So far this week, I have:
** Attempted potty training, with finally an inkling of success today... (Note to self: Do NOT run low on fruit snacks...)
** Convinced my daughter that her pacifier was "lost". And she actually bought it without a fight - I now have a paci-free toddler!
** Got my son to start napping in his OWN bed, consistently, without me having to pat his butt until my arm cramped up and felt like it would fall off.
** Took both kids grocery shopping, a feat I've only attempted once when my son was a newborn and I didn't know any better.
** Went to the zoo, despite the fact that it was so hot we may as well cooled off in a pit of burning lava.
** Played at Rocket Park for a good two hours until I had to drag my stubborn toddler's exhausted, sweaty body off of the slide and carry both squirmy and crabby kids (35lbs and 18lbs) for what felt like a mile back to my car.
** Taught my daughter the letters "A" and "B", to where she can consistently recognize them wherever we are. Next step: Get her to stop saying "Look mom, a Number A!"
** Also, apparently, taught her a curse word. Daddy dropped something and we were both quite surprised to hear a tiny voice say "What the h*ll?"
** Read the "ice cream train" book so many times that I can recite it upside down with one hand tied behind my back.
** Filled out daycare paperwork.
** Celebrated my son's 8th month of life.
** Spent 45 minutes at the imaging clinic for his heart echo, only to be told that Doogie Howser was not only uncomfortable doing an echo on a child so small, but that he had never, in fact, heard of my son's condition before. Thankfully he was honest and didn't make us sit there while he looked it up on Google, like the tech a couple months back did.
** Spent another 45 minutes driving over to another hospital to see another tech who actually looked as though she had graduated high school, and might also perhaps know what she's doing too.
** Spent yesterday, today, and probably tomorrow and Monday nervously awaiting the results as to whether or not my son still has any pronounced heart defects. I guess the cardiologists definition of 24 hours and mine vary slightly....
** Built close to 149 MegaBlok towers, only to have them destroyed by a little redheaded Godzilla.
** Picked up those same MegaBloks more times than I care to recall.
** Cleaned, laundered, scrubbed, cooked, chauffeured, bathed, rinsed, emptied, organized, washed, dusted, vacuumed, trashed, wiped, changed, and swept.
And still had time at the end of each day to reflect on how lovely it all is despite the everyday chaos.
July 31, 2010
July 26, 2010
Potty Learning, Take Three
After two previous unsuccessful attempts at potty learning, I decided that this time I wasn't going to wimp out. After all, I have a very intelligent, outspoken, emotionally in-tune daughter who is surely capable of such a simple biological task....right?
When I use the bathroom, she congratulates me in a flurry of jazz hands and insists on getting me a sticker for "going pee-pee in the potty!" And, much to my dismay, she will gladly run over and plop her bare butt down, hand outstretched, requesting the fruit snack that I give her for making a potty attempt. The second that delicious fruit snack hits her mouth, she's up and goes about her play. After doing this three times in a row in the span of half an hour, it slowly dawned on me that maybe I was the one being trained here. Clearly, it is not that my daughter doesn't understand the concept - she merely wants nothing to do with it. And when you think about it, who can really blame her? When you wear a diaper, you can just pee wherever you are. Playing with blocks? No problem! Watching a cartoon? Go ahead! Eating some yogurt? Pee away! Someone will come along and switch you out with a clean one soon enough.
I suppose this shouldn't come as any great shock. She is my daughter, and a redhead to boot, so stubborn independence is just a part of her genetic code. How to overcome it, however, is presenting me with quite a challenge. If I let her wear diapers, she pees in them and I have to change them - she wins. If I let her wear undies, she pees in them and I have to change them - she wins. If she goes naked, she holds it in until her eyeballs start to float and her knees are locked together and only during naptime will she release the floodgate - she wins. Fruit snacks, stickers, treats for trying - win, win, win.
Running water doesn't help, I could set that child's potty chair on the deck of Niagra Falls and she'd hold it in while singing a song titled "I Like Water". Giving her privacy doesn't help, because a nanosecond after I leave the bathroom she is already up and going through the drawers. Her potty chair has just become an overpriced storage bucket, as it currently houses two necklaces and a raisin from lunchtime. She is now pushing the size limits on the cloth diapers she wears, and the next size up disposables are labeled for elderly incontinence use.
It has turned into a battle of wills, and mom is losing. With any luck, we'll get this thing down before she goes to kindergarten - high school, at the latest.
When I use the bathroom, she congratulates me in a flurry of jazz hands and insists on getting me a sticker for "going pee-pee in the potty!" And, much to my dismay, she will gladly run over and plop her bare butt down, hand outstretched, requesting the fruit snack that I give her for making a potty attempt. The second that delicious fruit snack hits her mouth, she's up and goes about her play. After doing this three times in a row in the span of half an hour, it slowly dawned on me that maybe I was the one being trained here. Clearly, it is not that my daughter doesn't understand the concept - she merely wants nothing to do with it. And when you think about it, who can really blame her? When you wear a diaper, you can just pee wherever you are. Playing with blocks? No problem! Watching a cartoon? Go ahead! Eating some yogurt? Pee away! Someone will come along and switch you out with a clean one soon enough.
I suppose this shouldn't come as any great shock. She is my daughter, and a redhead to boot, so stubborn independence is just a part of her genetic code. How to overcome it, however, is presenting me with quite a challenge. If I let her wear diapers, she pees in them and I have to change them - she wins. If I let her wear undies, she pees in them and I have to change them - she wins. If she goes naked, she holds it in until her eyeballs start to float and her knees are locked together and only during naptime will she release the floodgate - she wins. Fruit snacks, stickers, treats for trying - win, win, win.
Running water doesn't help, I could set that child's potty chair on the deck of Niagra Falls and she'd hold it in while singing a song titled "I Like Water". Giving her privacy doesn't help, because a nanosecond after I leave the bathroom she is already up and going through the drawers. Her potty chair has just become an overpriced storage bucket, as it currently houses two necklaces and a raisin from lunchtime. She is now pushing the size limits on the cloth diapers she wears, and the next size up disposables are labeled for elderly incontinence use.
It has turned into a battle of wills, and mom is losing. With any luck, we'll get this thing down before she goes to kindergarten - high school, at the latest.
July 21, 2010
My Bumper Sticker Soulmate
I was sitting at a stoplight today, singing along shamelessly to an 80's song that popped on to the radio, when I noticed some reading material on the bumper of the white pickup truck ahead of me. Generally speaking, I dislike bumper stickers. Not only has society failed to create one that actually looks appealing, but they often are some type of in-your-face advertising of a certain belief or political affiliation. I mean, come on - do I really care that you voted for Gore? Aren't you the least bit sorry you decreased the value of your car by tenfold in order to campaign for someone who lost and now lives amongst the polar bears? And heaven forbid you decide to remove one, the glue on those suckers is so strong I'm surprised NASA hasn't started using it to hold together their space shuttles.
