sort of enjoyment out of their performance, however, because I found myself giggling uncontrollably at one point. It's those clarinet kids, I think. They're always the ones to mess things up. But, alas, clarinet is a popular instrument....

By the end of the program my butt was aching, my nerves were frayed, and my ears sorely in need of Chopin. But I smiled at Ruby Jane, told her she did wonderfully, and thanked my lucky stars there is one more whole year before I have to do it again.

Friday, December 4, 2009

100th Post!

I wish I'd remembered to jot down a few of the doozy quotes our exchange student has uttered over the past few weeks-- but alas, I have none to share. She and I did have a lovely conversation in Portuguese the other day, however.

It went a little something like this (translated):
Me: "Hi! That's hot! Window, dog, binder."
Her: "Green bean."
Me: "Yes. Brazilian. Thank you."
Her: "Vacation."
Not bad for a rookie, eh? At least it sounded impressive to those around us with no Portuguese language ability whatsoever-- which was the whole point of the conversation.

Anyway, moving on to the quotes I have prepared for your reading pleasure!

1. LM: "Feed me, Woman!"
(And, no, he didn't learn that one from his daddy. At least, I don't think so....)

2. LM: (singing the Transformers theme song) "Transformers, more that meets de eye! Transformers, robots in da skies! Transformers, win every million times!"

3. LM: (aiming his toy gun at Ruby's head)
Me: "Don't aim at her head."
LM: (aiming at Ruby's chest)
Me: "Don't aim at her heart, either."
LM: (running out of good places to aim) "Can I aim at her vagina?"
Me: (finally just taking the gun away) "Um...no."

4. The Bopper: (overwhelmed by the immensity of her clean-up task) "Mom, I'm just gonna ask Jesus to help me!"
Her Mother: (exasperated by how long it was taking The Bopper) "Yeah, Bopper, whatever. Try that."
The Bopper: (5 minutes later) "Mom, Jesus not comin'!"

5. LM: "Have you seen Voltron?" (action cartoon from the 80s-- one of hubby's favorites)
Friend: "No."
LM: "It has 5 tigers and is about Jesus."
(Hmmmmmmmm.... I'd like to know how he came up with that.)

6. LM: (after hearing me let a little tootaloo slip) "Hey, you tricked us-- you can fart!"
(Darn, I'm discovered!)

Bonus:
7. LM: (singing a favorite Latino Christmas tune-- see if you can figure out which one) "Elise muddy dust! Elise muddy dust! Elise muddy dust, phmms anhns eh fessd. Elise muddy dust! Elise muddy dust...!"

Monday, November 30, 2009

"Little Puff" My Butt!

Was anyone wondering where I've been lately? No? Hmmm, I was afraid of that....

Well, just so you know, I was actually trying to whittle my vast following of 7 people down to around 2 or so. I figured if I didn't post for a week or two then folks might stop reading altogether-- and that might provide me with a far more manageable fan base.

Actually, truth be told, there has been little going on around here worth blogging about. In fact, it wasn't until my eye appointment this afternoon (which was providing me with some mild amusement-- which tells you just how terribly UN-amusing the rest of my life has been lately) that I realized, "hey, I might finally have something to blog about here!" I mean, who doesn't find that little glaucoma test they do down at the eye doctor's just pure entertainment? There's something about sticking my chin on that cold plastic holder and pressing my forehead against the metal bar while waiting for that ominous "little puff of air" to blast my eye that makes me feel so...much like I'm in some sort of crazy-person therapy.

Or that fun little game that eye doctors like to play. You know, the "guessing game"-- where they provide you with two identical lenses through which to look at the eye chart and then make you choose which one is "better". Apparently I was awesome at this game because the doc kept saying "good" and "very good" every time I gave my answer. Guess I got 'em all right! Woohoo!

Anyway.... As you can see, I have very little to work with here. But with the holidays fast approaching, I trust I will be presented with a plethora of fine material. Until then, I hope both of you reading this will continue to stop by every now and then.

Monday, November 9, 2009

See For Yourself

video
I discovered LM with a black nose and Sharpie in hand the other day. When I asked him what the heck that was all about, I thought it'd be fun to record his answer.... (Ummm-- don't look at all the clutter in the background, okay?)

Now you have visual proof that I do not make up stuff for this blog....

Uh, by the way, does anyone know how to remove black Sharpie from human skin? We've managed to tone the color down to gray, but that just gives off the impression that someone punched him. Not good. Looking for some ideas here!

Friday, November 6, 2009

Sign Here, Please


My son was invited to his very first "real" birthday party today. He is beyond excited! Me? Well, I have some apprehension about it, actually. 'Cause, well, the invitation included a liability waiver. Yep, you read that right: a liability waiver. That's a first for me.

So, I'm kinda wondering-- what in the heck is that all about? I know there's gonna be a jumping castle, but sheesh, how many kids get mortally wounded by bouncing on something inflated with air? Dangerous stuff, that air....

Reminds me of what I notice while walking around his school. Basically there are a bunch of women whose job it is to repeat one phrase over and over: "no running!" Heaven forbid that kids should run! Especially outside where they might trip and fall in the grass. They might get a really nasty grass stain that is beyond the laundering ability of their mothers or something. I'm assuming they're allowed to run in P.E., because I just can't imagine what that class would be like otherwise.

"Johnny! You're walking a little too fast to the soccer ball there-- it's looking very similar to running if you ask me. Let's slow it down a little, okay?"

But back to the birthday party. I think I like the idea of this liability waiver stuff. In fact, I just might plan LM's next party at a firing range. I'll just include a fun liability waiver in there, arm each kiddo with a rifle, and let 'em have at it! Or maybe I'll drive the gang out to a remote wooded area and let 'em loose with a book of matches, a package of ramen, some rope and a tarp. See you tomorrow morning, kids! Nothing a little ol' liability waiver won't take care of!

Heck, let's not stop there! The next time I invite someone over for dinner, perhaps I'll include a liability waiver before we actually sit down to eat. "I will not hold Nona Yerbiznus responsible for any gastrointestinal distress this meal may cause me; whether that be in the form of vomit, diarrhea, constipation, gas, heartburn, nausea, or an act of God." (You always gotta include the "act of God" part to cover your fanny completely.) Maybe I'll even carry a liability waiver around with me for general social purposes. Before I begin a conversation with a friend I'll have them sign a paper that will not hold me liable for misinformation, questionable content, boring contributions or awkward silences.

Oh, yeah. I'm thinking that liability waivers could be the answer to a lot of my problems....

In the meantime, I have to RSVP to this party. I have to sign all responsibility of my son's well-being away and then send him off into the dangerous world of jumping castles. I can only pray that he won't hit his humongous head on any of the inflated surfaces. And for Pete's sake-- no running!!

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Whose Kid Is That?

I'm still trying to decide if I'm proud or embarrassed.... Proud, I think.

As I dropped LM off at school this morning, we spotted his little "nemesis" being escorted to class by her really super intimidating dad. (Towering with tattoos and piercings.) I've been hearing a lot about this little girl lately. Apparently she and LM share a mutual friend and Bully Girl doesn't want him to have anything to do with her. She'll even shout taunts at him on the playground and then try to run him off. Sometimes it's rough being a kid....

So LM stopped in his tracks at the sight of her, and I could practically see the wheels spinning in his head about what his next step of action would be. Being aware that LM has no filter on his mouth whatsoever, I leaned over and whispered, "LM, don't say anything to her right now, she's with her dad and it might hurt his feelings." Oh, LM, please, we don't want to hurt his feelings! But apparently this gave him an idea. He marched directly over to the girl and her father. Oh. No.

