Dec 28, 2011

Dearest Blogworldland,

I didn't mean to ignore you.  I've just been busy.  I still like you, I promise.  Really.  Cross my heart and hope to fart (is that how it goes, or is it "hope to die"?  Because I really don't plan on dying anytime soon.  Farting though?  Who knows when that will happen, it could be anytime now.)

Once life gets back to normal, like say, January sometime-ish, I will return to the land of bloggingdomville, and rejoice greatly in it's awesome splendor.

Probably.

Sincerely & with deepest adoration,
moi 

Dec 7, 2011

good news, and then bad news, and then some more good news

Christmas disaster averted.  It seems like angels won't be plunging down from heaven after all.  Because you know that Leapfrog LeapPad I wanted to get so bad?  Well, it has a rival: the Vtech Kids Innotab. 

And I ordered one yesterday.

It went like this:  I checked websites for Toys R Us, Walmart, Target and Vtech Kids all at the same time.  (Literally, the same time.  Because I'm a phenomenal shopping multitasker like that.)  Target didn't have any Innotabs, but the other sites did.  Which was a pretty huge miracle already.

But I had to make sure I was getting the best deal possible so I clicked around for about 4 minutes looking for coupon codes and such.  And then I decided to buy through Toys R Us, and in the amount of time that it took to click "put this item in your cart" the Vtech Kids website updated saying they were sold out. 

And then once I made it through "confirm your payment" they were also sold out at Walmart. 

And it wasn't long before Toys R Us was out of them too.

Except I totally DON'T CARE now.  Because there's a pink Innotab safely on it's way to our house in a shining cardboard box of joyful Christmas glee.   Fa la la la la, la la la la!

And to think, there are still scrambling parents paying double for them on ebay - SUCKERS.

So anyways, that's the good news.

The bad news is that I've begun a new holiday tradition that involves dental work.

If you recall last December, when my front tooth broke and left me with a "huge cavernous hole that could rival the canyon in Twin Falls that Evel Knievel tried to jump over on his 'skycycle' in 1974"?  Yeah, that was fun.

Well this year, today, early evening to be exact, one of the fillings I got as a teenager decided it would be awesome to crack, and hurt, and threaten to fall out, because, apparently, old fillings like to do that.  Except that it hasn't fallen out yet because I'm holding it in with sheer will power.  (And sometimes I push on it with my tongue.) 

But I have until 2:00 tomorrow afternoon to freak out about it.  And you know how well I can freak out about things.  (Like, what if it falls out during the night, and I accidentally swallow it, and it has jagged edges so it scratches my whole throat as it goes down including my voice box and I'll never be able to speak again, EVER?)

Except, good news, we have dental insurance this year.  Except, bad news, that means I can't ignore the other 50 billion things I need to have done to my mouth anymore.  Except, good news, I found a dentist that can use sedation!  (why dentists haven't used sedation ALL ALONG, I don't know.  I mean really, who wants to be awake while they drill holes in your teeth?)  Except, bad news, sedation isn't covered by insurance.  Except, good news, I don't care, I just want to be unconscious and they can do whatever they want to my mouth.

And that just leaves me with one more piece of good news:

I'm hosting giveaways on my Green Jello with Carrots blog right now, and you have until tomorrow (thursday Dec 8th) at 11:59 PM to enter.  And when is it ever NOT good news to hear about winning free crap? 

Dec 5, 2011

a disaster, I tell you

Apparently I've turned into one of those parents that scrambles and searches and tries everything possible to get the season's hottest toy for their kid.  Because I decided that Number Four NEEEEEEEEEEDS to have a Leapfrog LeapPad for Christmas.

Except they're all sold out.

EVERYWHERE.

Except for Ebay, where you can bid against all the other parents that are scrambling and searching and trying everything possible to get one.  During the past month I've bid on about 20 different Leapster LeapPads.  But all the auctions are ending at DOUBLE the cost, and it's not like it's a cheap toy to begin with.

And now I'm really starting to stress out.  Because what if I can't actually get Number Four a Leapfrog LeapPad?!  I'm almost certain the world will stop revolving.  And Christmas will be ruined.  And probably angels will start plunging down from heaven because their wings will just suddenly disappear.  It will be a DISASTER, I tell you!

So.

If any of you happen to have an extra Leapfrog LeapPad in your hand, that you don't want, I will buy it from you.  For not double the cost.  Because I am not quite that level of crazy yet (give me a couple more days).

Nov 29, 2011

deja vu toilets UFO starship enterprise

Have you ever had deja vu, where in the middle of it you remember that in midst of the deja vu you were thinking, "I'm having deja vu" so then during the actual moment of actual deja vu you think, "I'm having deja vu about having deja vu"?

IT'S TOTALLY CONFUSING.

In other news, I ate Thanksgiving dinner last week.  I know - ORIGINAL.

But then after dinner my sister came out of my mom's bathroom and was like, "Ummm, your toilet is tipping....like sideways."  And then everyone discovered that the toilet was in fact attempting to fall through the floor.

So basically our Thanksgiving day turned into a Thanksgiving weekend in which Husband and my stepdad got to rip out a rotting bathroom floor and build a new one.  And my kids got to annoy my mom with their constant whining, "I'm bored.  I'm hungry.  Do you have any other toys?" all while destroying the rest of her house with their pent up energy.

Also, we got to see a Christmas light parade on the beautiful main street of Spanish Fork, Utah.  (Those of you who have been to Spanish Fork can laugh at that statement with me.  HA HA HA.)  And during the middle of the parade I saw a UFO.  For reals.  My sister saw it too, so you can check with her on the validity of actual UFO-ness, if you want.

And also, during my unexpected weekend away, I got to hang out with my grandparents while Monkey and Number Four ate all of their cookies and giggled like crazy in their kitchen.  Which was probably my favorite part of the weekend.  Because I really like my grandparents.  Plus, while I was there my grandma threatened to hunt someone down and kill them, and I about died of AWESOME.  Because she's a very petite old woman but that has never stopped her from spitting fire, and when she says stuff like that I'm reminded why I'm so happy to have her genes.

And also, while I was at my mom's house all weekend, I got to play with her big box of  Classic K'nex, and I built the Starship Enterprise, and then flew it around the dining room a little bit while humming the opening song to the original Star Trek, which made my mom curse my father for passing on his love of geeky sci-fi shows.

Overall, it was a pretty good weekend.  You know, except for that whole toilet-falling-through-the-floor thing.

Nov 22, 2011

did you know that I have an accordion?

Dear Veronica,  I don't know if you actually read my blog because we're those kind of friends who actually don't read each other's blogs, but in case you're reading this - this one's for you.

Once upon a time I was a senior in high school.  If you'd like to get a mental picture of me being a senior in high school just remember: it was the era of ultra baggy jeans.  And also my hair was really curly back then.  And also I hardly ever got zits (which makes no sense because I get them all the time now).

Alright, moving on.