But given the fact that I had happened upon the LONGEST LIGHT IN HISTORY, I decided to go ahead and indulge in the ones in front of me.
On the left, a bumper sticker that said: "Come Over to the Darkside. We Have Cookies."
On the right, another that said: "I would tell you to go to Hell, but I work there and I don't want to see you every day!"
And there was one above, on the back window, that said: "DON'T HIT KIDS. (No seriously, they have guns now.)"
After I finished snickering internally (I could have snickered out loud, I suppose, but that would have interrupted the chorus of "I Think We're Alone Now"), I decided that this person could probably become my new best friend. Suddenly the light changed, and I made the executive decision to take the outside lane in order to steal a glance at my potential bumper sticker soulmate. And I may have accomplished this, if I hadn't ended up down the road that had more orange cones than it did pavement. I was forced to back down, submit in line behind this truck, and eventually lose them on a left turn.
I may never know who this witty stranger is, but thank you for selflessly giving up the real estate on the back of your vehicle in order to bring a smile to my face. The gesture is much appreciated.
But given the fact that I had happened upon the LONGEST LIGHT IN HISTORY, I decided to go ahead and indulge in the ones in front of me.
On the left, a bumper sticker that said: "Come Over to the Darkside. We Have Cookies."
On the right, another that said: "I would tell you to go to Hell, but I work there and I don't want to see you every day!"
And there was one above, on the back window, that said: "DON'T HIT KIDS. (No seriously, they have guns now.)"
After I finished snickering internally (I could have snickered out loud, I suppose, but that would have interrupted the chorus of "I Think We're Alone Now"), I decided that this person could probably become my new best friend. Suddenly the light changed, and I made the executive decision to take the outside lane in order to steal a glance at my potential bumper sticker soulmate. And I may have accomplished this, if I hadn't ended up down the road that had more orange cones than it did pavement. I was forced to back down, submit in line behind this truck, and eventually lose them on a left turn.
I may never know who this witty stranger is, but thank you for selflessly giving up the real estate on the back of your vehicle in order to bring a smile to my face. The gesture is much appreciated.
July 17, 2010
Memories From Blogs Past
I found my old blog the other day, and came across a wonderful little memory that took place almost exactly three years ago today:
And here I go, diving into uncharted territory. I am, officially, "with child", and the concept is simultaneously exciting, terrifying, mysterious, and altogether hard to wrap my brain around. I suppose I can read all the books and articles I want and still never quite understand what it will be like to be a mother - that is, until that (probably) cold day in February when I am confronted with it face to face. As hard as it will be to let my independence go, the thought of being able to start this new being from scratch and teach him or her everything from riding a bike to becoming a wonderful human being is such an amazing undertaking. I truly am looking forward to every moment of it.And now, that blob has become a happy, healthy, and independent little two year old. One that loves to dance and sing. One that can light up a room just with her mere presence. One who stopped us in the middle of dinner tonight to announce that she had "toots in her butt". Oh, my wonderful daughter - we've come a long way!As you can see, this little human isn't much more than a blob that resembles Mr. Peanut without his tophat. Hey, we all gotta start somewhere. And you're welcome to start placing bets, however I think you should know that all but one person believes that this will be a girl. You have about 8 weeks until we know for sure!
(PS, If I talk to you between now and a couple weeks from now, please don't mention food. At all. It's a touchy subject, ok?)
July 16, 2010
The Daycare Hunt
(I have to say that my mom cautioned me not to put this up on my blog, in the event that one of the women mentioned might happen upon it and become offended. But, I'm doing it anyway because A) if they DO see it, maybe they will realize the ridiculousness of their choice of profession and B) because I'm a rebel.)
I'm returning to work in T-minus one month and counting. And since my daughter isn't nearly old enough to hold down the fort alone, we decided that some proper childcare was in order. I had the names of, like, two whole daycares - no big deal, right?
Well, first of all, I drastically underestimated my mom paranoia. The mere thought of leaving my children with a stranger sent me into near convulsions. What if they were the kind of creep that ends up on Dateline? What if they yelled at my kids and forced them to sit in a corner all day? What if....what if....they....MADE THEM EAT LUNCHABLES? :shudders: And after my first three encounters with "daycare providers", I realized that this task was a little like swimming across the Atlantic Ocean, except without a compass or nose plugs.
I was psyched about my first daycare interview. She lived no more than five blocks from me and seemed very nice on the phone. Because I was a newbie with the whole process, I opted not to bring the kids with me. Turns out, that was an EXCELLENT idea. Why? Well, for starters, I'm not sure that two more kids would have fit into her house. The entire space was the size of a public restroom, except not as clean. Her carpet could have passed for camoflauge thanks to the grey and green stains all over, and there was a cat on the sofa that was missing quite a large amount of fur above her tail. And twice, in the middle of her sentence, the woman belched without pausing OR excusing herself. Did I mention that I had to leave a breadcrumb trail through her front lawn just to find my way back to the car? I don't think it had seen a lawnmower in over three years. Next...
The following day, I catch wind of a daycare that was very focused on arts and crafts. Being a somewhat artsy person myself, I thought that sounded like a swell concept! So I picked up the phone and dialed. That was my first mistake. Twenty six minutes into the call - TWENTY SIX MINUTES - I had still not found out any information about this particular daycare. I sure heard a lot about homeopathic cancer remedies, and pottery, and Cocker Spaniels, though. I humored her until she got to the part about how in the past ten years, she had taken in a dozen homeless people. I'm definitely no expert, but I have a feeling that's the type of volunteer work that should be left to someone who does not also take in small children. Seems like a bad combo, is all I'm sayin'. So, I pretended like we lost our connection and hung up on her. Tactful? No. Successful? No. She emailed me twice and called me six more times, once leaving a message that consisted of a story about how she was helping a friend of hers move because she was being beaten by her landlord, and how landlord these days are nuts. Pot, meet kettle. I'm sure she would have gone on, but thankfully my voicemail cut her off. Next...
Another day, another interview. This one I had high hopes for. The house was nice, the yard was nice, there were no homeless people camping on their porch - so far, so good. The woman who ran the daycare was extremely nice, and I was able to look past her bleached 80's wave and see that she probably was a very good caregiver. Why did she have to go and ruin it? A conversation cropped up in which she mentioned that she had to drive two children home in the afternoon, which would require taking my kids with. I wouldn't have necessarily discounted her with that, however then she adds in that "there might be the occasional run to the grocery store too". FLAG. No thanks. I don't get to go to the store in the middle of my work shift, neither should you. Next...
At this point, I only had about one good prospect after a list of about 57. Hopelessness was starting to creep in, and I knew with only three more scheduled interviews the quality really had to pick up FAST or I'd be up the creek without a paddle. Thankfully, that's where Miss B comes in. I loved this place the moment I walked in, and not just because the carpet was all one color. I loved it because the kids had their names on their spots at the table. I loved it because there was no TV in sight. I loved it because two adorable kids were squished onto a ridiculously tiny sofa listening to her assistant read them a book. I loved it because it was what I had envisioned all along. Finally!