"I gotta talk to you about somefin," LM said, poking the man in the arm to get his attention. The man crouched down to be at eye level with LM. I braced myself. "Your daughter is kinda mean to me," he went on. I laughed nervously and was about to retrieve my boy and shuffle him off to his class, but the dad said, "oh?" clearly wanting to hear more. I braced myself again.

"Yeah, she teases me on the playground and says that I want Auna to be my girlfriend, and it makes me sad!" He then plastered a magnificent frown on his face that warned of impending tears. It was an incredibly heart-wrenching performance. I waited. The dad said, "well I'm going to talk to her about that!" and proceeded to have a mini-conference with his daughter right then and there. I could hear her small squeaky protests as he spoke firmly to her. LM just walked away and got in line for class, the whole thing already behind him.

I stared at him for a moment. The boy has no inhibitions whatsoever. And while this fact terrifies me in ways words can't describe, I also have to admire the little dude. Would I have the guts to do what he just did? Heck no! Anyone who knows me could tell you that. I would have written her a scathing anonymous letter-- take that! But I could learn a few things about boldness from LM. Maybe, just maybe, he'll start to rub off on me someday.

Friday, October 30, 2009

Reflections

Have you ever walked by a mirror (without realizing it was a mirror) and seen yourself (without realizing it was you)?

That's a trip.

I just did it the other day, and you know what I thought to myself? I thought, "Gee, there's a chick with big ol' hips like mine!" Oh wait, that's me! (I may have also mused about her needing a haircut as well, but I can't exactly remember.....)

Ah, there's nothing quite like catching an unintentional glimpse of yourself to re-calibrate your self-image. Excuse me while I go grab a stick of celery and call my hair stylist....

Sunday, October 25, 2009

Not My Cashmere Sweater!

She really is sweet....

Our Brasileira decided to be brave and try her hand at laundry. Wishfully thinking, I had conveniently posted instructions on the side of the washing machine just for such an occasion. (I never really expected them to get used, however.) On second thought, I don't think she actually did use them....

I discovered detergent in the fabric softener cup (which gets dispensed in the rinse cycle), and saw that she'd selected the heavy-duty hot/warm wash and rinse option for all her colors. Hey, whatever floats her boat! At least, that's how I felt until she informed me she'd thrown some of my laundry in with her own in order to make a complete load. Say what? Oh please, oh please say none of my delicates are in there! (Turns out it was the kids' clothes, not mine-- phew!)

Then she decided to hang all of her laundry up. All of it. Socks included. (I admit I hang most of my shirts and pants, but socks? What a pain in the buttsky!) She had so much of it she began to hang it in some very interesting places. Like, I couldn't even walk to the bathroom without getting hit in the head with a shirt or a coat. So I laughed at her as I politely moved it to the appropriate laundry-drying section I have set aside. (Laughing being my gentle way of letting her know she did it wrong.)

Clearly the little laundry tutorial I gave her early on has not been committed to memory yet. I think I will kindly point out the instructions that I so lovingly wrote out. And if that doesn't help, then I think it's time for a laundry intervention. (And in the meantime I'm going to make sure I never have my laundry lying out-- just in case she gets all "helpful" again.)

Saturday, October 24, 2009

I Just Might Be Naked

So, remember when I mentioned that our darling exchange student walked into our bedroom one night? Just so you know, there have been repeat performances. Like, lots.

Sometimes I just ignore her. Sometimes I pull the sheets up a little higher to try and clue her in. Sometimes I smile and wave-- goodbye.

The sweet thing is, she's obviously about as clueless as to what happens in married couples' bedrooms as is my 9-year old daughter. (Okay, I'm not stupid-- she's not that clueless.) Or perhaps she's just very aware that not a lot of action happens between a man and his sickly wife-- it's pretty safe to invade our bedroom at any and all hours these days. (Bummer....) Either way, what I find unsettling is the fact that one of these times she'll walk in and I'll be in some state of undress. Sure, I'm not often naked, but it happens periodically, and she might see. Actually, that might cure her of her little habit right quick. (Ah, but it's just too damaging to my pride.)

So, me thinks that the little lock on our door is going to start getting some more use. See, I'm not as dumb as I look!

Great, Just Great!

There's this little side-effect I've discovered from being sick and house-bound-- it's called Pacman addiction. Is anyone really surprised to hear that I've become addicted to yet another worthless, mind-dumbing internet activity? Well, at least I've moved beyond Webkinz World....

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Let's Talk About Phlegm, Baby!

I used to always wonder why very elderly people constantly talk about their own (and others') health problems. It always seemed so...morbid. I remember visiting hubby's great-great aunt in a nursing home and nodding my head sympathetically as she recounted her recent bowel issues. Secretly I was aghast that we were speaking about bowels out loud (I have since lost my reservations in that area). Of course, when we were done discussing the ins and outs (literally) of her own troubles, we moved on to which of her friends had recently died and/or would die soon. Not topics a 20-something could really wrap her brain around. Oh, what a silly goose I was!

But, you see, having Pneumonia has changed me. (Oh, I didn't mention that little sweetheart? Well, let's talk about it, shall we?) I now find myself bringing up subjects of great interest to me, like sputum and diarrhea. I like to tell anyone who'll listen about the amount of phlegm I contend with on a daily basis, and exactly what the antibiotics are doing to my digestive tract. (Not a pretty sight, that.) I never fail to comment about the fact that simply walking up the stairs winds me, or that my ribs ache like a mother.

Oh, I try to control myself, I really do. Whenever I begin a monologue about how utterly painful it is to cough, I stop myself and ask, "is this the first time I've mentioned this particular problem to this particular person? Or is this the fifth time I've brought it up in the last hour?" Usually it's the latter. I'm sure many of you are nodding your heads right now, recounting the last time you spoke with me and which of my symptoms I made you more aware of than you cared to know.

Heck, this whole post was just an excuse to talk more about how stinkin' sick I am. But y'all don't mind, right? You like hearing me describe what my lungs sound like when I attempt to breathe in deeply (I sound like an un-oiled machine). You're dying to know that I've been told not to jog-- or walk-- for several weeks. (No problem there-- I can barely make it up my driveway without having to catch my breath.) You want to hear, just one more time, about how much my ribs hurt (like a mother!). I know you, people. These are the things your inquiring minds want to know! Right? Right??

On second thought.... Maybe I should just drag myself on over to a nursing home and have a good ol' fashioned pow-wow with the residents there. We can talk all day about every ache and pain we have. And not only that, we'll love every single minute of it! Hmmmm, not a bad idea.....

Sunday, October 18, 2009

Ode To Hair (Part 2)

Okay, so here's the deal; they didn't cut one teeny-weeny bit off my ridiculously long hair at the hair show today. I walked into the show room this morning and was told, "remember what we said about cutting all your hair off and donating it to Locks of Love? Well, we're not going to do that anymore. We're leaving it long. But we'll put some really fun layers in it." Fine. I was a little freaked out about losing over a foot of hair in one fell swoop anyway. It's better to do these things gradually, right? But, through the course of the morning everyone got busy and guess who was forgotten? That's right; me.


So I didn't even get so much as a trim. What I did get was pee-pee hair. And maybe pee-pee face, too. What? What did I just say? Oh, you heard me. Pee-pee. You see, after my part in the show (which involved the Redken colorist painting conditioner on my hair to simulate a highlighting technique) I was whisked away to a bathroom to get the conditioner removed and my hair restyled. Well, one of the stylists working on my hair decided she needed to wee in front of us, because apparently she couldn't be bothered to find one of the many other hotel bathrooms. So we averted our gazes as she tinkled away. When she was done, she went directly to her post at my hair and started running her little fingers all through it. Ummmmm...? Are you really touching my hair with your pee-pee hands? And did you really do my make-up this morning, too? I thought back to every part of my body she'd touched that day and I just barely avoided the urge to hurl.