For Thanksgiving that year my family went to my aunt's cabin in California.  We played a lot of Phase 10, which I hated, because I always lose when playing Phase 10.  But I guess that's ok, because while I was there I received the coolest musical instrument EVER: an accordian.

My uncle lent me his old accordion (I say "lent" but really I've never returned it) because he knew that I was in an AP music class and also because I kind of kicked butt at playing the piano back then (even though you wouldn't be able to tell if you heard me play now) and he was excited at the prospect of his beloved accordion being played once again.

The accordion is really heavy and also it is ivory and gold, ie. MAJORLY POSH.  (Sometimes I still pull it out to entertain the kids, or when my friends want me to serenade them on road trips.)

So, I learned how to play my new accordion.  Except that I was sort of busy back then (I actually had a social life - I KNOW, you didn't even think it was possible because of the severe lack in social life I've had for the past 10 years), and also I've always been a big fan of "only learn what you HAVE to know" so I mostly could only play stuff like Jingle Bells and the Jurassic Park theme song.

But that didn't stop me from showing off.

For Christmas, I volunteered to accompany my friends while they sang religious carols.  Away in a Manger has never sounded more spiritual than it did on my ivory and gold accordion.  (I think I also wore my plaid pants that day - I have vivid memories of those plaid pants because they were tight, so basically they were my only pants that didn't fall off due to overly baggishness, and also my butt looked really good in them.)

Also, my accordion came in really handy in my AP music class.  Because everyone else in the class was way smarter than me, and could play multiple instruments with precision and ease.  So when we had assignments to create our own original compositions, I would always feel like a tremendous loser because I could only play the piano, and sometimes the kazoo. 

BUT THEN I got the accordion.

So for the next assignment, while all of my musically talented friends were composing elaborate pieces on their violins and harps, I wrote a song for my accordion.  And on the day that we performed, I played with vigor and passion - - on that day I gave life to that accordion.

Ok, not really.  But I did actually compose the song, and I did actually perform it for my entire AP music genius class.  And it even though it was pretty lame, it was immensely rewarding.  Because on that day, I made my AP music teacher smile AND chuckle.

I'm pretty sure my AP music teacher hated all high school kids.  He was the teacher that was rarely seen in the halls, and when he did venture out of his classroom everyone would flatten against the walls to clear a path for him and his "I hate all teenagers" scowl.  And you never wanted to disrespect him or get in trouble in class, because he probably could shoot death rays from his eye sockets.

I guess he wasn't always like that though.  Because my mom was in his elite choir group when she was in high school and he was all young and fresh, and she said that he was "a lot of fun".  But then he got older and life had dealt him a whole lot of crap.  And really, even in the midst of his scowling, he was a pretty amazing guy (there was an article about him and trials he had gone through with his family in the Ensign once, because he's that amazing).  Plus if I had spent over 20 years teaching high school kids I'm pretty sure I'd get pretty scowly too.

BUT ON THAT DAY - the day I performed my non-award winning accordion piece - I MADE HIM SMILE.  And then he chuckled.  And then I passed the class and the big AP music test that gave me college credit.

So basically, my accordion is awesome.

The End.

Nov 21, 2011

this is about the time I ate at the best restaurant in Provo

I was making myself a salad for lunch today, and all we had was that gross bag salad with the little carrot slivers in them.  So then I was scrounging around in our fridge looking for ANYTHING that would make it taste better.  (Because bag salad with little carrot slivers is ultra grody.)  But we didn't have anything to add to it except for an almost rotten tomato and some generic croutons.

It was not a good salad.

So then I had to just pretend that I was eating this:


"This" being one of the amazing and tantalizingly yummiscious things I ate at La Jolla Groves the other day.  Do you so those white things?  Under the green leaves?  On top of the tomatoes?  THAT'S CHEESE.  And it was super yum.  I like cheese.

And then I ate even more cheese when I had some of this:


And then I ate lots and lots more really good food.  And guess what?  It was all HEALTHY.  Seriously.  I didn't even feel guilty as I was stuffing my face with all that deliciousness.

So basically, La Jolla Groves (which is a restaurant in Provo) pretty much spoiled me for ever and ever, and now when I have to gag down bag salad with little carrot slivers in it my taste buds feel majorly jipped.  Because I've had a taste of real live food, cooked by a real live executive chef, who wears a real live chef hat.

See?


That's an executive chef hat.  (And under the hat is an executive chef.  And he's really nice.  And his food tastes like the clouds parted and then angels threw food of perfection from heaven that lands on plates with gorgeously arranged accuracy.  His food is seriously really GOOD.  And you can only get it at La Jolla Groves in Provo.  SO GO GET SOME, RIGHT NOW.)

And you can have this for dessert:


If that doesn't look like food thrown from heaven by an angel, I don't know what does.


La Jolla Groves compensated me for writing this with free lunch from heaven, and also they treated me like I was really important, which has never happened at a restaurant before, and I LIKED IT.  All the amazing photos were provided by Bryce Olsen Photography.

P.S. I promise to write a normal blog post eventually someday.  I've been sort of busy freaking out about not having Christmas presents.  But I PROMISE to not write sponsored posts for the rest of existence.

Nov 17, 2011

toy store heaven (also known as Blickenstaff's)

Does it seem like Christmas is coming really really fast this year?  (As apposed to previous years where it only came really fast, and not really really fast?)  Usually by this time of year I've cemented and possibly purchased the toys Santa will leave under our tree, but this year has been slightly stumping.

Which is one of the reasons why I really liked spending time at Blickenstaff's last saturday.  Because Blickenstaff's is toy heaven.  And I turn into a great big kid when confronted with toy heaven.  Because toys are really fun.

If you don't already know, Blickenstaff's is a Utah toy store that has cool vintage toys and candy and modern toys and did I mention candy?  (THEY HAVE A WALL OF CANDY.)  And the staff there will tell you all about the toys and then they'll let you touch everything and even play with the toys, if you want to.  And it's really hard to fight the urge to play when the place looks like this:


So basically, I got lots of Christmas toy ideas while I was there.  (And also I bought some slap watches for my Two Bits and Opie - shhhh, don't tell them.)  And also I won the game Banagrams, which was super awesome.  And I also ate some of their candy.  Which was also awesome.

But what I really REEEEEEEALLY want to get is the big ride on toy (it's big, it has pedals, I died of awesome when I saw it) that Blickenstaff's is giving away during the Lighting of the Riverwoods event tomorrow evening.

I'm obligated to tell you to come to The Shops at Riverwoods in Provo, tomorrow, November 18th, from 6-9 PM for their Christmas lighting event - BUT IF YOU SHOW UP AND WIN THE BIG RIDING TOY FROM BLICKENSTAFF'S INSTEAD OF ME, I WI LL HUNT YOU DOWN AND BEAT YOU UNTIL YOU GIVE THE TOY TO ME, AND ALSO YOU'LL HAVE TO PAY ME $500 JUST BECAUSE.

So now that we're clear on that, check out these cute monsters:


They're adorable, right? 

And just because I feel like you're not really believing me about this whole "wall of candy" thing, LOOK:


See, I'm no liar.