Despite the fact that I still had two more interviews, I called Miss B back a half hour after our visit and reserved our spots. I wasn't willing to risk losing out on this and having to settle for a cat with mange. And I hope, when the time comes, that my kids will feel comfortable and happy there and thus put my worried heart at ease.
I'm returning to work in T-minus one month and counting. And since my daughter isn't nearly old enough to hold down the fort alone, we decided that some proper childcare was in order. I had the names of, like, two whole daycares - no big deal, right?
Well, first of all, I drastically underestimated my mom paranoia. The mere thought of leaving my children with a stranger sent me into near convulsions. What if they were the kind of creep that ends up on Dateline? What if they yelled at my kids and forced them to sit in a corner all day? What if....what if....they....MADE THEM EAT LUNCHABLES? :shudders: And after my first three encounters with "daycare providers", I realized that this task was a little like swimming across the Atlantic Ocean, except without a compass or nose plugs.
I was psyched about my first daycare interview. She lived no more than five blocks from me and seemed very nice on the phone. Because I was a newbie with the whole process, I opted not to bring the kids with me. Turns out, that was an EXCELLENT idea. Why? Well, for starters, I'm not sure that two more kids would have fit into her house. The entire space was the size of a public restroom, except not as clean. Her carpet could have passed for camoflauge thanks to the grey and green stains all over, and there was a cat on the sofa that was missing quite a large amount of fur above her tail. And twice, in the middle of her sentence, the woman belched without pausing OR excusing herself. Did I mention that I had to leave a breadcrumb trail through her front lawn just to find my way back to the car? I don't think it had seen a lawnmower in over three years. Next...
The following day, I catch wind of a daycare that was very focused on arts and crafts. Being a somewhat artsy person myself, I thought that sounded like a swell concept! So I picked up the phone and dialed. That was my first mistake. Twenty six minutes into the call - TWENTY SIX MINUTES - I had still not found out any information about this particular daycare. I sure heard a lot about homeopathic cancer remedies, and pottery, and Cocker Spaniels, though. I humored her until she got to the part about how in the past ten years, she had taken in a dozen homeless people. I'm definitely no expert, but I have a feeling that's the type of volunteer work that should be left to someone who does not also take in small children. Seems like a bad combo, is all I'm sayin'. So, I pretended like we lost our connection and hung up on her. Tactful? No. Successful? No. She emailed me twice and called me six more times, once leaving a message that consisted of a story about how she was helping a friend of hers move because she was being beaten by her landlord, and how landlord these days are nuts. Pot, meet kettle. I'm sure she would have gone on, but thankfully my voicemail cut her off. Next...
Another day, another interview. This one I had high hopes for. The house was nice, the yard was nice, there were no homeless people camping on their porch - so far, so good. The woman who ran the daycare was extremely nice, and I was able to look past her bleached 80's wave and see that she probably was a very good caregiver. Why did she have to go and ruin it? A conversation cropped up in which she mentioned that she had to drive two children home in the afternoon, which would require taking my kids with. I wouldn't have necessarily discounted her with that, however then she adds in that "there might be the occasional run to the grocery store too". FLAG. No thanks. I don't get to go to the store in the middle of my work shift, neither should you. Next...
At this point, I only had about one good prospect after a list of about 57. Hopelessness was starting to creep in, and I knew with only three more scheduled interviews the quality really had to pick up FAST or I'd be up the creek without a paddle. Thankfully, that's where Miss B comes in. I loved this place the moment I walked in, and not just because the carpet was all one color. I loved it because the kids had their names on their spots at the table. I loved it because there was no TV in sight. I loved it because two adorable kids were squished onto a ridiculously tiny sofa listening to her assistant read them a book. I loved it because it was what I had envisioned all along. Finally!
Despite the fact that I still had two more interviews, I called Miss B back a half hour after our visit and reserved our spots. I wasn't willing to risk losing out on this and having to settle for a cat with mange. And I hope, when the time comes, that my kids will feel comfortable and happy there and thus put my worried heart at ease.
July 13, 2010
I've Been Interviewed!
I did a fun little interview for a fellow blogger about my daughter's wonderful curly locks. If you have a few minutes to kill and want to read it, be my guest!
Curly Hairdo Ideas: Short Curly Toddler Hair
Curly Hairdo Ideas: Short Curly Toddler Hair
July 12, 2010
Document Disposal Service
I've been a little lazy lately, especially when it comes to blogging. Ok, it isn't so much lazy as it is tired and bombarded with projects of other sorts. Anyhow, my schedule has forced me to delegate certain tasks.
Take, for instance, important document disposal. You may think this type of thing is only needed for corporations with questionable recordkeeping or people who have something worth stealing, but how do you know there isn't someone stalking your electricity usage? Granted, the bills from six years ago may be a little excessive, but I found a solution. We found a couple people who are not only willing to take on such a tedious chore, but who actually ENJOY the entire process - from sorting, to feeding the paper, to throwing the shredded bits around like an indoor snowstorm:
I couldn't do a finer job myself, and with a hectic schedule such as mine, it's always good to go with people you can trust to get it done right. Besides, who doesn't like a little free labor?
Take, for instance, important document disposal. You may think this type of thing is only needed for corporations with questionable recordkeeping or people who have something worth stealing, but how do you know there isn't someone stalking your electricity usage? Granted, the bills from six years ago may be a little excessive, but I found a solution. We found a couple people who are not only willing to take on such a tedious chore, but who actually ENJOY the entire process - from sorting, to feeding the paper, to throwing the shredded bits around like an indoor snowstorm:
I couldn't do a finer job myself, and with a hectic schedule such as mine, it's always good to go with people you can trust to get it done right. Besides, who doesn't like a little free labor?
July 6, 2010
Big Diner
My daughter opened her own business today, by the name of "Big Diner". She had barely so much as stumbled out of bed before she already had a plate with one single strawberry and a glass in hand. I asked her if I could share, which must have sparked something in her as she set her plate down, yelled "Coming right up!" and ran to her play kitchen where she produced a triangular block of cheese for me. After that came corn, more strawberries, pancakes, a round green block that I *think* she was trying to sell me as broccoli, tea, even more strawberries, a headband (she served it on my plate and called it necklace, so...yum!...?), and some birthday cake. This girl LOVES birthday cake, did you know that? Her most stunning creation was the hamburger birthday cake, which consisted of a hamburger bun with a slice of tomato and a cupcake piled on top. I mean, just look at this masterpiece:
I probably indulged in this wonderful treat at LEAST 139 times today. A green spatula was her serving utensil of choice, which only added to the uniqueness of this dish.
I also learned two important things about this new business endeavor:
1) "Big Diner" only serves breakfast. 10am? Breakfast. 8pm? Breakfast. Strawberries, headbands, hamburger cakes? It's all breakfast.