So, not only do I have long, dark hair (just in time for my Elvira Halloween costume!), I have a special pee-pee styling product in it as well. Wonderful. Just wonderful! I can't get enough of salon divas running their unwashed hands through my hair. Oh, and making comments like, "you have enough hair for 12 villages" and "take a look at Rapunzel!" and sweet little sentiments like that. It's awesome.

But my favorite part of the whole ordeal was being made to wear clothes that only a twenty-year old should attempt to cram themselves into. I mean, I've had two babies and there are certain aspects of my body that should remain a mystery to everyone but my husband and my doctor, ya know? But today I found myself wearing a dress so short my panties showed when I sat down. Yes, this 31-year old mama was showing her goods off to a room full of hair stylists-- I'm sure they all appreciated the view. I know I enjoy getting an eye-full of someone's granny panties. I just can't get enough, in fact!

And do you think I'll sign-up for this again next year? Heck yes I will! Did I say anything that might imply the experience isn't worth it or something? What blog post were you reading anyway?

Saturday, October 17, 2009

Ode To Hair (Part 1)

I really don't know why I do it-- the annual hair show, that is. It's a big pain in the patooshky simply for a free cut and color. It's just really hard to resist free, know what I mean? But what I'd really like to do right now is take a moment to say goodbye to my boob-length hair (which is getting shorn off tomorrow). Do you know how long it takes to grow hair down to your ninnies? Years. Years! Do you know how long it takes to remove said hair? Minutes. Minutes! So here is an ode to my hair, a final adieu to a dear friend.



Oh, my hair. My hair. Long, long hair.
Long, long, longy hair.
I admit you were lookin' a little Lindsay Lohan-ish.
I mean, who grows their hair down to their bosom anymore?
Only celebrities of questionable taste, that's who.
Well, no more!
Chop it off. Chop, chop, choppy floppy!
Maybe then hubby will stop rolling on you at night.
That stinkin' hurts, hubby!
Well, just try rolling on chin-length hair. Just try it, hubby!
You can't! Ha!
But, my hair. My long, long hair.
Why did they go and dye you the color of mud?
And why did they spend hours getting you to just the right muddy hue, only to decide to chop you off to my ears? Why, why, why?
It sucks having to lean back in those torturous rinsing sinks, especially when you have a fractured rib (I swear it is!!) from all the coughing you've done in the last 2 weeks.
Mean, mean fickle hair designers.
What a bunch of meanie-weanies!
So goodbye, my hair.
Thanks for all the good times we've had.
Like when I put you up in a messy bun. Every. Single. Day.
Because I don't actually know how to do hair.
I'm 31-years old, for Pete's sake!
Anything I ever knew about style is long gone with my 20s.
So it's just as well you go, dear hair.
But we have this one last night together.
One last night for you to end up in a sticky spit-wad come morning.
Yes, dear hair, it's time for you to go.

I'm SO going to regret posting this lame poem tomorrow.... Oh well, you all know what a nerd I am already. No sense pretending otherwise.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Quotes Again, So Soon?

By the way, I'm not dying anymore. I just feel like crap-- which is an upgrade from dying, I'd say. But that's beside the point.... Here are the quotes:

1. LM: (awaiting my next instructions as we made dessert together) "What now, genius?"

2. Ruby Jane: (after I'd gotten done explaining about Asperger's Syndrome) "Ass Burgers? Mmmmm...sounds delicious! Can I have the recipe?"
(Super-- one kid has "ass burgers" and the other one's a regular smart-ass. I'm laughing all the way to the loony bin.)

3. (At the end of the animated movie we watched, the main character delivered the moral of the story to the homely villain): "You don't need a magic mirror to be beautiful."
LM contemplated this, then asked: "She just needs a makeover?"

4. Me: Do you have any homework, LM?"
LM: "No."
Classmate: "Yes he does! He has math!"
LM: "Don't believe her-- she lies a lot."

5. Ruby Jane: "You know that guy who tattooed his whole body black?"
Me: "Yeah?"
Ruby: "Did that include his tenders?"
Me: "Uhhhh...."
(I'm still wondering when, according to my daughter, "tenders" ceased to have the word "chicken" in front of it.)

6. LM: (as I gathered him up in a spontaneous bear hug) "Ugh, Mom! Let me go! I need some space-- you're takin' up my area."
(And so it begins....)

Saturday, October 10, 2009

On The Brightside

Days of constant coughing + eating like a baby bird = the best looking abs I've had in a while! Who knew coughing could be such great exercise....

Thursday, October 8, 2009

Oh, What A Lovely Day!

It struck me funny today, although maybe this humor is a little more on the dark side than usual, that the worldwide web is the perfect cover-up for hiding one's true self. I was thinking this because I've been doing a lot of emailing today (a gal has a lot of time for such things when she's been lying on her deathbed all morning, noon and night) and no one would suspect from my communications that I'm Swine Fluin' it over here. (Well, okay, I don't know if it's Swine Flu, all I know is that I want to die.)

And yet, if I end enough sentences with "!" and ":)" and "ha!" I can come across as being perfectly happy and healthy, while in reality I can hardly keep my eyes open right now-- ha! :) (See, I just did it again! Did I fool ya? Or are you picturing me coughing my lungs out at this second? 'Cause I surely am.)

You're not sure if you should laugh, eh? Yeah, I know it's a bit sick (pun intended) but you'll have to excuse me as I'm nearly delirious with fever at the moment-- ha! :) But seriously, would someone please come and put me out of my misery over here? Ha! :) Any method will suffice-- hee hee hee! :) Please? Hahahaaahaaa!

Wow-- time for bed, I'd say....

Monday, October 5, 2009

Oh, Mom, Nobody Saw!

It was when my two sisters simultaneously reached up to grab the mannequin's perky boobs and my mom shook her head in bewildered embarrassment that I realized, "shoot, it's too late for me to give them a feel now because Mom is clearly not approving the gesture-- missed my chance!" Believe me, if you'd seen this mannequin's bosom you'd have hardly been able to contain yourself, either. It was quite intriguing....

Long Time No Quotes

It's been a while since I've posted quotes and believe me, it's not for a lack of good material. I just haven't been writing them down with the same regularity as I used to-- but I'm hoping to get back on top of things again. In any case, here are the latest:

1. LM: "Are you so excited for Christmas? I can't wait for the presents!"
Ruby Jane: (superiorly) "LM, Christmas isn't about the presents."
LM: "What is it about?" (Then with some disappointment) "Oh, yeah...Jesus."

2. Me: "What would you do if Mama was ever late picking you up from school?"
LM: "Go home with someone else."
Me: "What?!? No!!"
LM: "Oh...stay with my teacher."
(That's one I'm going to need to address again, I can tell.)

3. Anonymous Dad: (exasperated while watching his son...get creative...on the playground) "Why would you stick a rock up your butt?"

4. Ruby Jane: "Hey Popi, can I inherit your phone?"
Popi: "But I'd have to die first!"
Ruby: "Okay!"

5. (After being treated to pizza by our exchange student we thanked her for a good time had by all.)
Brasileira: "I'm going to bring peace to the world."
Me: "One pizza at a time?"
Brasileira: "...and with my dad's credit card."
(I could bring a lot of peace to a lot of people with my dad's credit card, too. Okay...mainly just to myself, but that's worth something, right? Let's try it, Dad!)

6. LM: "Mom, will you help me clean my room? 'Cause this is too much mess for one little boy to clean up, right?"
(Definitely.)