And just because I want to end this post on a Christmas-y note, check out these thick candy canes (I love them):




Blickenstaff's compensated me for writing this with free candy and awesomeness, and also I got smell their giant gingerbread house.  All the amazing photos were provided by Bryce Olsen Photography.

Nov 14, 2011

the saga of the portable heater

Once upon a time, or more specifically, tonight, I pulled out a small portable heater for the children's room.  Because it's in the basement and basements get cold.

And I said, "Children, don't touch this heater, and don't get near this heater, and don't put your toys or papers or anything by this heater."

But when the children hear "don't touch this" they automatically think, "sweet, I'm going to go touch that".  So I had to instill the proper amount of fear in them so that the heater wouldn't be played with (which is called "good parenting" in some cultures, possibly).

And I said, "If you touch this heater, or put things in it or near it, it will start a fire and burn down our house.  Or you will get burned and it will hurt.  A lot."

Except that Opie took my much too seriously.  Which tends to happen.  Frequently.  And Opie is very very talented in the way of freaking out.  Like, the other day, he had a fingernail that needed trimmed. And usually we don't have to trim his nails because he chews them.  Because he's a person of the nervous sort, and chewing fingernails kind of falls into that category sometimes.  But this particular fingernail was on his broken pinky finger, so it was wrapped up for a month and didn't get chewed off.  Hence, the needed trimming.  But Opie was afraid that we'd accidentally chop off his finger or something, even though we were only using baby nail scissors.  And he wouldn't let us get near his finger.  So then Husband had to grab him and put him in a headlock.  And then I had to trap his legs so he couldn't kick out of it.  And then we had to pin his arms so that they couldn't move.  And THEN we were able to trim his pinky fingernail.  And you would not believe the amount of screaming and time that involved.  Because Opie is VERY VERY talented in the way of freaking out.

So when Opie heard, "You will burn the house down", he started thinking about his toys going up in an inferno, and then he started freaking out about it.  Loudly.  So we checked the smoke detector to show him that we would know if there was a fire and be able to save his toys.  But when the smoke detector did it's "we're checking you" beep Opie decided that it was phenomenally scary.

And since Opie was screaming and crying and carrying on, that made Monkey start screaming and crying and carrying on.  And then Number Four started screaming and crying and carrying on.  And there was a lot of screaming and crying and carrying on.

So Husband and I stayed downstairs trying to descarify the children for about 15 minutes.  But when we turned the light off and came up stairs, guess what?

SCREAMING AND CRYING AND CARRYING ON.  And it just wouldn't stop.

So then I had to go back down the stairs.  And I had to turn on the light.  And I had to have all the children get out of bed to check out the "scary" portable heater and look inside of it, and touch the "scary" lights on the top of it, and also I had to go into great detail on how it worked and why it would not in fact burn the house down.

And then, Monkey tried to put his finger in it.  Where the fan was.  So then I had to go into great detail about how we never put our fingers in a fan.  Then Monkey says, "But I can put my face in it and talk funny."  And then I had have an in depth conversation about never putting our tongues in a fan.  Or our toes.  Or our hair.  Or our toys.  Or our bums.  (You never know what Monkey will decide to stick in a fan, so we covered pretty much everything.)

Then, FINALLY, I made the children get back in their beds and I attempted to turn off the light.

BUT THEN

The children were horribly afraid of the smoke detector going off.  Because IT BEEPS and it's SCARY.  So I showed them how I could stand underneath it, and it wouldn't beep.  And then I showed them how if I walked past it over and over it wouldn't beep.  And then I showed them that I could jump under it and wouldn't beep.  And it wouldn't beep if I waved my arms, or yelled at it, or put a toy by it, or looked at it, or thought about it from across the room.

And then I turned the light off.

But Number Four was still not convinced.  And I was out of ideas.  So I rocked her like a baby in the rocking chair.  For about 5 minutes.  Except that Monkey thinks he is Number Four's twin, so if she gets rocked like a baby, then so does he.  So I rocked him for about 5 minutes.

And just when it was looking like everyone had FINALLY calmed down and was going to sleep, Opie says, "If my favorite toy got burned up in a fire, I would be really sad."

AND ALL OF THAT WORK WAS UNDONE.  All the rocking and the jumping and the explaining and the  45 minutes of effort - WORTHLESS.

Until I outsmarted them all and brought up Santa.  And then they were all so excited to tell me what toys they wanted for Christmas I was able to slip out of there in no time.  Which really makes me wish I would have thought about bringing up Santa in the first place.

And who cares that I sort of promised them a pony and 3 puppies on Christmas day - THEY'RE ASLEEP NOW, and that's all that matters.

The End.

Nov 10, 2011

you have to pop your head up here. POP

I just sat my husband down, and looked at him as seriously as possible, and said, "I want lots of money.  So you need to figure out how to supply me with cash, RIGHT NOW."

AND HE LAUGHED.

Except that I wasn't even joking.  At all.

I should have married a brain surgeon.  They make lots of money.

Wait.  Scratch that.  Brain surgeons have to go through lots of expensive medical school, and they also have to, like, work.  And stuff.

I should have married someone independently wealthy that inherited his billions of dollars from the death of an obscure relative.

If only I had a time machine.

Or access to an alternate realty.

Or just lots of money of my own.


IN OTHER NEWS....


Last spring, when we first got our ipad, my kids kept secretly recording videos of themselves.  And while I think multiple movie clips of sustained farting noises are as hilarious as the next fully grown adult female (which basically means they're not really that funny) I had to delete most of the videos.  But there was one that we all find to be particularly hilarious.

Probably because there are no farting noises at all in this one.  And the angle is great, because they just sat the ipad on a chair so the camera was pointed up their noses the whole time.  And also, do you see how my old house had vaulted ceilings?  (I still miss my old house.....sniff.)

So, yeah, here you go - a video of my children's secret recording session:

Nov 5, 2011

the time that Johnny Depp showered at my house

I never told you guys something awesome that I did.  Well, sort of awesome.....ish.

It's no secret that my fear of psycho-stalker-rapist-killers hiding behind a shower curtain runs deep in my veins.  I don't like my shower curtain to be closed EVER.  (Unless someone is coming over and I haven't cleaned my tub and I don't want them to see my mildew or whatever, and then I'll pull it closed to hide the tub, and then I'll open it back up the second they're gone, and while someone is over and it's closed and I have to use the bathroom I absolutely have to check behind the shower curtain before using the toilet, and in fact, I will check behind someone else's shower curtain before I use the bathroom if I'm at their house and their shower curtain is closed.)

Husband thinks this is lunacy.

Except that it's NOT.  I'm sure psycho-stalker-rapist-killers hide behind shower curtains ALL THE TIME.

So, to prove my point on how scary it would be to find a psycho-stalker-rapist-killer in the bathroom behind the shower curtain, one night I took my life size Johnny Depp/Captain Jack Sparrow cardboard cut out and put him in the tub.  And I positioned him so that when Husband woke up the next morning, and he went to turn on the water, he would first see the sword wielding pirate and hopefully pee himself.  And after Johnny Depp/Captain Jack Sparrow was positioned perfectly I, of course, closed the shower curtain so that he was hiding sufficiently until morning.