2) "Big Diner" uses the same plate over and over. Same glass of milk, too (which may actually have had real milk in it at one point). Perhaps a conversation about diner ettiquette is in order?
I can't wait to see what is on the menu for tomorrow!
I probably indulged in this wonderful treat at LEAST 139 times today. A green spatula was her serving utensil of choice, which only added to the uniqueness of this dish.
I also learned two important things about this new business endeavor:
1) "Big Diner" only serves breakfast. 10am? Breakfast. 8pm? Breakfast. Strawberries, headbands, hamburger cakes? It's all breakfast.
2) "Big Diner" uses the same plate over and over. Same glass of milk, too (which may actually have had real milk in it at one point). Perhaps a conversation about diner ettiquette is in order?
I can't wait to see what is on the menu for tomorrow!
June 30, 2010
Lipstick and Rat Poison
I wanted to extend a sincere thank you to TLC for airing such shows as "Toddlers & Tiaras" and "Your Kid Ate What?!". Nothing makes my parenting skills sparkle like a shiny pot of gold than a woman in cutoff short-shorts putting lipstick and fake nails on her toddler and yelling at the girl to "flirt with her eyes".
Even before I became a parent myself, I could name a whole list of things parents should do (or should NOT do) that are just plain common sense. Feed your kid, bathe your kid, don't dress your kid like Ru Paul. However, it was the less obvious things that murkied the waters a bit. What do you do when they cry? What gets baby puke/blood/jelly stains out of a white shirt? How do you answer their questions about sex without making them want to dry heave and hide in their room for a month? At the hospital they just send you and your new child on your way - no instructions, no direction, just a wave and a smile and a $50 charge for both added to your bill. The first few weeks is a crapshoot. Is she hungry? Does he have a dirty diaper? Did I shower yet this week? Eventually your parenting niche comes to the surface as you start getting used to having a kid hanging on you 24/7. Some parents become hyper sensitive, dressing their baby in bubble wrap and immediately feeling like a big pile of steaming failure when their child says "NO!" for the first time. Others gossip on the phone for an hour while their daughter, who has a track record of eating things that in no way resemble actual food, plays in a room full of rat poison.
I'd like to think that I'm the kind of mom who falls somewhere in the middle. I do not own any lipstick or short-shorts, cutoff or otherwise. My daughter can sing the chorus of a Miley Cyrus song, which I confess is an Epic Parenting Fail on my part, but her dancing is more "frantic gerbil" than it is "gentlemen's club". And as far as I know, the worst thing my kids have ingested is cat fur and a questionable piece of hotdog. No "D" batteries, no giant foam hearts. That isn't to say though that I'm one of the bubble-wrap toting moms (my last entry should be proof positive of that). I'd be dead of a heart attack three times over if I flew into a panic every time my daughter defied me or did something that might result in a scrape or a bruise. She is a redhead, after all.
For once it would be nice to see a show for the rest of us - no one eating clothes hangers, no one blowing kisses to the audience as they pole dance to "Baby Got Back", no Kate Gosselin (because who are they kidding, she is more drama than Desperate Housewives and Jersey Shores put together). Just normal parents with (relatively) normal kids. Heck, maybe I should volunteer. I know at least 8 people who would watch, which would already guarantee them a higher viewership than "Extreme Poodles". Whatcha think, TLC?
Even before I became a parent myself, I could name a whole list of things parents should do (or should NOT do) that are just plain common sense. Feed your kid, bathe your kid, don't dress your kid like Ru Paul. However, it was the less obvious things that murkied the waters a bit. What do you do when they cry? What gets baby puke/blood/jelly stains out of a white shirt? How do you answer their questions about sex without making them want to dry heave and hide in their room for a month? At the hospital they just send you and your new child on your way - no instructions, no direction, just a wave and a smile and a $50 charge for both added to your bill. The first few weeks is a crapshoot. Is she hungry? Does he have a dirty diaper? Did I shower yet this week? Eventually your parenting niche comes to the surface as you start getting used to having a kid hanging on you 24/7. Some parents become hyper sensitive, dressing their baby in bubble wrap and immediately feeling like a big pile of steaming failure when their child says "NO!" for the first time. Others gossip on the phone for an hour while their daughter, who has a track record of eating things that in no way resemble actual food, plays in a room full of rat poison.
I'd like to think that I'm the kind of mom who falls somewhere in the middle. I do not own any lipstick or short-shorts, cutoff or otherwise. My daughter can sing the chorus of a Miley Cyrus song, which I confess is an Epic Parenting Fail on my part, but her dancing is more "frantic gerbil" than it is "gentlemen's club". And as far as I know, the worst thing my kids have ingested is cat fur and a questionable piece of hotdog. No "D" batteries, no giant foam hearts. That isn't to say though that I'm one of the bubble-wrap toting moms (my last entry should be proof positive of that). I'd be dead of a heart attack three times over if I flew into a panic every time my daughter defied me or did something that might result in a scrape or a bruise. She is a redhead, after all.
For once it would be nice to see a show for the rest of us - no one eating clothes hangers, no one blowing kisses to the audience as they pole dance to "Baby Got Back", no Kate Gosselin (because who are they kidding, she is more drama than Desperate Housewives and Jersey Shores put together). Just normal parents with (relatively) normal kids. Heck, maybe I should volunteer. I know at least 8 people who would watch, which would already guarantee them a higher viewership than "Extreme Poodles". Whatcha think, TLC?
June 28, 2010
Reason I Love Being a Mom #81
Reason I Love Being a Mom #81: Because despite having bits of pavement lodged in her cheek, my beautiful little girl can still manage to flash me her trademark mischevious grin. Don't worry Lainey, I took care of the invisible rock that tripped you down the stairs...
June 27, 2010
The Big Clean
My husband and I have decided that after five years of living in this house, it might be a good idea to clean some of it. So we have undertaken a major home overhaul - no room is exempt, no unmarked bottle safe. Here is what we have accomplished thus far:
The Kitchen. Surprisingly, one of the easiest of all the rooms (I say, as someone who was barely involved in the cleaning of this particular room). This included dragging out every pot, every pan, every 3-year-old package of Ramen noodles - 18, to be exact - and then scrubbing the shelves down. I supervised most of this, coming in periodically to eat a snack and thus lessen the load for my husband...because that's the kind of nice wife I am. We also determined that we can no longer live with the faucet that's cracked and looks as though it was installed by a toddler. Therefore we made a trip to Lowe's and purchased a brand new and shiny stainless steel sink. I'll bet we'll be able to keep that clean for TWO WHOLE DAYS!