Thursday, October 1, 2009

Discretion? Ha!

Uh.... Remember in my last post how I admitted to having a lack of discretion? Well, I'm just warning you that I'm going to exhibit that little trait right about...now.

Below is a picture of one of our garden carrots. We like to call him Carrot Boy. (I think you'll agree-- if you look close enough-- that it's clear this carrot is not of the female persuasion.) Yes, his legs are a little long and his arms are a little short (and he has no head), but we like to think of him as a work of abstract art rather than a literal interpretation.


I don't believe we'll be able to bring ourselves to eat Carrot Boy-- it would just feel a tad too cannibalistic, know what I mean?

Maybe we'll find him a nice carrot wife with whom he can have lots of sweet baby carrots. (He's certainly equipped for this task, after all.) Yes, a kind girlie carrot who'll look past his physical deformities in order to find true carrot love.

Or.... We may just feed him to the dog after he ceases to amuse us. (Although I don't see that happening any time soon. Our sense of humor hasn't matured much past middle school....)




Sunday, September 27, 2009

Facebook? Don't Get Me Started...Literally!

I get asked a certain question a lot: why aren't you on Facebook? Well, let me take this opportunity to explain to all 7 of you "followers" why that is. (That means I will only have to repeat myself 100 more times to all those other potential Facebook friends who don't read this blog.) Great!

Here goes.... I have very little discretion! Have you noticed? I talk about poop and boobs and farts and all manner of socially unacceptable topics. In fact, I'm thinking of renaming this blog "TMI". BUT, since there are only 7 of you to share all these things with, I don't worry too much about my reputation tanking. Heck, I'm related to 85% of you so there's very little risk involved. And as for that other 15% (you know who you are!), well, I can only hope that I haven't done too much irreparable damage. (A little is okay, though....)

Every now and then I sneak onto hubby's FB page (look, I even speak a little of the lingo!) and I see the comments people make. Twice I've even posted comments myself. (It feels so naughty!) But it scares me to death-- sheesh, potentially hundreds of people read those things! That's a lot of stinkin' people. I'm not so sure if I want hundreds of people to be exposed to my uncensored thought processes. But geez, sometimes I'm even surprised at what people share. Have they no shame? (I know, I'm one to talk....) But you see, I'm pretty sure I would post idiotic ramblings that might be forgivable by dear friends and family, but that I would immediately regret having flung out to my hundreds of other cyber "friends".

It's more than that, though. Sometimes when I'm on hubby's account I'll ask him, "who the heck is this person?" and he'll respond, "I don't really know". Whatch'ou talkin' 'bout, Willis?? I have a hard enough time maintaining relationships with people I care about-- but then to have Facebook bring people out of the woodwork that I've only spoken to twice (10 years ago)-- and suddenly they become bosom FB "friends" and I get to see their every thought broadcast on my page?? Some of you might think that's great fun, but forgive me, I don't like people that much.

If I could have a Facebook page and only accept about 20 of my closest friends and family to correspond with, then maybe I'd be game. Oh wait, that's called email and I already have it!

So for all of you die-hard Facebook fans, I applaud your advanced social networking ability. But I'm still a social Neanderthal. Besides, I so don't need to get addicted to anything else right now. (Yeah, I've seen what Facebook does to those of us with less, ahem, self-control than others.) And for those of you still holding out (like me), keep up the good fight-- you're not alone! I realize it's sad not knowing that right at this minute your old best friend from from 5th grade is thinking about the wonderful frozen entree she ate for lunch, but push past the pain. It's not easy to be lacking such vital information, but rest assured you can still lead a happy and fulfilling life! Or, at least, that's what I keep telling myself....

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Well, Hello There!

Maybe it's a cultural thing.... But I was surprised to see our cute little exchange student traipse into our bedroom tonight (um, the lights were off) to check and see if we had some extra toothpaste lying around. Well, sure, kiddo! Let me getcha some!

Fortunately hubby was already dead to the world. He sleeps in his underoos, after all....

Sorry, Susie Doesn't Live Here

Some of you have been wondering how my Susie Homemaker Project is going.

Susie who? What are you people talking about?

Okay.... I admit, I've been a bit derailed by the arrival of our exchange student. But in some areas her presence has motivated some very housewifey behavior. Cleaning has been given a boost. (Although I've already warned her not to expect too much in this area.) And I've been an ace with laundry, too! Since I have one more person's dirty clothes to wash I have to be that much more on top of it. Oh, are you surprised that I'm doing her laundry? Um, well, I am too! (And, yes, "sucker" is written on my forehead in permanent marker. It's a long story and not very amusing at that.)

The amorous side of the equation has suffered a bit, I confess. You see, when there is a veritable stranger sleeping in the room next to you it sort of...squelches the love-- know what I mean? Not for hubby, of course. (Nothing seems to phase him.) But I guess when I'm constantly hissing "shhhhhhhhh!" every time he so much as smooches me...well, it's sort of a mood killer. Poor, poor hubby.... But don't waste too much of your precious sympathy on him, because for what I've lacked in affectionate attention I've more than made up for with belly-satisfying food. And you know the way to a man's heart is really through his stomach, right? (Who made up that fluffy crock-of-poo anyway? We all know what men really want, and their stomach has nothing to do with it.) But my point is that hubby's been getting some good dinners when he gets home, and that's all I have to say about that!

And do you think I've organized any papers? Oh, I've made some attempts-- yes I have. But the funny thing about paper is that it reproduces like rabbits. Every day I get more! It's worse than laundry in terms of multiplying itself. My sister, God bless her, has tried to whip me into shape in the past, but I'm beginning to think I'm a hopeless cause. Someday I will drown in a sea of paper piles, I just know it!

But I still have about a week to finish strong. A week to make hubby stand up and take notice! I've got to redouble my efforts-- so wish me luck! (I'm gonna need it.)

Friday, September 18, 2009

In The Name Of Science

At some point-- while I was eating lunch and simultaneously hot-gluing dead bugs to card stock-- I realized that I've changed. A few years ago combining those two activities would have caused a severe case of dry heaves. But there I was; taking bites of lukewarm Chicken Divan while carefully positioning the motionless creepy-crawlies onto the glue before it hardened. (Even though it's Ruby Jane's science project, this tasty little job fell to lucky ol' me since it involved hot glue. Yippee.)

I haven't changed completely, however, as I found out when picking up a particularly nasty critter and swearing that it moved just a wee bit-- and then flinging it away with a girlish squeal. Upon closer inspection I discovered it truly was dead, and so I gingerly plucked the little guy up and plopped him onto a dab of glue. There, try and move now, sucker!

I then finished my lunch, surrounded by dead bugs.


Yep, I've definitely changed....





Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Our New Bundle Of Joy

Excuse me, I've been a little busy the last few days being a mother to a 16-year old Brasileira. It's all good, though-- I'm getting a little taste of what it might be like in the future when Ruby Jane hits the teens.

I'm picturing her bedroom with the morning's reject outfits lying crumpled on the floor, the bed, or draped over chairs. The sweet smell of perfume wafting from her room. Books, CDs and DVDs scattered over the desk. Electronic gadgets abandoned where they were last used. And candy wrappers filling the trash can (if they made it that far when carelessly tossed).

I'm also imagining the talks we'll have about boys. The ones who are cute, the ones she's trying to get to notice her, the ones she wish would stop noticing her. And about her 1,000,000 favorite buddies in the whole world-- all of whom are her bestest friends ever. Whoa, all the endless, endless talking. Endless.

I'm trying to think of what I'll say when one day she comes out of her room with a skirt that barely covers her perky little bum, looking all adorable and way, way too enticing. Or what I'll do when the munchies hit her after a long day at school and she orders a pizza before dinner.