It looked like this (actually it looked like this BEFORE I closed the curtain):

(sorry, grainy iphone picture.  also, this was back in like April, before my husband was gone for two months and before we moved and before I was all boring and surgery-ish.)

So, the next morning, I expected Husband to scream like a little girl and stuff, right?  I was all sorts of excited about it.  But when the time came, Husband didn't even make a noise.  And he just took Johnny Depp/Captain Jack Sparrow out of the tub and took his shower.

It was totally a buzz kill.

But he never actually told me if he peed himself.  Probably because he was too embarrassed for being that scared of something behind a shower curtain.

Nov 3, 2011

KIDS (this one's for you, mom)

I can tell that Monkey is my son.

He looks mucho a lot-o like his dad.  Except for his ears, we're not really sure where they came from,or his lack in booty.  Because if it's one thing we do well here, it's growing big booties.  All of us except for Monkey.  He's practically booty-less.  So his pants fall down constantly, and he doesn't care so much to pull them back up.

BUT THAT'S NOT THE POINT.

I know that Monkey is my son because the other day I wanted him to run downstairs and get something.  Downstairs is the kids' room, and they have a big tv down there that's not really hooked up to anything, so they only frequently watch movies on it.  But it's there, nonetheless.

And when I said, "Yo Monkey, go downstairs and get that thing."
 
Monkey said, "NOOOOOOOO!"

So then I said, "Why not?  Just run.  Go.  Do it now."

And he said, "I don't want to.  It's scary."

And I said, "Why is it scary?"

And he said, "If I go down there, the tv will turn on all by itself and scare me."

And then I led an inquisition into who told my precious 4 year old that the tv would turn on by itself. And then I found out that no one had told him, he was just afraid that it might happen, JUST BECAUSE.

And that's how I know he's MY son.

I can't even walk past a tv without thinking about that girl from The Ring.

Also, while we're on the topic of my Monkey son; I was working on the computer today and he came into the room with a crayon and coloring book.

And then he said, "I brought you this picture to color!"

And I said, "Oh really?"

And he said, "Yeah!  You color this picture while I play games on the 'puter!!"

And I said, "You just want me to get off the computer so you can play games."

And he said, "See?!  You can color like this!  On your own picture!!"

And I said, "So I color, and you play games?"

And then he got all big and grinny and said, "Yup!"

So then I let him play the computer.  That kid LOVES his computer games.  Except that I never colored in his book, which is ok, because he colored that page later anyway.

And now I will unceremoniously end this post with a bunch of random pictures from my memory card that I politely labelled so no one would get confused as to their content:













THE END.

Oct 31, 2011

pfffft-lloween

Oh, Halloween.  You're so.......not as much fun this year.

The proof:

1) I didn't even hang our decorations this year.  Because, you know, meh.

2) Nobody gets a new costume.  Usually everyone gets a new one.  This year we're doing repeats.

3) We have craptastic candy.  Because Husband picked it this year instead of me.  Usually I at least get those big cheap bags with tootsie roll stuff in them.  Actually, I didn't know there was anything cheaper than those big bags with tootsie roll stuff.  Apparently there is.  And that's what we're handing out this year.

4) No church trunk-or-treat.  Which means we have to actually walk door to door and do regular trick-or-treating if we want candy.  Which is a pain.  I LIKE TO BE LAZY. 

5) The weather can't decide if it's cold or warm.  Make up your mind, weather.  I need to know how many layers to throw on my kids so we can NOT be lazy and walk door to door.

6) I think Halloween is amplifying the evil spirits that dwell inside of me.  And I don't even need a witch costume to be mean and cackle-y.  And don't even cross me, because I will so Avada Kadavra your butt.

7) MEH.   pffffft.

Oct 25, 2011

don't even say the word "cantaloupe" unless you want me to start bawling right now

Every once in awhile my stone cold heart betrays me.  Usually I can keep a pretty steady demeanor of unaffected "whatever"ness when it comes to things like crying and.....ok, pretty much just crying. 

Because crying is evil and I hate doing it.

Then I'll suddenly have a day when my extra womanly hormones kick in, or my "not enough sleep" meter fills up, or the evil fairies of crying torture find me and then EVERYTHING makes me tear up.  And it's super obnoxious.

This morning I was trying to answer emails, and Monkey wanted to play this game he created where every time I say "slugger monkey" he jumps on his hands and knees around the room.  Except he could only jump once for each time I said it.  And saying "slugger monkey" every half second while trying to type emails got old pretty fast so I put on my super excited face and said, "Let's listen to music and you can dance!"  So then I turned on pandora and the third song was Child of Mine by Guns n Roses, which reminded me of this video.  So then we had to watch the video a couple times, and I almost started bawling because Monkey is so freakin' adorable.

And then a puppy was born somewhere in the world and it made me want to cry some more.

And then I had to put a new roll of toilet paper on the toilet paper hangy thingy and I had to use some to wipe my nose from the quiet crying it caused.

And then I heard a unicorn fart and I could hardly contain my sobbing.

It's so obnoxious.

Oct 23, 2011

robots, zombies, and hint of aliens on the side

I've been watching a lot of sci-fi during the past week and a half.  (Basically, my ipad and netflix have been my constant companions.)  And there's just one thing that I really have to ask:  Why are we building robots?!

(I'm looking at you, Japan.)


I think it's pretty clear by now that if humans are ever going to be overthrown as the dominate power on this planet it's going to happen at the hands of ROBOTS.

Sure, they start as simple machines.  But then we have to make them look more like people, and then we give them personalities, and then eventually along the robotic evolutionary path they start becoming self-aware, and then the next thing you know they realize that they are stronger, smarter and just plain more awesome than human beings, and THERE GOES THE HUMAN RACE.

It's all so obvious.  Otherwise they wouldn't have so many shows about it.  Plus also, it just makes sense.  So stop making robots (Japan), because I like being the dominate power on this planet.

ALSO

My husband came home raving about some show "the guys at work" have been talking about.  And what do you know - it's on netflix too.  You might have heard of it: The Walking Dead. 



Apparently lots of people like it.  And it's about zombies.

I'm a pretty big fan of scary stuff.  Ghosts, OF COURSE.  Aliens, you bet.  Witches, werewolves and vampires, sure, if nothing else is on.  But zombies?  I HATE ZOMBIES.

I really really really hate zombies.

I didn't understand my deep loathing of zombies until I started watching that show either.  I mean, I always try to avoid zombies whenever possible.  But I thought it was because I actually just thought they were stupid.  NOPE.  They are, in fact, super super scary.  SUPER SCARY, I TELL YOU.

I could only watch the first 2 episodes, and then I had to go back in my room and watch some more sci-fi on my ipad. 

Because I find aliens to be extremely calming after being subjected to zombies.