The Closet. Our bedroom has a walk-in closet that we have not been able to walk in to for a couple years. It is basically a clothing graveyard. There were shirts in there that we haven't seen since we moved in, a prehistoric towel, as well as two belts that neither of us recall purchasing and look as if they belonged to an 80's drag queen. In addition to the clothes, there was an entire plastic bin of books that was half-caved in due to crap being piled on top of it. Not that I have time to read anyway, but even if I did, I'm not sure why half of these books would have ever even made it to my possession. Who needs an entire book of doctor jokes? Not me. Six, SIX, entire boxes came out of that closet and went to Goodwill. Sadly, this accomplishment is lost due to the fact that we still cannot walk into our walk-in closet. Darn these old houses and their lack of storage...
The Basement. Don't even get me started! Half of our basement is "finished" (well, it has a ceiling, overhead lighting, and a pool table. We don't venture down there much except to scoop cat turds and do laundry, though...). Anyhow, we actually had an entire sofa buried underneath all of my art supplies. Whodathunk? And I finally decided to throw out the fake tree that I had purchased in hopes of making that room more "lively". Unfortunately, it did make it more lively - but not the way that I wanted. When I noticed entire colonies of spiders living amongst the leaves, I ran at lightening speed and used full force to pitch the tree as far into the yard as I could. Then I did the famous "GET IT OFF ME" dance for a few minutes before heading back downstairs to douse the corner with Windex and Febreeze (the only two chemical cleaners I possess), just to make sure that the invisible spider babies would not form some kind of vengeful army against me. My husband then vacuumed up a gazillion tiny pieces of cat litter and scrubbed the stairs.
The Sofa. We lifted up all of the sofa cushions to vacuum underneath. I found, in no particular order: three pens, a crayon, a hair tie, a pair of earrings I thought I had lost forever, an undistinguishable melted? piece of plastic, Goldfish crackers, a lonely Franken Berry, and only one measly penny. All that work, I would have hoped to have found at LEAST a quarter... Hmph.
The Bathroom. This one is still a work-in-progress. I started on it today during naptime, emptying out each of the four drawers in the vanity and wiping them down. When I went to return the items to their appropriate places, I made a couple shocking discoveries. 1) Each one of us would have to get some kind of life-threatening cut at least twice a day for the next four years to use up all of the BandAids and gauze pads we have accumulated. 2) We had a jar of Vicks VapoRub that expired in 1999. It still smelled potent, too. I'm not sure which one of those facts is worse...but either way, it lives in the trash can now. Also, we currently have seven brand new spare toothbrushes, five things of floss, as well as four samples of toothpaste and one of those flossers-on-a-stick. I swear we really aren't some dental hygiene freaks, we just have a dentist that leaves baskets of samples all around the office - it's like moths to a flame.
There is still work to be done, and I'd like to say that I feel really accomplished due to our three carloads of stuff that has now become Goodwill's problem, but I don't. We have SO MUCH STUFF that it's still overwhelming. But at least we can say that we tried, right?
The Kitchen. Surprisingly, one of the easiest of all the rooms (I say, as someone who was barely involved in the cleaning of this particular room). This included dragging out every pot, every pan, every 3-year-old package of Ramen noodles - 18, to be exact - and then scrubbing the shelves down. I supervised most of this, coming in periodically to eat a snack and thus lessen the load for my husband...because that's the kind of nice wife I am. We also determined that we can no longer live with the faucet that's cracked and looks as though it was installed by a toddler. Therefore we made a trip to Lowe's and purchased a brand new and shiny stainless steel sink. I'll bet we'll be able to keep that clean for TWO WHOLE DAYS!
The Closet. Our bedroom has a walk-in closet that we have not been able to walk in to for a couple years. It is basically a clothing graveyard. There were shirts in there that we haven't seen since we moved in, a prehistoric towel, as well as two belts that neither of us recall purchasing and look as if they belonged to an 80's drag queen. In addition to the clothes, there was an entire plastic bin of books that was half-caved in due to crap being piled on top of it. Not that I have time to read anyway, but even if I did, I'm not sure why half of these books would have ever even made it to my possession. Who needs an entire book of doctor jokes? Not me. Six, SIX, entire boxes came out of that closet and went to Goodwill. Sadly, this accomplishment is lost due to the fact that we still cannot walk into our walk-in closet. Darn these old houses and their lack of storage...
The Basement. Don't even get me started! Half of our basement is "finished" (well, it has a ceiling, overhead lighting, and a pool table. We don't venture down there much except to scoop cat turds and do laundry, though...). Anyhow, we actually had an entire sofa buried underneath all of my art supplies. Whodathunk? And I finally decided to throw out the fake tree that I had purchased in hopes of making that room more "lively". Unfortunately, it did make it more lively - but not the way that I wanted. When I noticed entire colonies of spiders living amongst the leaves, I ran at lightening speed and used full force to pitch the tree as far into the yard as I could. Then I did the famous "GET IT OFF ME" dance for a few minutes before heading back downstairs to douse the corner with Windex and Febreeze (the only two chemical cleaners I possess), just to make sure that the invisible spider babies would not form some kind of vengeful army against me. My husband then vacuumed up a gazillion tiny pieces of cat litter and scrubbed the stairs.
The Sofa. We lifted up all of the sofa cushions to vacuum underneath. I found, in no particular order: three pens, a crayon, a hair tie, a pair of earrings I thought I had lost forever, an undistinguishable melted? piece of plastic, Goldfish crackers, a lonely Franken Berry, and only one measly penny. All that work, I would have hoped to have found at LEAST a quarter... Hmph.
The Bathroom. This one is still a work-in-progress. I started on it today during naptime, emptying out each of the four drawers in the vanity and wiping them down. When I went to return the items to their appropriate places, I made a couple shocking discoveries. 1) Each one of us would have to get some kind of life-threatening cut at least twice a day for the next four years to use up all of the BandAids and gauze pads we have accumulated. 2) We had a jar of Vicks VapoRub that expired in 1999. It still smelled potent, too. I'm not sure which one of those facts is worse...but either way, it lives in the trash can now. Also, we currently have seven brand new spare toothbrushes, five things of floss, as well as four samples of toothpaste and one of those flossers-on-a-stick. I swear we really aren't some dental hygiene freaks, we just have a dentist that leaves baskets of samples all around the office - it's like moths to a flame.
There is still work to be done, and I'd like to say that I feel really accomplished due to our three carloads of stuff that has now become Goodwill's problem, but I don't. We have SO MUCH STUFF that it's still overwhelming. But at least we can say that we tried, right?
June 22, 2010
The Crime Scene
I stumbled upon a horrific scene today that I just simply cannot explain. There were no witnesses, and judging by the nature of the accident I did not initially believe that there were any survivors either. Who was at fault here? Was it simply driver error, or is there more to the story?
Don't be alarmed though, later in the day Johnny was spotted climbing in and out of a circus train so despite the gruesome scene, he apparently emerged from the accident unharmed. The fellow without a body, however, may not have fared so well. I have not seen him since.
Don't be alarmed though, later in the day Johnny was spotted climbing in and out of a circus train so despite the gruesome scene, he apparently emerged from the accident unharmed. The fellow without a body, however, may not have fared so well. I have not seen him since.