Oh, Ruby Jane! Don't grow up! Not yet!

But for now, our sweet, smart, outgoing and hungry exchange student is giving me insight into the world of teenage girls. So what if my ears fall off and we need to take out a second mortgage to keep her fed, I'm getting a valuable education, goshdarnit! (And...um...maybe she'll let me borrow some of her way-too-cool clothes....)

Ah, now that's something to look forward to!


Friday, September 11, 2009

Be Careful What You Wish For

Okay, when I said I needed to invite a guest over in order to kick my booty into cleaning gear, I wasn't at all expecting the answer I got to that little "prayer".

How's a foreign exchange student sound? Oh, yeah-- not joking. It was rather a surprise to me, too. A bit more on the spontaneous side than I'm used to! And not only that, but how about a foreign exchange student from one of the cleanest cultures on earth? Perhaps most people would not assume that Brazilians are so pristine a people, but I happen to know a bit about Brazilians. They're scrupulously clean. It's a bit ridiculous, actually.

So, I'd just like to take a moment to thank the Lord for his funny little sense of humor. Ha. Ha. Ha. Very amusing. I'm laughing all the way to the cleaning cabinet.

And since our delightful guest will be moving in the day after tomorrow, you'd better believe I will be spending every waking hour until then scouring my filthy house.

Kick in the patooshky? Ummm...yes. Just a bit.

So, ready or not-- here we go!

Thursday, September 10, 2009

Uncle!

It may be my dad who is my only true sympathizer on this one. After all, he's the one who passed on the "bionic nose" gene to me-- the one that enables us to smell garlic on a person five feet away (when they ate it two days ago). It's a curse, I tell you! A curse!

Anyway.... I was giving an acquaintance of mine a ride home from an event we both attended this evening, and this person ripped one in the car shortly after we took off. And when I say "ripped one" I mean they didn't even mess around-- this cookie went straight for the gold. Please understand that I need to describe it in detail-- in order for you to truly understand the nightmare I lived through tonight.

My car could not have smelled worse if this person had gone ahead and moved their bowels right on the passenger seat. In fact, this was an actual worry of mine for several moments. The thought that my guest had actually pooped in my car was a very real fear for the many minutes that the stench lingered in-- no, clung to, hovered over, permeated the air. My dog could not have hoped to outdo this person's accomplishment even with performance-enhancing turkey. In fact, I have a few meaningful words about it that I'd like to share right now: sulfur, Campbell's tomato soup, rotten eggs, Limburger cheese and diaper genies. Take a moment to ponder those.

Meanwhile I was expected to keep up my end of the conversation. I think I deserve a hearty pat on the back for the effort I put forth. It's not easy to talk when you're trying your darnedest not to breathe. I tried to think of a sly way in which I could covertly open every single window in the whole van. "I so love the night air! Let's invite it into the car with us, shall we? Let us envelop ourselves in its refreshing properties!" just didn't seem natural, ya know?

And so...I suffered in silence. The kind of silence that only an unintentional fart in unfamiliar company can bring. I'm not sure if I wish my passenger had just copped to the offense so we could giggle about it and then move on, or if it was better that we both tried to pretend the overpowering reek had emanated from some other mysterious source-- like a demon fart or something. Either way, I wanted to spew my guts in revulsion. It was that bad.

I can only hope that a good night's sleep will erase the foul memory of this evening. And so I go to my bed with hope in my heart, and perfume on my upper lip. Goodnight, dear ones.

Susie Homewrecker

Okay, confession time. I think I bit off a little more than I can chew with this whole "Susie Homemaker" thing. Maybe it would have been prudent to start with a list of, oh, say...one thing. Like "get out of bed every morning" or "put on clean underwear daily, assuming any has been washed".

But, no, I had to get all idealistic with my dreams of 50s housewifery. I am here to tell you, I am just not that kind of girl! What kind of girl am I, you ask? I think lazy is much too strong a word. I prefer relaxed or easygoing or even lackadaisical. I have perfected the art of rest-- an ideal that so many Americans have abandoned like a naughty stepchild. But, you see, I will never die an early death from a stress-related illness. You won't ever find me lying on some psychotherapist's couch recounting my inability to slow down. I am a master of slow. That is, until I get up some motivation to actually tackle something....

Hey, that gives me an idea! What I need is a good swift kick in the patooshky! And you know what that means? That's right; guests. I need to invite guests over. Guests I don't know well enough to decide that my house looks fine as-is. Guests who, preferably, have never been to my house before at all and might (gasp!!) want to look around!

But first, let me try and undo some of the damage I've just done to myself in the above paragraphs. You need to know that I've made strides in several housewifey areas-- one being cooking. Just look at that stack of cookbooks! I've been making good use of them, too. Why, just the other day dinner consisted of a homemade baked macaroni and cheese (made with whole wheat pasta, no less!), fresh green beans from our garden, and roasted cherry tomatoes (taken from T's garden) which were sprinkled with coarse salt, olive oil and some of the oregano I recently dehydrated. And we washed it all down with lightly sweetened homemade lemonade. If that's not a Susie Homemaker-worthy meal, I don't know what is.


And, I'd like to add that my bed has been faithfully made, dishes have been religiously washed, and my laundry-- a beast I have tamed. Actually, come to think of it, my only real area of failure is the room cleaning part of the deal. Other than the bathroom I cleaned last week, my hands haven't held a cleaning rag or donned the vacuum at all. I HATE cleaning!

And that is where the guests come in. I can see no other way. I must invite someone over.

But who?? Well, my friends, that is a question best left answered on another day. Until then!


Monday, September 7, 2009

I'm Just Askin'....

Can laundry ever really be all done? I mean, what about the underwear you're wearing right now. When all's said and done, isn't it really just "laundry"?

Sunday, September 6, 2009

Worth A Thousand Words....

This is hubby. Hubby is napping. Wife is doing laundry while hubby is napping. Wife scores big "Susie Homemaker" points. But wife will lose all points if hubby discovers this picture on the worldwide web. Friends and family agree not to tell hubby. Everyone is happy.

Latest Quotes

I've been collecting amusing quotes from several different sources lately. I don't know if there's something in the air, but geez....

1. Hubby's Female Team Teacher: (upon seeing me help hubby prepare his classroom for school) "Oh, you're such a nice wife! I wish I had a wife...."
(Not a bad idea, that.)

2. Me: "How was school today?"
LM: "Good. I made a new friend!"
Me: "Really! What's his name?"
LM: "I don't know-- I just call him Optimus."

3. LM: "I hate school!"
Me: "I'm sorry to hear that. How can I help you like it more?"
LM: "You can buy me a new Starscream." (Transformer.)

4. LM: (after I'd repaired his Transformer for the umpteenth time) "Oh, good! It's as brand as new!"
(Hmmmm, I'm seeing a theme in all of LM's quotes here. Maybe it's time to lay off the You Tube Transformer episodes for a while.)

5. This next one requires a bit of background. Ruby Jane and I were at the grocery store (the one where we find all the crazies working-- anymore we go there for entertainment as much as their low prices) and our checker was...um...trying to be funny-- but she was coming off as just plain loony. After saying something that especially amused herself she blurted, "the sarcasm kicked in in about an hour and a half!"
Huh? Then as we were leaving she yelled out to Ruby Jane, "thanks for the toys!"
Ruby Jane looked at me, confused, and asked, "she's drunk, right?"
Maybe so, honey, maybe so....