But even 3 episodes of Stargate Atlantis couldn't wipe my mind of all those horrible zombie thoughts.  So when it was time for bed I couldn't actually fall asleep.  And I just laid there.  (On my back, all uncomfortable-like, since I still can't sleep on my side.) 

And then, of course, it was the night that all the kids decided to wake up 50 times for various reasons.  Except they don't come right into our room, or wake up screaming like they used to.  Oh no, they have to walk slowly through the kitchen and then creep down the hall, scuffling their little feet, making as many ZOMBIE NOISES as possible.

So our night pretty much went like this:

kids: scuffle, scuffle, "nnnngnnnnnn."

me: punch, "Wake up, there's a zombie in the kitchen."

husband: "OW, it's probably just one of the kids."

me: "No, it's a ZOMBIE.  Go smash it's brains."

husband: "I don't appreciate being woken up every half hour for the same thing.  There are NO zombies, it's just one of the kids."

me: "Shut up, it's only been 5 minutes.  Go smash the zombie's brains now."

I hardly got any sleep because of this.  Stupid zombies.

Oct 22, 2011

the post-surgery post

You know when you can't laugh, because you know it will cause excruciating pain, but then something hilarious happens and you keep telling yourself, "don't laugh, don't laugh, GAH, DON'T LAUGH", until your body betrays you and you let out one really huge guffaw, and then you die in excrutiating pain?

I HATE THAT.

So, I survived surgery.

Before the actual surgery the dr was all, "oh, THAT little hernia that has been causing you large quantities of pain for over 3 years? So not a big deal, the surgery is a piece of cake." (And this was after he killed me, as explained previously by way of cartoons.)

Then, after the surgery, the dr was all, "yeah, you had the most painful lapriscopic surgery possible, which requires 9 incisions and a 6x6 inch piece of mesh, so, like I said before, piece of cake."

AND

He knew all along that I would be having "the most painful lapriscopic surgery", from the very beginning. But did he warn me? OH NO HE DID NOT.

Why do drs do that anyway? My eye dr was like that too. He was all, "you can probably be out driving and acting normal the very next day!" And then I suffered from vampire-glass-shard-blind-eyeball for 3 weeks after each surgery.

Stupid lying drs anyway.

Also, I've come to the realization that my tolerance for pain isn't as high as I thought it was. Except that I blame it all on my last ten years of hurtful agony. I swear, the second I became an official adult it's just been one painful thing after another.

Is that normal?

Probably.

In any case, just thought you should know, I survived surgery but I still die a little every time I sneeze, cough, or chuckle.

Oh, and I still can't sleep on my side, which is annoying.

And also, the painkillers weren't even fun this time.

And now that's all.

I think.

The end.

Oct 10, 2011

the pre-surgery post

Tomorrow, at noon, I will be carved like a turkey.

Ok, FINE, it's just laparoscopic surgery, BUT STILL.

I'm not really excited for it to happen.  Not because the idea of surgery really scares me.  This will be the 11th surgery I've had - at this point, surgery is just kind of annoying.  (Well, at least THIS surgery is.  My eyeball surgeries were really painful, so yeah, those were moved beyond annoying and into NEVER AGAIN.)

The most annoying thing about having surgery is stuff like being forced to wear a hospital gown and not being allowed a bra.  Because I guess it's easier to resuscitate someone during surgery when their boobs are all flopping around.  Or something.

And they tell you not to wear stuff like mascara or deodorant.  Which is really lame.  They won't be anywhere near my eyelashes or armpits on this one, so I'm totally wearing both.  And I might even have on eyeliner.  And chapstick.  Because I'm a huge chapstick wearing rebel.  And what are they going to do?  Like they're going to say, "I'm sorry, we cannot perform your surgery because your deodorant is preventing the lovely BO aroma we like to have in the operating room at all times."?  I seriously doubt it.  (Except when I had my eyeball surgeries they did actually tell me they'd turn me away if I was wearing makeup, and I pretty much believed them, because they were kind of mean.)

My sister asked me on saturday if I was "excited for surgery".  And I said, "No, but I am excited for the pain killers I'll get after the surgery."  And then she looked at me like I was either crazy or that I lead a sad sad life where the only things I get to look forward to are pain killers after surgery.  And she's pretty much right.  On both accounts.

On a far less depressing subject - I think Cereal (our pet praying mantis) is THIS CLOSE to death. 

IT'S ABOUT TIME.

He keeps trying to climb the walls of his bug habitat but he can't seem to manage it so instead he just keeps clawing at it making really high pitched scraping noises.  Kind of like miniature fingernails on a chalkboard.  It's majorly obnoxious, and no matter how many times I glare at him he won't stop.

Except that now we think that Cereal has been a girl the entire time.  Because his/her/it's butt has gotten MASSIVE.  So either, she's going to lay eggs before she croaks, or he ate waaaaaay too many crickets and is dying from morbid obesity.  

Whatever the cause, I'm rehearsing for when the actual event takes place by singing, "Ding Dong Cereal is dead" and dancing around in a Munchkin-like fashion.  I just can't decide if I want to be in the Lollipop Gang or that fluffy girly group that I can't remember the name of....

Um, I'm just going to keep typing stuff now.

Opie keeps telling me about this boy at school that he likes to hang out with.  And he tells me that this boy's name is Santoskitten.  One word.  And yes, they call him Santoskitten.  Or so Opie says.  So either Opie has been calling this kid something that is obviously not a real name, or Santoskitten is imaginary.

And Monkey just informed me that if I really loved him, like I say I do, I would let him do whatever he wanted.  Like play computer games all day.  So I guess I'll stop typing now and let him play the computer.

Oct 6, 2011

mostly about eyes, kind of

I think about worms a lot.  When I was in jr high we had a parasitical worm section and my biology teacher was slightly, um, memorable.  (He was a total weirdo.)  And he told us all about how everyone has worms because they're so easy to get.  And how he's seen doctors remove little kids eyeballs because they thought they saw a tumor in there, but it turned out just to be a worm.

It was majorly creepy.  So now I'm constantly worried that I have worms.  And everytime I have an eyebooger I'm like, "aaaaah, is it a worm?!"  But I'm hoping that with as often as doctors look at my eyeballs they'd be able to tell if there was a worm in there by now.  (And I'm just going to ignore the other 500 places in a human body that a worm can hide, so don't even mention it ok?)

switching gears now

You know what I think is annoying?  (Besides the obvious things like claw bangs and Bob Saget.)  On tv or movies when someone is trying to be really covert by signaling to someone else and they do some kind of facial expression or eye movements or something but really they're being totally obvious.  And yet NO ONE else notices except for that someone else that is being "covertly" signaled. 

Or when on tv or in movies some people are having a secret meeting in public or sneaking around or whatever, and they're trying to "blend in" yet they act like completely huge paranoid freaks.  Except, once again, NO ONE notices.

It's just lame.

ok, switching gears again

I've combined forces with Caroline to take over the world via craft tutorials and printables.  So you'll have to check out, love, follow and read our blog often.  Because we're going to need everyone's full cooperation to meet our 6 month world domination goal.