June 21, 2010
The Amazing String of Drool
Yes, I felt the need to document my son's amazing talent. His salivary glands have always been pretty toned, but I think he's almost ready for his own show in Vegas. To the left you will find a picture of what I imagine to be one of the world's longest continuous strings of drool. It stretches from his mouth, all the way down the length of his body, cascading down his diaper, curling around and coming to rest in a small pool on the blanket. That has to be nearly 16 inches of pure drool.
And just think, he isn't even teething yet. I ought to get in touch with the folks over at Guinness....
Just because he's so danged cute, here's another one I took pre-drool:
June 19, 2010
Happy Birthday to Me
Happy Birthday to Me
Happy Birthday to Me
I once was mid-twenties,
Now I'm almost thirty!
Happy Birthday to Me
Happy Birthday to Me
I act like a child,
But I'm an old fogey!
Happy Birthday to Me
Happy Birthday to Me
Been 10 years since high school,
So....aw crud, nevermind. How depressing. Pour me a daquiri.
Happy Birthday to Me
I once was mid-twenties,
Now I'm almost thirty!
Happy Birthday to Me
Happy Birthday to Me
I act like a child,
But I'm an old fogey!
Happy Birthday to Me
Happy Birthday to Me
Been 10 years since high school,
So....aw crud, nevermind. How depressing. Pour me a daquiri.
June 18, 2010
Oddly Fanatic
I heard the term "oddly fanatic" the other day. At first, my natural assumption was that such a title is meant to be offensive. However, when I contemplated the definitions:
1. Oddly (adv.) variation of Odd: - in a manner differing from the usual or expected;
2. Fanatic (adj.) - marked by excessive enthusiasm for and intense devotion to a cause or idea;
I decided that I not only do I want to embrace this label for myself, but that my daughter Lainey practically deserves her photo next to it in the dictionary. For example, she is currently obsessed with tambourines. Why? Your guess is as good as mine. But just yesterday she approached me at a random point in the day and declared "I love ants, and Mommy, and Owen Edward, and...(long pause, enter excessive enthusiasm and razzle dazzle dance)...TAMBOURINES!" Her favorite activity right now, which takes place at least three times daily, is to take an old red frisbee and bang on it like a tambourine and then insist that I march along with her in her invisible parade. Sometimes she just takes the frisbee and throws it at me saying "Mommy, YOU tambourine." (Because apparently, tambourine is a verb too).
So while the subject of her enthusiasm may change weekly, she clearly has an oddly fanatical personality. And I love every minute of it.
1. Oddly (adv.) variation of Odd: - in a manner differing from the usual or expected;
2. Fanatic (adj.) - marked by excessive enthusiasm for and intense devotion to a cause or idea;
I decided that I not only do I want to embrace this label for myself, but that my daughter Lainey practically deserves her photo next to it in the dictionary. For example, she is currently obsessed with tambourines. Why? Your guess is as good as mine. But just yesterday she approached me at a random point in the day and declared "I love ants, and Mommy, and Owen Edward, and...(long pause, enter excessive enthusiasm and razzle dazzle dance)...TAMBOURINES!" Her favorite activity right now, which takes place at least three times daily, is to take an old red frisbee and bang on it like a tambourine and then insist that I march along with her in her invisible parade. Sometimes she just takes the frisbee and throws it at me saying "Mommy, YOU tambourine." (Because apparently, tambourine is a verb too).
So while the subject of her enthusiasm may change weekly, she clearly has an oddly fanatical personality. And I love every minute of it.
June 15, 2010
Wisconsin: Waterslides, Fireworks, and Recapturing My Youth
My wonderful husband arranged a short little getaway for us last week, up to the Wisconsin Dells. Believe it or not, even though I am a native midwesterner, I have never been to the Dells before. We decided before we went that we had absolutely no interest in acting our age while we were gone, and therefore came up with a list of activities that would make any 10 year old drool. I will run down the list with you now, in order of childishness:
5) We visited a Tanger Outlet Mall. Surprisingly, this was probably the most adult thing we did the whole time we were gone. And, not surprisingly, the only thing we left with was kids' clothes. Yes, they have too much, I am aware of that....
4) We went mini golfing. I have always loved mini golf. It's so much better than real golf because it has fun decorations, and because it requires a much shorter attention span. The one we went to was called Pirate's Cove, which made it awesome by default. We played two rounds, and I was pretty much horrible at both however I did not loose my ball or send it down a waterfall so I consider it an overall success.
3) We went to Knuckleheads. Just the name itself really should've guaranteed this activity a top spot on the "Ridiculously Childish Activity-o-Meter". It was a cross between an arcade, a bowling alley, and an amusement park, and suffice to say that it looked as though a clown had thrown up all over it. We watched a 4.3 second 4D movie, played oodles of Skeeball and won some lead-paint ridden plastic Stegasaurus for Lainey to play with. We stopped long enough to have a bite to eat, and then headed back in for a couple rounds of not-so-cosmic bowling (as in, they were too lazy to dim the lights so we just got music). Despite what my husband says, I came out the winner at 2 games to 1.
2) We went to Noah's Ark. This place is the self-professed water park capital of the world, claiming to be the largest in the entire country. Considering that it's really the only water park I've ever been to, I cannot confirm nor deny this. However, I can say without a doubt that this slide:
made me want to simultaneously scream, vomit, and purchase life insurance. You climb 32984382 flights of stairs (which, given my fear of heights, was already asking too much) and then stand in a capsule as if you're going to be sent into space. Or buried alive. And then, just when you get comfortable in there, the floor drops out from underneath you and you go straight down. STRAIGHT DOWN. Five seconds later you land in a pool so hard that water gets shoved up your nose and your brain floats. Will I be going on that ever again? NO.
For the record, the rest of the park earned an A-. I say A- because I'm pretty sure the park was also paved in glass shards. I realize they did this to make it easier to "grip" with wet feet and to protect them from being sued by that chubby, balance-impaired guy in the speedo who bit the pavement. But the only way I could've saved myself from the pain was to purchase water socks, so needless to say - I suffered through it. (This park was also a pretty prime people-watching spot, too. Regular people-watching is fun, but put those people in bathing suits and WHOA NELLY!)
1) We bought fireworks. Fireworks - and I mean, GOOD fireworks - are illegal in Illinois, so we took it upon ourselves to seize this over-the-border opportunity. We stopped into a veritable firework warehouse and were immediately overwhelmed. How do you know what to get? We wandered up and down the aisles for a bit, taking in all the firecrackers, rockets, and smoke bombs until we realized that we had no idea what we were doing. There is no way to know what any of these things do, since 90% of the label is a gigantic FIRE HAZARD warning and the other 10% is nothing but fancy firework talk like "explodes into a plume of colored flowers" and "rains unicorn sprinkles". So, we just started grabbing things that looked pretty. I am especially excited to unveil one titled "Jumping Jelly Beans". With a name like that, it HAS to be good, right?