6. Ruby Jane's Soccer Teammate: (upon walking up to Ruby while she and I were kicking a ball back and forth) "Is that your sister?"
Ruby Jane: (disgusted) "No! That's my mom! She just wishes she were young."
Me: (delighted) "Wait! You can call me her sister!"
(I've got to invite that sweet girl over for dinner sometime.)

Friday, September 4, 2009

Susie Schmusie

I can only claim one victory as a housewife yesterday and that is this:


Brown Butter Coffee Cake. It is the first baked item I've made in months-- and yes, it was delicious. You know what? You can keep a hubby quite happy with something as simple as cake. Who knew...?

Speaking of hubby-- he hasn't noticed anything different yet. At least, not really.... He did ask me yesterday (looking at my curled hair and made-up face), "are you trying to look pretty or something?" I had to take a moment to figure out how to respond to this lovely compliment-- but the witty retort never materialized. Instead I said lamely, "uhhhhh.... Yes?" "I thought so," he said then. Hubby's winning way with words is why I fell in love with him all those years ago-- and he hasn't lost his charm yet!

So I'm going to have to make an even bigger impression on him today. I haven't quite figured out how I'll do that, but if I come up with anything brilliant you can be sure you'll hear about it! Until then, wish me luck!

Maybe I Need Prayer

As I was taking the kiddos to school this morning I came to an uncontrolled intersection in which three cars (including myself) had arrived at nearly the same time. Technically, I should have been the second car to go according to the "right of way" rule, but I don't assume everyone else is aware of (or follows) the rule, so I waited patiently to see what the other two cars would do first. (No sense in starting my day off with an accident!) The car on my right just sat there and so I gave her a little wave to let her know she was free to go ahead. The car behind me became very impatient with this five second delay, however, and laid on her horn for me to just go.

This irritated me. I hate being honked at when I've done nothing wrong. Honestly, I wanted to flip the lady off-- but I kept my finger to myself since I was in front of my daughter's private Christian school (which hubby also works at). I didn't want someone coming into his classroom later on and asking, "was that your wife I saw flipping the bird earlier this morning? She sure is charming!"

I'm normally not prone to road rage. Really! Steal my intended parking place? Fine, maybe you needed that spot more than I did. Cut me off? I hope you get to your destination faster. Tailgate me? Perhaps I'll just slow down a little to tick you off. (Okay, that wasn't such a good example.) But my point is that I'm a pretty easy-going driver-- until you honk at me for no good reason.

It brought to mind one of my...not so shining moments...when my children got to witness my Christian maturity in action. I was in the parking lot of a supermarket which had arrows painted on the rows to direct traffic. I was pulling out of my parking space and heading in the correct direction of the arrows, when suddenly a car whipped around the corner and we both had to slam on our breaks to avoid a collision. The other car, of course, was going the wrong way. The driver, an old man, proceeded to deliver a colorful diatribe worthy of any sailor. I was ready to tell him where exactly he could put the arrow he was clearly not following, when I remembered I had my two impressionable children in the car with me. Darnit. But as I looked back at the old man, his face twisted in unreasonable anger, I couldn't stop my tongue as it shot out of my mouth and I scrunched my nose up, eyes glaring. Wow. I haven't done that since I was like, 10. Yes, I actually stuck my tongue out at the grumpy old fart. Real mature. But what's worse-- my kids saw.

They were in shock. They had no idea that their mother was capable of such an act of childishness. Ruby Jane gasped, "Mom, did you just stick your tongue out at that man?" I couldn't help but giggle as I told her I indeed had. We all started laughing our fool heads off. Then they asked me what a few of the man's choicer words meant and I stopped laughing. "You don't need to know!" I told them, and we drove off.

My kids still remember that day. The day they discovered their mother is actually human. The day they discovered that mom can put up with a lot, but not with a crabby old man cussing her out. The day they discovered that sticking your tongue out is an offense that can actually be laughed at instead of scolded. (Yeah, that wasn't one of the best lessons I've ever unintentionally taught.)

So, for all of you who are shocked that I would even consider giving the finger to someone-- or even simply sticking out my tongue-- you now know how you can pray for this dreadful sinner. Hey, pobody's nerfect!

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Yesterday Was Just A Practice Run

Okay, so this whole "Susie Homemaker" business is harder than I thought.... As I looked at my list of 10 goals last night (only 6 of which I actually accomplished) I realized I'd gotten off to a slow start. But when you're beginning from ground zero like I am, any start should be celebrated. Uh...right?

But that's not to say I didn't manage to make some progress. And I have pictures to prove it! Just look at that bed! Did a professional come in and make it or something? Why, no! I made that sucker all by myself.


Then I got a little ambitious and decided to make my own dried herbs. You know, real pioneer woman stuff. My sister gave me chives, sage, basil, Italian parsley, chamomile, and mint from her garden to add to my already abundant stash of fresh herbs (I have thyme, lavender, lemon sage, oregano, stevia and tarragon-- uh, does anyone want any??). I thought, "hey, why don't I dehydrate all this stuff? It'll be a piece of cake!" Famous last words.... First of all, I invested hours in washing, plucking and drying all the stupid leaves. Then, contrary to what all those instructions I read on the internet suggested, it does not take 2 hours to dry herbs at 95 degrees! It has taken over 24 hours! And I'm still not done with batch number one! Hubby came home last night to an 82 degree house and asked, "what in the heck are you doing? It's hot in here! You're not going to run that thing all day tomorrow are you?" Needless to say, I think he was really pleased with my effort.

Admittedly, after I post this page I believe I'll regret putting this next photo up on my blog. It's just a little too reminiscent of a picture I would have taken of myself in junior high after having primped for an hour. It smacks of misplaced adolescent ego, ya know? But, my intention was to show that I did my hair and put on make-up, folks! It's true! You can see so for yourself! And not only that, hubby went to bed a happy man.... (Because I'd given him time to himself after work, of course!)


Yikes, I'm already blushing a little.... Okay, sorry, this is boring. Never fear, you will not have to be subjected to the run-through of my housewifely activities on a daily basis. (Unless I have nothing else to blog about, that is-- I never make promises I can't keep.) Besides, I'm a little busy today-- too busy to just sit here. I've got dinner to think about and a bathroom in desperate need of cleaning. Oh, and laundry.... Lots and lots of laundry. Ugh-- laundry!

I bid you ado for now, my friends.

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Susie Homemaker Project

I'm a big-time reader. I wish it could be my job-- I'd read all day long. I've read (or listened to) over 50 books this year already, and if you're doing the math you'll discover that makes me a big huge geek.

But in my readings I'm often inspired. For example, one of the books I read at the end of last year was called "Do Hard Things", written by a pair of teenage brothers. So for my new year's resolution this year I decided to pick a "hard thing" to do every month. I've had lots of interesting months, let me tell you!

This month I'm going to share my new hard thing-- because I have a feeling it will be the source of much amusement for me-- and therefore you'll be hearing about it on this blog. You see, both my kids are in full-day school this year (WOOOHOOOO! Sorry, that just escaped....) and it seems that one of the most popular questions I get asked these days is, "So, what are you going to do with all your time?" Ummm, am I supposed to do something? Is there a secret here that I've never been let in on? Honestly, I was planning on becoming a soap opera expert and bon bon connoisseur. I didn't know there were other options for us stay-at-home moms who have kids in school. Dang! I was so looking forward to that!

But then I got to thinking.... What if I became a housewife? I know, I know-- I already am a housewife. But to tell you the truth, I'm terrible at it. I'm not a big fan of cleaning. I have a habit of only doing laundry when someone tells me they're out of underwear. The extent of my organizational skills include stuffing odds and ends into grocery bags and hiding it all in a closet somewhere. Lately dinner has consisted of three letters: P, B and J. And to me, "routine" sounds exactly like the word "slavery"-- so I tend to avoid it at all costs. Oh, and heck, I might as well go for broke and tell you that my hubby has informed me that sex every night would not be too excessive in his book. (Yikes.... I'm still trying to wrap my brain around that one.)