And also because I posted a tutorial on this today:


It has eyeballs on it!  And they're not even infested with worms.....just spiders.

Oct 4, 2011

the cranky recluse

I have hermit-ish tendencies.  Or more aptly put, I NEVER LEAVE MY HOUSE.

At first it was my kids' fault.  Because for years I had little tiny kids that were a major pain in the butt to take anywhere.  Just the thought of getting in the car was enough of a deterrent. I always had to plan an extra 7-12 minutes for each time I had to buckle all of them in their carseats.  And how often is it that you just need to go one place when you're out?  NEVER.  So there would be the whole, buckle, unbuckle, buckle, unbuckle, buckle, unbuckle routine until I was so tired of seatbelts I never wanted to get in a car again.

I used to be able to leave in the evenings though.  And run away for awhile to exotic places like the library or Shopko.  And I only had to worry about buckling myself in.  And I could play really loud hard rock in the car without having to worry about damaging baby psychies or eardrums.  And it sort of kept me from being so much of a hermit that my neighbors forgot what I looked like. 

And then my eyes broke.  And going anywhere past dusk was out of the question.  I mean, I COULD go out.  But I'm not really a fan of near death experiences on the freeway and stuff.  So you know, I just wouldn't go out.  And leaving the house during the day meant the whole, buckling unbuckling thing still.  Plus my kids had reached the stage of "Buy me that!  Why aren't we going to McDonalds?  I want to run freely through the aisles!!  WHEEEEEE!" so it's not like they were a load of good times outside of the house.

But then glorious school happened.  And for a couple hours during the day I would only have half or NONE of the kids home.  So leaving the house became so much easier.  Except that I realized I didn't really have anywhere to go besides the grocery store.  But still, I had the OPTION of going out.  If I felt like it.

And then we moved here.  And Husband's car died.  And so he takes mine to work every day.  And I only get it when I have to go get tortured at doctor's offices.  And besides, even if I had a car I would just get lost in it.  Because I do that.  Frequently.  And it's gotten to the point where even walking out of our door is like, "AAAAAAAH, SUNLIGHT!  I'm melting......" 

I think this is why I'm so cranky all the time.

Sep 28, 2011

cartoons of me dying by the hands of Dr. Satan

I am writing from my deathbed, also known as my couch.

I went to a dr today, and he pretty much, sort of, really, kind of, KILLED ME. (With excruciating pain and torment. I think he might be Satan.)

So, to backtrack, I've been ignoring something for about, oh, 3 1/2 years. Partly because before Husband got his new job we had the worst health insurance EVER.  And partly because I had to fix my eyes first.  And partly because I was hoping that if I ignored it long enough, it would just GO AWAY.  Like magic.  Or a stray dog.

But no.

Pretty much it's just gotten worse. And worse. And really super worse. And basically my whole abdominal region is thoroughly messed up. Probably I'm the champion at messed up abdominals. I should really get a medal or trophy or something. Instead, all I've gotten is pain, sickness, pain, more sickness, pain, pain and mostly a whole lot of pain.

And the past few-ish months it's gotten to the point where life pretty much sucks the big rocks. And I don't even like to move my body. Or think about moving my body. Or think about thinking about moving my body. And then, when I actually have to move my body (which happens on most days) I find myself in super mega pain, and want to murder puppies and strangle unicorns and then die.  And stuff.

So I saw a surgeon today, because most of the pain is being caused by a hugely ginormous hernia right in the middle of my stomach that has a wad of unprotected intestines protruding from it in a massively vulnerable state (medical TMI, I know).  So the surgeon needs to fix that, so I can go on fixing other crap that needs fixing until one day I'm a normal human being again.

AND NOW I've drawn helpful illustrations to chronicle the rest of my day (because while on my deathbed I was perusing hyperbole and a half, which I haven't done in awhile, which is sad because it's hilarious, and also which always inspires me to draw my own pictures).

First the doctor wanted to make sure he had the right spot.




He may or may not have been using his elbow, sprouted horns and/or called up hellfire.  I'm not really sure because first I was blacking out from the pain and then my natural "fight or flight" instincts started kicking in.





Except, in real life, the pain was just too much.  I couldn't even get my sword out, or kick him, or anything, because I was too busy doing this:

  

And then I had to crawl ALL THE WAY back to my car (which was really far because I couldn't find any parking spaces anywhere remotely close to the building).


And then when I got home I put on my comfy pants (which are actually the pants I wear all the time, unless I have to leave my house, since leaving my house requires real pants).  And the rest of the day I've been on my deathbed (couch) doing this:


And this:


And this:



And, you know, perusing Hyperbole and a Half and then drawing pictures on my ipad.  But mostly, I've just been dying.

ALSO, it's really comforting to know that Dr. Satan will be cutting open my innards in two weeks.  I'll probably wake up impregnated with devlish spawn embryos that, upon returning home, will burst out of my chest like in the movie Aliens.

Sep 27, 2011

doors, pinkies, shards of glass

I've often wished I could have a mechanical pocket door that slides closed when I push a button.  Actually a few of those doors.  That way I can put them on my kids's bedrooms (someday when we don't live in this house and they actually have bedrooms anyway) so that I can stand all scary looking outside the door and say something authoritative like, "you will clean this room" or "you're grounded" and then push the button, and the door will slide closed while I'm still looking all scary.  And maybe I'll do an evil laugh or make my eyes glow or something.  And then, of course, the doors would automatically lock upon  closing so my kids would HAVE to do what I tell them before they can get out.  Because I would be the only one with the door opening codes. And then all their crap would be cleaned up.  And it would be great.

We signed Opie up for flag football.  And then I forgot about orientation until it was already over.  (In my defense I was all fire-throat-y that day, so my brain shouldn't have to be required to remember things at the same time it's thinking, "ouch, ouch, ouch, need to swallow, ouch".)  And since his first game is tomorrow we thought it would be a good idea for  him to learn the rules of flag football.  So Husband took him into the back yard saturday evening and taught him. 

And then THIS happened:


THIS would be a broken pinky finger (and a safety pop in his mouth).  We found out today that he'll need it splinted for 3 weeks and buddy-wrapped for another week.  FOUR WEEKS.  To heal a broken pinky finger.

Honestly, it's a little bit lame that the first broken bone I have to deal with as a parent is a pinky finger.  I mean, not that I would rather he have random broken bones protruding from his body or anything.  Just that a broken pinky is......annoying.  You know?  But in four weeks, he should be ship shape and fracture free.  And he did get that safety pop out of the deal, so you know, there's a plus.

Right before I took Opie's picture something really horribly terrible happened - I dropped my iphone on the concrete and the screen shattered.  And now when I try to use it, shards of glass (is it really glass?) jab into my fingers.  So I'm thinking that talking on the phone is now O-U-T.  Which is ok, since I'm not a big phone talker anyway, but I really want to play with my apps!  I MISS THEM.