Things that didn't make the list, but were still noteworthy:
We went on the infamous Wisconsin Ducks boat tour. It was loud and smelled like diesel fuel, but the guy that sat next to me had the most awesome comb-over I've ever seen and our tour guide was pretty funny so it turned out ok. Want to see some pretty scenery?
We also bought some obligatory cheese, however that was more of a "Let's stop and pee and oh YUM! Cheese curds!" kind of thing. It is already long since gone, and now I'm a little sad that I didn't have the foresight to invest in more than one small little bag.
All in all, it was a great trip. The perfect way to recapture my youth a mere week before yet another birthday rolls around. I may be turning 28, but last week I barely made it past 13 - and it was glorious.
**Another thanks to my husband who made the whole trip possible. He really ironed out all the details AND managed to secure this hotel room:
Be jealous.
5) We visited a Tanger Outlet Mall. Surprisingly, this was probably the most adult thing we did the whole time we were gone. And, not surprisingly, the only thing we left with was kids' clothes. Yes, they have too much, I am aware of that....
4) We went mini golfing. I have always loved mini golf. It's so much better than real golf because it has fun decorations, and because it requires a much shorter attention span. The one we went to was called Pirate's Cove, which made it awesome by default. We played two rounds, and I was pretty much horrible at both however I did not loose my ball or send it down a waterfall so I consider it an overall success.
3) We went to Knuckleheads. Just the name itself really should've guaranteed this activity a top spot on the "Ridiculously Childish Activity-o-Meter". It was a cross between an arcade, a bowling alley, and an amusement park, and suffice to say that it looked as though a clown had thrown up all over it. We watched a 4.3 second 4D movie, played oodles of Skeeball and won some lead-paint ridden plastic Stegasaurus for Lainey to play with. We stopped long enough to have a bite to eat, and then headed back in for a couple rounds of not-so-cosmic bowling (as in, they were too lazy to dim the lights so we just got music). Despite what my husband says, I came out the winner at 2 games to 1.
2) We went to Noah's Ark. This place is the self-professed water park capital of the world, claiming to be the largest in the entire country. Considering that it's really the only water park I've ever been to, I cannot confirm nor deny this. However, I can say without a doubt that this slide:
made me want to simultaneously scream, vomit, and purchase life insurance. You climb 32984382 flights of stairs (which, given my fear of heights, was already asking too much) and then stand in a capsule as if you're going to be sent into space. Or buried alive. And then, just when you get comfortable in there, the floor drops out from underneath you and you go straight down. STRAIGHT DOWN. Five seconds later you land in a pool so hard that water gets shoved up your nose and your brain floats. Will I be going on that ever again? NO.
For the record, the rest of the park earned an A-. I say A- because I'm pretty sure the park was also paved in glass shards. I realize they did this to make it easier to "grip" with wet feet and to protect them from being sued by that chubby, balance-impaired guy in the speedo who bit the pavement. But the only way I could've saved myself from the pain was to purchase water socks, so needless to say - I suffered through it. (This park was also a pretty prime people-watching spot, too. Regular people-watching is fun, but put those people in bathing suits and WHOA NELLY!)
1) We bought fireworks. Fireworks - and I mean, GOOD fireworks - are illegal in Illinois, so we took it upon ourselves to seize this over-the-border opportunity. We stopped into a veritable firework warehouse and were immediately overwhelmed. How do you know what to get? We wandered up and down the aisles for a bit, taking in all the firecrackers, rockets, and smoke bombs until we realized that we had no idea what we were doing. There is no way to know what any of these things do, since 90% of the label is a gigantic FIRE HAZARD warning and the other 10% is nothing but fancy firework talk like "explodes into a plume of colored flowers" and "rains unicorn sprinkles". So, we just started grabbing things that looked pretty. I am especially excited to unveil one titled "Jumping Jelly Beans". With a name like that, it HAS to be good, right?
Things that didn't make the list, but were still noteworthy:
We went on the infamous Wisconsin Ducks boat tour. It was loud and smelled like diesel fuel, but the guy that sat next to me had the most awesome comb-over I've ever seen and our tour guide was pretty funny so it turned out ok. Want to see some pretty scenery?
We also bought some obligatory cheese, however that was more of a "Let's stop and pee and oh YUM! Cheese curds!" kind of thing. It is already long since gone, and now I'm a little sad that I didn't have the foresight to invest in more than one small little bag.
All in all, it was a great trip. The perfect way to recapture my youth a mere week before yet another birthday rolls around. I may be turning 28, but last week I barely made it past 13 - and it was glorious.
**Another thanks to my husband who made the whole trip possible. He really ironed out all the details AND managed to secure this hotel room:
Be jealous.
June 12, 2010
Caption THIS!
During a recent trip to the zoo, amongst all of the cuddly little foxes and adorable baby turtles, I came across THIS:
Naturally, a whole slew of captions and jokes came to mind (as I slowly backed away from the cage). However, I think I'm going to open the floor and welcome some suggestions - a contest**, if you will. Leave a comment with caption suggestions, I'll pick the best to use in my future Ode to the Zoo.
**By contest I mean, a fun one that has no prize involved whatsoever. I'm poor and not nearly popular enough to have any sort of sponsorship. Unless, of course, you want a 5x7 glossy of the photo in question, which I would be glad to send along to the winner at no charge.
Naturally, a whole slew of captions and jokes came to mind (as I slowly backed away from the cage). However, I think I'm going to open the floor and welcome some suggestions - a contest**, if you will. Leave a comment with caption suggestions, I'll pick the best to use in my future Ode to the Zoo.
**By contest I mean, a fun one that has no prize involved whatsoever. I'm poor and not nearly popular enough to have any sort of sponsorship. Unless, of course, you want a 5x7 glossy of the photo in question, which I would be glad to send along to the winner at no charge.
June 5, 2010
Reason I Love Being a Mom #52
Reason I Love Being a Mom #52: Because vampire toddlers is a sadly undermarketed movie genre.
June 4, 2010
Adventures in Haircutting
So today is our 5th anniversary, and we decided to celebrate by testing out the new haircutting kit my husband purchased. Yeah, I know, we're wild and crazy.
This purchase came about when I realized that my husband actually pays his elderly barber $10 every few weeks to shave his head nearly bald. In yet another attempt at being thrifty, I concluded that a haircutting kit is only about $30 so theoretically it would pay for itself in a matter of a couple months. Besides, how much skill could possibly be involved in shaving someone's head?
Plenty, as it turns out.
First and foremost, if you plan on doing such a thing in your own home, please - for the love of Dog - put a garbage bag down underneath you. You may think that a broom will do the trick, but really it just seperates the hairs and spreads them all around. Believe me when I say that there is nothing worse than sharp invisible man hairs sticking out of your bare foot. Which reminds me, also don't do this in bare feet.