So as I was thinking of all the ways in which I suck at my one and only job, I decided to "do a hard thing" and actually try to improve some of those areas. (I'm still not sure about sex every night, though. That just sounds...painful. Can I get an "amen"?) So this month I'm starting the "Susie Homemaker Project". I figure if I put this idea out in cyberspace-- and list everything I hope to accomplish-- then I'll be more likely to follow through. Here goes:

1. Laundry will be completely done, folded and put away once a week.
2. A hot dinner will be served every night at 6:00.
3. Dishes will not remain in the sink overnight.
4. I will make my bed every day-- throw pillows and all.
5. I will choose a different room to de-clutter and clean every day.
6. I will go through (gag) all my papers (choke) and organize them (gasp).
7. I will give my hubby time every day to decompress and relax or go out with the guys.
8. I will have a quiet time every day.
9. Hair will be done and make-up applied daily.
10. Ummm...okay, this one's tricky. I'm not actually going to tell you my plan for sex (you're welcome), but just know that I don't anticipate that there will be any complaints.

Okay, now that that's done, I'm off to go shopping with my mama! (Hey, I never said I wasn't going to have any fun! After almost a decade of being a full-time mommy I think I deserve to let loose a little!)

Anyway, I'll keep you posted.... Oh, and don't tell hubby about this! I want to see if he notices on his own. (Evil grin.)

Sunday, August 30, 2009

I Don't Think It's Going To Catch On

I just discovered one of my children's stuffed animals has been "diapered" with a panty liner. And while this method could conceivably save parents TONS of money on diaper costs, I just don't think it's a smart move....

MLS: Big Babies FC

Hubby and I drove across the state to an MLS game on Saturday (Major League Soccer, for you ignoramuses-- love you!). I'd never been to one before-- what a complete blast!

And very interesting, too.... I got an education of sorts. My first mistake was to assume that we could grab a bite to eat inside the stadium and not get fleeced while doing so. No such luck. When I tell you that the 12 ounce soda we purchased cost $4 does your heart skip a beat? Mine did! And if I mention the fact that a little (like, small frozen entree size) container of Pad Thai set us back $10 does that bring a tear to your eye? It did mine! So, $14 dollars later we were both still hungry but too darn cheap to buy anything else. (Note to self: bring lunch and eat in the car next time!)

I also learned that you have to accustom your ear to the strange new ways the English language is used at these events. Like the guy selling beer and drinks up and down the aisles. He attracted customers by shouting "Coho beer my hot l'monade!" I finally figured out he was selling cold beer and Mike's Hard Lemonade-- and the suckers who bought it were shelling out money from their kids' college savings accounts in order to afford it. Then there were the crowd's cheers. I never quite figured out what "SO-HO SO-NO!" meant, but apparently everyone else was on board because it was a very popular chant (I guess I missed that memo).

But the most interesting thing to me was witnessing the dramatic performances of the soccer players after they were fouled in one way or another. They must have all had to attend acting school before they signed their contracts-- either that or MLS guys (or, actually, just soccer players in general) are the biggest babies on earth. It was extremely amusing to watch, however. I kid you not, if any player laid a hand on another-- or gave just a bit of a shove-- the offended player would immediately throw himself on the ground and commence writhing and rolling around in feigned agony until the sports med folks flew out onto the field to save the day. A short chat later, that player would miraculously hop to their feet and run around again until it was another guy's turn to fall to the ground. I started dreaming up new names for the teams that were more apropos-- like, L.A. Whiners FC, Toronto Drama Queens FC, Houston Wittle Bitty Babies FC, Seattle Boo Boos FC, or the DC United Pansies FC.

Which then got me to thinking; a team of soccer mamas would not engage in such ridiculous frivolity. Can you imagine a bunch of ladies who've given birth flinching at a little push and throwing themselves on the turf? Wouldn't happen! When you've shoved the equivalent of a bowling ball out of your nether regions suddenly your pain tolerance goes through the roof. Besides, moms have to deal with enough engineered drama from their kids-- no way would they create it on their own.

Yet, despite the exorbitant food costs, the vendors speaking in tongues, and the silly antics of the players, I can honestly say I haven't had so much fun at a sporting event since....well, ever. And next time we go, I'm hoping to drag some of you along with us. We can hold up signs that read, "Rub Some Dirt On It!" or "Save The Drama For Your Mama!" or "Quit Whining You Big Babies!" or "Which One Of You Filthy Rich Pros Is Gonna Pay For My Freakin' Expensive Lunch?". Hey, I'd bet we'd get on TV....

Thursday, August 27, 2009

Blog Envy

From time to time I think it's fun to hit the "Next Blog" button and see what pops up. I have to tell you people, I don't know why you're wasting time on my blog when there is an entire world of really cool blogs out there. In fact, I'm a little envious.

For instance, I have a super boring blog design. How in the heck do people come up with their fancy blogs? Where do folks learn this stuff? They've got pictures and cute stuff all over the place. Well, I'm about to remedy that....



Try that one on for size! Or, how about this:


Ah, yeah! Now we're getting somewhere! Now I'm getting interesting! Okay, one more:


I'm finally designing a blog I can be proud of!

But you know, it's not all about fancy designs and pictures. The name of a blog plays a big part as well. I know, I know-- my blog has a funky name (read my first post if you're wondering where the heck it came from). But I cannot even begin to compete with the non-English speakers out there. Here are my top 10 favorite foreign blog titles (so far):

1. Japan Drama Actress Star Girl Profile
2. D. Nitya- Specialist Laundry Helmet
3. Refreshing Life- She Still Workin' With Her English!
4. My Brides... Aren't They Beautiful
5. Banana Nitachi Freewill
6. Pearlfile- Get Addicted To Life. Addicted To Simple & Happy Life.
7. The Little Voice Inside My Hair
8. Her's Lover
9. Chemically Bonded Together
10. Bags Up Your Life!

Wow. I mean...just wow. But I can't compare myself to these other titanic blogs-- they are way outta my league. And that's okay, you know? Because I'm fine with my little poorly-designed-nearly-pictureless-pointlessly-rambling blog. It's not much, but it's all I got....

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

An Oldie, But A Goodie

I don't know why I was reminded of this little story the other day. It might have been because my sister had called from the airport during a layover to relay her woeful tale of traveling with her 3 and 1-year olds. (That deserves a blog in and of itself.) I think I felt some sense of relief at the realization that I don't have any 3 or 1-year olds anymore. But I do remember those days....

One such day I was sitting in the office of a WIC social worker (or whatever they are). I don't want to complain about the WIC folks (oh, okay, yes I do)-- because, hey, they provided me with enough cheese, eggs and milk to make the world's biggest omelet ever. And for that, I am extremely grateful. But accepting these gifts did not come without a price. It is very humbling to be subjected to the same lectures that your average grade-schooler receives in their health units. (Fruits and vegetables are good for you! Eat more of them! We're not going to actually provide you with any, but perhaps you could buy some to throw into the giant omelet you're going to make with all the milk, eggs and cheese we're going to give you!) But I digress....

At WIC appointments your children are usually weighed and measured. Fine. Whatever floats their boat. But I ask you; why do health professionals always insist on taking children's diapers off to weigh them? I'm serious! Think about it-- diapers weigh next to nothing. And whatever currently is in the diaper was in the child just moments before, so what's the difference? So, when the lady asked me to remove LM's diaper I politely suggested we leave it on-- much safer, you know. She politely disagreed and insisted I take the diaper off per proper protocol.