There's my Pinterest app that I use at every available moment.  And I'm not done breeding my Pocket Frogs.  And I can't even browse Ebay or Craigslist on a whim.  And I just expanded an establishment in my latest app procurement, Pet Hotel, so now how am I even supposed to collect coins from all the animals?  Not to mention, I can no longer write emails from the bathroom (Caroline, I added this one for you, because I know how much you love it when people communicate from the toilet).

So anyways, long story short, we're doing super fabulous here.  You know, if you consider a lack in self-closing doors and broken bones and shattered screens to be fabulous.

Sep 22, 2011

boop boop, bleep, whirrrrrr, ding

I think life would be easier if I were a robot.  But not like one of those ugly metal things with a monotone digital voice.  I think I would still want to look human but with perfect robot abs and perfect robot hair and perfect perky robot boobs and other perfect robot parts (like elbows).  That still look human. 

And I would have to be programmed to blink, because things look really creepy when they don't blink, and I would want to CHOOSE when to look creepy, not have it be constant.  You know?

If I were a robot, I would never get sore throats.  That would have been appreciated this week, let me tell you.  Sore throats are horrible, because I can't even yell at my kids or make sound effects or anything.  And robots are excellent at sound effects, plus also, I would have a volume control so I could yell loud enough to shake the neighbor's windows.

And the volume control would come in really handy when my kids are doing their own yelling.  If you look back in my archives I used to call Opie "Screamer" because he is so very good at screaming.  Number Four also has many screaming talents.  All of my kids are good at it, really.  But Opie and Number Four PRACTICE screaming. 

You think I'm kidding, don't you?

I'm not kidding, Opie and Number Four will get into (daily) screaming tantrums and change the pitch and tone of their scream to find the absolutely most annoying sound possible.  Because the point of their (daily) screaming tantrums is to get whatever they want when I say no to things like more than 5 marshmallows or making them put their own socks away or enforcing the "no kicking your sister in the teeth" rule.  They really hate it when I move on with life instead of  giving in.  So they scream.  Then the practicing starts up.  And then they find that perfect annoying combination of pitch, tone and volume.  And then my head explodes.

If I were a robot, my head would never explode.  Because I would just turn down the volume on my ears and then my kids could scream their little lungs out over things like marshmallows and socks, and I could make dinner in peace.

I would invent a second robot to do all the laundry, if I were a robot.  Because robots are smart, and they know how to make other robots.  And my laundry robot would be THE BEST.  And I would even make it starch Husbands jeans, because I hear that good laundry robots do that.  And maybe the laundry robot would clean the bathrooms when it wasn't busy with the laundry. 

Except that the laundry robot would be the ugly metal kind because I wouldn't want it to steal away my husband with it's promises of starched jeans and clean toilets.

If I were a robot, I wouldn't have to sleep.  Sure I'd have to plug myself in sometimes.  But only like every other thursday or something.  For about 2 hours.  And can you imagine all the crap I could get done with all my free time?  I could put my plans of world domination into effect AND watch all the Netflix I wanted.

I think I would like to be a robot kind of like Inspector Gadget.  Not the part where he's really stupid, just all the gadgets.  Like when the lawn needs mowed, I would just stick out my arm and it would turn into a lawnmower and I would use my super speed to cut all the grass in under 15 seconds. 

Or when my kids need to go to school, I wouldn't even need a car because I could just have a propeller come out of the top of my head and a basket lower from my butt and the kids would hop in and I would fly them wherever they needed to be. 

And also, I think I would want to have an internal replicator so that if we needed something I would just think about it, and then I would push on my belly button and my stomach would pop open like a microwave door and the thing we needed would be sitting in my hollow innards.  Except, if the thing we needed was like a car or something, I wouldn't want to replicate it because that would make me look really fat, walking around with a Porsche in my gut.  And if I were a robot, I would never ever look fat.  Ever.

If I were a robot, I would be programmed with the right emotional responses.  So if someone told a joke, I would laugh automatically, and everyone would want to be my friend because apparently people like to have their jokes laughed at. 

And if a kitten sneezed, I would automatically say, "awwwww," and think it was adorable. 

And if someone made me mad I would automatically punch them, and then I'd say, "I'm sorry, that is my automated response, consider this your warning." 

But I wouldn't have any sad emotions programmed in.  And I wouldn't even own tear ducts, because they would probably destroy my positronic matrix or something.

There are so many more good things about being a robot.  Stuff like having extra eyeballs or an infallible memory of every stupid thing other people say.  But, sadly, I am not a robot, so I have to do my own laundry and lock myself in the bathroom when my kids scream and waste my time sleeping.  So I think I'm going to go cry about it now, since I don't even have a positronic anything to mess up.

Sep 12, 2011

men, pfffffffft.

I made the grossest dinner tonight.  It was disturbingly horrid.  I had to eat in the other room so I could gag it down and then yell to the kids, "Eat your dinner!  It's good!  Just plug your nose first, or something." 

I'm not even going to tell you what was in it (so don't ask, I will never tell).  Just know that I totally made it up with the ingredients we had in our pantry and the idea of it sounded edible enough when I was putting it together.  But sometimes things work out way better in my head than they do in real life.

I think that's going to be my life motto.

Here, you can even pin it on pinterest:

(Is it lame to pin your own pictures on your own pinterest board?  Because I'M TOTALLY GOING TO.)

To change the subject -to something possibly grosser- there's a continuing debate that goes on in our house that has recently surfaced due to the now potty trained Monkey.  The debate is about rump wiping, and if it's better to fold or wad the toilet paper.

Personally, I wad.  Folding TP is completely unnecessary.  Who wants to take the time to fold something that has the sole purpose of wiping feces?  Really, who?  MY HUSBAND.

Husband is resolute on the toilet paper folding thing.  Although his reasoning is well beyond the comprehension of sane people.

And while we're on the subject, Husband will also take his towel off the hook, every morning, and fold it just so he can shower, then UNfold the towel and dry off with it.  And yet there are constantly baskets of unfolded laundry just hanging around that he refuses to touch.

MEN MAKE NO SENSE.

And we're only talking about FOLDING.  I'm not even going into the other 5,243,877,283,992.31 reasons that men are weird.

Speaking of men that make no sense, Cereal is doing much better today.  He hasn't fallen all day or anything. 

Our secret?

We sprayed water on him.

Seriously.

I gotta say, if I had known all along that his ugly praying mantis body just needed moister, I would have made a practice of spitting on him daily.  Husband says we should just use the spray bottle, but like I previously mentioned, HE'S WEIRD.

Sep 10, 2011

bugs, hackers and Bollywood

I'm pretty sure that Cereal (our pet praying mantis) is the dumbest insect of his species. He's all huge because he shed his skin, which was super really gross, and came out about half an inch longer than before.  And he must have shed some brain cells too, because now he's just an idiot.

Cereal loves to hang out at the top of his bug habitat, upside down.  Husband says this is normal for praying matises (praying manti?)  But over the past week-ish, he keeps falling from his ceiling perch.  And then he clambers back up, just to fall down again.