I grabbed what I imagined would be the correct guide - the one that would take my husband's hair down past Marine level but not so far that he'd get confused for Mr. Clean. I snapped it into place and got ready to buzz. Ever the pessimist though, my husband decided that it might be a good idea for me to at least LOOK at the directions before I put the blades to his head. So I pulled out the sheet and looked at it, all the while imagining the cool designs I could draw into the side of his head once I gained mastery of my new little tool. When I determined that I had looked at the sheet long enough to convince him I was indeed competent enough to do what his ancient barber does, I clicked the razor on and away we went.
Ears are tricky. The knob on the back of your skull is tricky. But the neckline in back? That proved to be my biggest challenge. Not because of the blue painter's tape I used in order to get a nice straight line, but because I threw caution to the wind and took off the guide. This, my friends, is a little bit like jumping out of the plane before your skydiving lesson is finished. Did you know that the razor, without a guide, is really just a bunch of blades? I'll show you the red and partially bloody lines on the back of my husband's neck to prove to you it's true.
All in all though, despite the minor bloodshed, and the fact that I dropped the razor on the hard kitchen floor and broke the #2 guide that is pretty much the most vital piece of the whole haircutting kit, and the fact that I will forever have tiny razorblade hairs scattered around my kitchen floor, I think I did an ok job. He has a lot less hair, which was the goal after all. Hopefully, by the time Owen grows three or four more hairs himself, I will be able to wield that razor like a haircutting ninja.
Full-Time Goddess, Part-Time Barber.
This purchase came about when I realized that my husband actually pays his elderly barber $10 every few weeks to shave his head nearly bald. In yet another attempt at being thrifty, I concluded that a haircutting kit is only about $30 so theoretically it would pay for itself in a matter of a couple months. Besides, how much skill could possibly be involved in shaving someone's head?
Plenty, as it turns out.
First and foremost, if you plan on doing such a thing in your own home, please - for the love of Dog - put a garbage bag down underneath you. You may think that a broom will do the trick, but really it just seperates the hairs and spreads them all around. Believe me when I say that there is nothing worse than sharp invisible man hairs sticking out of your bare foot. Which reminds me, also don't do this in bare feet.
I grabbed what I imagined would be the correct guide - the one that would take my husband's hair down past Marine level but not so far that he'd get confused for Mr. Clean. I snapped it into place and got ready to buzz. Ever the pessimist though, my husband decided that it might be a good idea for me to at least LOOK at the directions before I put the blades to his head. So I pulled out the sheet and looked at it, all the while imagining the cool designs I could draw into the side of his head once I gained mastery of my new little tool. When I determined that I had looked at the sheet long enough to convince him I was indeed competent enough to do what his ancient barber does, I clicked the razor on and away we went.
Ears are tricky. The knob on the back of your skull is tricky. But the neckline in back? That proved to be my biggest challenge. Not because of the blue painter's tape I used in order to get a nice straight line, but because I threw caution to the wind and took off the guide. This, my friends, is a little bit like jumping out of the plane before your skydiving lesson is finished. Did you know that the razor, without a guide, is really just a bunch of blades? I'll show you the red and partially bloody lines on the back of my husband's neck to prove to you it's true.
All in all though, despite the minor bloodshed, and the fact that I dropped the razor on the hard kitchen floor and broke the #2 guide that is pretty much the most vital piece of the whole haircutting kit, and the fact that I will forever have tiny razorblade hairs scattered around my kitchen floor, I think I did an ok job. He has a lot less hair, which was the goal after all. Hopefully, by the time Owen grows three or four more hairs himself, I will be able to wield that razor like a haircutting ninja.
Full-Time Goddess, Part-Time Barber.
June 3, 2010
Peace, Love, and Chocolate Milk
It was a beautiful day outside, so we took to the backyard for some necessary energy expenditure. Typically Lainey hits the playhouse first, just to check and make sure her soggy bits of sidewalk chalk are still lined up on the shelf where she left them.
Today was different though, today she torpedoed herself towards the slide as fast as her little legs could carry her. She climbed up to the top platform and looked at me triumphantly, as if she had just conquered the Little Tikes version of Mt. Everest. She raised both arms in the air and proclaimed loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear, "Chocolate milk for EVERYONE!"
Here I thought I was just raising an artistic, out-of-the-box, singer songwriter type, and she goes and throws out the activist card too. I worry about a lot of things - global warming, the BP oil spill, the socks that go missing in my dryer. Chocolate milk has never really been on the top of my list. Or heck, it's never even been ON my list.
But my little politician was so emphatic that I couldn't help but think that maybe she was right. Maybe chocolate milk IS the answer? Milk itself is just ho-hum, but mix in a bit of that Hershey's deliciousness and you have yourself a little glass of happiness. So what if everyone could have some chocolate milk? I'll tell you what - the world would be a better place.
Kids would be happier, that's for sure. Their grades would go up, which would lead to a smarter and more peaceful generation. PMSing women everywhere would rejoice, for that touch of chocolate is just what they needed to keep from ripping some guy's head off. The elderly would sing out in praise, for finally there was a chocolate treat they could enjoy even without teeth. People everywhere would come together, people of all colors, ages, religions, and cultures, and in every language they would declare their love of this sweet and creamy drink. Even the lactose intolerant could pour themselves a glass of soy whateveritscalled and toast to a better life.
Yes, I think chocolate milk is the answer. Thank you, Lainey, for bringing your unique vision to the world. Peace, love, and chocolate milk for everyone - that's my new motto.
Today was different though, today she torpedoed herself towards the slide as fast as her little legs could carry her. She climbed up to the top platform and looked at me triumphantly, as if she had just conquered the Little Tikes version of Mt. Everest. She raised both arms in the air and proclaimed loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear, "Chocolate milk for EVERYONE!"
Here I thought I was just raising an artistic, out-of-the-box, singer songwriter type, and she goes and throws out the activist card too. I worry about a lot of things - global warming, the BP oil spill, the socks that go missing in my dryer. Chocolate milk has never really been on the top of my list. Or heck, it's never even been ON my list.
But my little politician was so emphatic that I couldn't help but think that maybe she was right. Maybe chocolate milk IS the answer? Milk itself is just ho-hum, but mix in a bit of that Hershey's deliciousness and you have yourself a little glass of happiness. So what if everyone could have some chocolate milk? I'll tell you what - the world would be a better place.
Kids would be happier, that's for sure. Their grades would go up, which would lead to a smarter and more peaceful generation. PMSing women everywhere would rejoice, for that touch of chocolate is just what they needed to keep from ripping some guy's head off. The elderly would sing out in praise, for finally there was a chocolate treat they could enjoy even without teeth. People everywhere would come together, people of all colors, ages, religions, and cultures, and in every language they would declare their love of this sweet and creamy drink. Even the lactose intolerant could pour themselves a glass of soy whateveritscalled and toast to a better life.
Yes, I think chocolate milk is the answer. Thank you, Lainey, for bringing your unique vision to the world. Peace, love, and chocolate milk for everyone - that's my new motto.
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