Bad idea. Bad, bad, bad idea. But the smugness of this gal's attitude toward me prompted me to allow her to "make her own bed", so to speak. Heh, heh, heh! So, I took the diaper off.

LM did not disappoint. He squatted and took a dump right in the middle of her floor. But he didn't wait around to finish the job-- he took off running mid-plop and scattered a few chunks behind him as he flew. And, as if he hadn't already done a stellar job, he kept on running in the small office until he eventually retraced his path and stepped in his own poo. This he tracked around on her carpet until finally I had gathered my senses enough to catch and re-diaper him.

I didn't know whether to high-five the little dude or to be mortified. Needless to say, our appointment that day was one of the shortest (and funnest) I'd ever had at the WIC office. The lady ushered us out bemoaning the fact that her carpet was defiled for the rest of the day and would need to be professionally cleaned. (Hey, lady, don't say I didn't warn ya!)

I hope that sweet little social worker learned something that day. I know I did! I learned that the only weapon you need to bring down those who stand against you is a small undiapered boy. So, my sister, if you are reading this right now-- I suggest that the next time a flight attendant is so rude you quietly remove Mister's diaper and let him handle it from there. I have a feeling his actions will speak louder than your words....

Monday, August 24, 2009

Quotes!

I think The Bopper is well on her way to becoming one of my best sources for quotes. (At age 3, she is in her prime in this area.)

1. LM: "Is Shelby a grandpa dog?"
Me: "No, he never had any babies."
LM: "Oh, so he's divorced?"

2. LM: (after a kind soul gave him 2 Transformer toys languishing in a lost-and-found pile) "Boy, I really hit the jackpot tonight!"

3. LM: (drinking Gatorade at his grandma's house) "This is like wine!"
Me: "How so?"
LM: "It's red."
(I think this idea could catch on! Just imagine "Food and Gatorade" magazine-- your source for gourmet food and Gatorade pairings.)

4. The Bopper: "Mom, your booboos all gone?"
Her Mother: "What do you mean?"
The Bopper: "Mister drank 'em all?"
(So that's what happened!)

5. The Bopper: (rubbing her mother's feet affectionately) "Hi there, feet! It's nice to see you! Are you hungry? I'll share my food with you!"

6. LM: "Mom, are you blind?"
Me: "No! Why would you ask that?"
LM: "Because you don't drive straight."
(Sheesh! Everyone's a critic!)

And as a bonus, here is my dad's first appearance on the quote list. He, Ruby Jane and my hubby went backpacking last week. Apparently there were some steaming land mines on the trail they had to avoid, and Popi's warning made quite the impression on Ruby:

Popi: "Mmmm! Horse muffins-- fresh from the bakery!"

Saturday, August 22, 2009

Pardon Me, My Internal GPS Is Busted

I have no sense of direction. Zip. Zilch. Nada. In fact, 9 times out of 10 I will choose the wrong way if given a chance. I call it "directional dyslexia"-- and I have a very severe case.

Last night I went out with my mom. I met her at the mall for dinner. (I know how to get to the mall from my house.) Afterwards we ran back to my house to refrigerate the leftovers before heading off to the movie theater. (I know how to get to the movie theater, too.) But after the movie was over I had to drive back to the mall to drop my mom off at her car. Hmmm, going to the mall from the movie theater was a new experience for me.

I could hear the caution siren blaring in my head. "Warning! Warning! Internal compass was broken at birth! Do not attempt to direct yourself to the intended location! You will get lost! It doesn't matter that it's five minutes away-- that has no bearing whatsoever on your ability to find it!"

I've learned to listen to that little alarm over the years. So I turned to my mom and asked, "Uh, do I go right or left?" She paused a moment and then said something to the extent of, "you're kidding, right?" No. No, I'm not kidding. I would have to sit here for the next ten minutes trying in vain to reconstruct a map in my head in order to have even a faint idea of which way to turn-- and even then I'd probably be wrong. "Right," she finally told me. We got to the next intersection and I recognized that it was the street we needed to be on to get to the mall, but again, I could not even remotely guess which direction to go. Mom bailed me out again, even more baffled now that we were less than 2 minutes away from the mall. "I worry about you," she confessed.

Give me directions and I can follow them. A map? I can read it! But relying on my own sense of direction? Well, it's a little hard to rely on something that does not exist. I'm probably a good candidate for having some sort of tracking device surgically attached to my body-- just in case I ever wander off somewhere and never return.

So, just keep that in mind if someday you choose me to be your traveling companion to...anywhere. I will get us lost. I am 100% sure of that.

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Nice To Meet You, Cuz

I'm usually amused when I venture out grocery shopping. There's always an entertaining child to chuckle at, screaming parents to gawk at, or interesting products to buy (do I have "sucker" written on my forehead or something?).

Tonight my shopping adventure was defined by two completely unrelated experiences. One was the irrepressible wedgie that I kept having to coax out of my crack when no one was looking-- at least, I hope no one was looking. On second thought, maybe that's why that creepy dude kept showing up in the same aisles as me.... Maybe he gets his thrills by watching women wrestle with their underwear. Well, I'll tell you, he got quite the show because my undies sure put up a heckuva fight tonight-- I was ready to take scissors to them when I got home! But let me move on, as most likely I've already wandered into "TMI" territory. (Sorry, Mom!)

I'm still mulling over the second scenario as I type this. I confess, it baffled me. Let me lay it out for you and maybe you can help shed some light on the subject. You see, when I got to the checkout line I noticed the checker staring at me. (And not in a flattering way.) When I approached the stand she said, "you look familiar!" and I got ready to go through the litany of options: Did we go to school together? Do we attend the same church, perchance? Are our children on the same sports team? And so on. But she beat me to the punch. "Is your name Jessica?" Phew, that was an easy one to answer! "Nope," I said, thinking the discussion was over now that we got that settled. But she wasn't through.... "Really? You look like an old relative of mine." Yes, really, my grocery checking friend! But hold on a minute-- what did she mean by "old"? I wasn't quite sure how to respond to these odd inquiries. She continued to probe me, however, trying to make certain that I was indeed just a stranger coming through her line, and not some secret relative withholding my true identity from her. She wanted to know if I had a bunch of kids-- because her relative did. "Well, I just have two kids," I tried to explain. And I don't believe two qualifies as a "bunch" of kids unless you're in cuckoo-land.

I'm not sure if I ever convinced her completely. She kept shaking her head as if to say, "I just don't believe it-- you must be Jessica, my dear sweet cousin!" But unless I have any aunts or a grandma who have a little confession they'd like to make, I think I can safely say that this lady did not come from my gene pool (thank heavens for small mercies!).

She did leave me with a really fabulous idea, though. Next time someone says, "do I know you?" I think it would be a super fun game to say, "yeah, we're cousins!" or, "oh, Granny, I've missed you so much!", or "Daddy!"-- or something like that. Who knows, maybe I could even find a new BFF that way-- it's quite the icebreaker. After all, who doesn't want to be bosom buddies with a crazy?

I did not waste any more time than necessary as I gathered up my things to leave. I didn't want to get invited to the next family reunion or anything. Next thing I'd know old Aunt Mathilda would be trying to plant a big wet one on my cheek and Cousin Bob would be asking for a small "loan". No thank you!

As I made my hasty retreat I could feel the gal's eyes hot on my trail. I figured, what the heck, why not give her something else to remember me by? I reached behind me indelicately and pulled my ridiculous wedgie free while giving my booty a little wiggle of adjustment. Good riddance to both! (And I mean that in the nicest way possible.)