See? He's DUMB.

I'm thinking we need to get him some special praying mantis lessons.  Something along the lines of "How Not to Fall On Your Head, IN 3 EASY STEPS!"

Or maybe we just need to get him a little buggy harness, with an automated pulley system. 

We're wondering if he's sick or dying or something.  But he still seems to be eating ok.  Last night he ate a whole cricket in about 90 seconds.  Except that instead of hunting it down like praying mantises usually do, he just fell on it and then started chomping.

IN OTHER NEWS

I had to de-hack Green Jello with Carrots yesterday.  Which, I'm surprised I actually pulled off, but told everyone I managed due to my supreme intellect.

But it made me realize something: Hackers are girlfriendless jerkfaces who need to move out of their mom's basements and get a real life outside of Japanese anime and Middle Earth.

I mean, I realized this BEFORE, but now I just really really hate hackers.

ALSO

Someday I want to attend an Indian wedding and have henna tattoos up my arms and wear the head thing and a sari and everything.  As far as I can tell from all the Bollywood movies I've watched, Indian weddings are awesome.

And sometimes I have fantasies of meeting a famous Bollywood actor during a vacation in Goa; of course he'd fall instantly in love with me and sing me a song that's only half in English while he dances around on the beach in white jeans. 

These fantasies usually only happen when I'm severely sleep deprived.

ONE MORE THING

Our water here tastes gross. 

I just can't get used to it.

Sep 8, 2011

uuummmmmmmm,

Once again I find myself on the precipice of "I really ought to go to bed" and "I really don't want to go to bed".  And as I ponder this decision it's like I have a little angel and devil on my shoulders.  Just like in cartoons.

Except that it's not really an angel or a devil.

And they're not really little.  Or cartoon-like.

What it's more like is me arguing both points of view, with myself, in different voices. And I flip my head to the right or the left depending on which point of view I'm presenting.  And sometimes I make hand motions.

In a high, innocent voice (and facing right) I say, "You know your lazy rear will never get out of bed in the morning if you don't grab some unisom and get in bed RIGHT NOW."

And then in a low, slightly satanic voice (and facing left) I say, "Yes, but it's so much fun to stay up late and write stupid blog posts, so go ahead and take your unisom and stick it up your aaa....."

High voice, "Woah, woah, woah, there is NO NEED to start swearing, and I will not stick unisom anywhere other than in your mouth.  Right now.  To bed with you.  Let's go."

Low voice, "You're right, maybe I will go to bed....to watch 5 episodes of Doctor Who on the ipad!  That's right."

High and right, "You're evil.  I'm telling."

Low and left, "Mwa ha ha ha ha ha ha ha, cough, sputter, ack, ha."

FYI, I am not actually having this actual conversation with myself OUT LOUD.

No, I am not that crazy.  Yet.

The conversation is just going on INSIDE MY HEAD.

So, see, I'm perfectly sane.  Thank you for your concern though.

Do you think they have any new episodes of Doctor Who on Netflix yet?  Because I'm kind of dying to see the next season.  Unless they're about the stone angels.  Because then I'd NEVER get to sleep, those things are creepy.

Sep 6, 2011

dedicated to my first baby



On saturday Two Bits was baptized and confirmed a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.  That's a pretty humongous milestone.  And it remains a mystery to me how she got so old and so smart and so gorgeous and so amazing, so fast.

Also, it occurs to me that I never wrote her special "this is Two Bit's story" on her birthday last year when I had vowed to write birthday posts to my kids.  I neglected to write her special post, because, most likely, I am a horrible horrible undedicated parent that doesn't deserve such an old, smart, gorgeous, amazing daughter.

Or, because I was saving it for NOW.  This is Two Bit's story:

Two Bits was (obviously) my first baby.  When we found out that she was a girl, we ran to the mall (or the tiny strip of pathetic stores that Moscow Idaho calls a mall) and bought her a pink outfit.  And then lots more pink outfits.  And then we were given even more pink outfits.

Being my first baby, I should have been devouring every pregnancy book and going to every birthing class, but I didn't.  I read a few pages out of pregnancy books, but they kept telling me to exercise and eat vegetables, and I was too busy feeling like a nauseous beached whale to do either of those things.  So I stopped reading books.  And birthing classes were horribly frightening - you couldn't have forced me into one had you dragged me blindfolded, calf-tied and sedated.  I wanted to go into the birthing process completely unaware of the excruciating pain, and blood and guts that it involved. 

I was induced four days before my due date on July 4th.  I wanted her to be born that day so that I could lie to her every year and tell her the fireworks and parades were all just for her.  Except that she decided, even in the womb, not to believe anything I say and she wasn't born until the next day.

They let my epidural wear off, so I could "feel" when to push.  Which, BY THE WAY, is majorly stupid.  STUPID STUPID STUPID.  After an hour and a half of pushing my doctor came in and I was all whimpering and half dead and I said, "I can't do this."  And he said, "You can't?  Or you won't?"  And then I gave him a big mental punch in the face, because I was way too tired to do it for real.

A little bit after that (after about 36 hours of labor) Two Bits was born via c-section.  She weighed 9 pounds and 5 ounces, and was 21 1/2 inches long, and she had a 14 1/2 inch head that had been posterior and completely unable to be born  any other way.  So when my doctor checked on me the next day, I said, "So COULD I have pushed her out?"  He had to clear his throat a little and quietly say, "Um, no," and then shuffle out of the room.  And I gave him a major mental butt kicking as he left, because I hurt too much to do it in real life.


Two Bits was an adorable, round, bald baby who slept and ate and slept and slept.  She was perfect.  But, I can only see the perfection in hindsight.  Not that I didn't love the little cheeks right off of her, but I was so busy WORRYING that I didn't fully appreciate her perfectness.

My mom helped me for the first few days after I came home from the hospital.  But then she drove away.  And left me.  And I was expected to be in charge of ANOTHER HUMAN LIFE.  I was extremely terrified.

Two Bits would sleep, and I would worry when she didn't want to eat every 3 hours.  And worry when she didn't cry.  And worry when she was perfectly content and totally healthy, because that's kind of what I did for the first few weeks.  Everyone kept giving me advice, and the books would say that she needed to be on a schedule, and doctors would say, "You should never rock your baby to sleep."  And I listened, because I had no idea what I was doing (except for the rocking your baby to sleep thing, I wouldn't have given that up for all the chocolate truffles in the world).

Then I chilled out a little, and in between all the worrying, I spent my days dressing Two Bits in all of her pink outfits, with all of her little shoes, and her little headbands, and laid her on all of her cute pink blankets and took pictures with our horrible little webcam, because we didn't even own a real camera back then.  And then I'd email the pictures to everyone I knew.

Also, we just did the normal baby stuff like nursing and laundry and poopy diapers.

Two Bits was the master of poop.  We tried all the brands of diapers, and she could explode poop out of every single kind.  One time, when I was changing her, she shot poop through my fingers, across the room and onto our couch.  Boy could that girl projectile poop.  (She was deeply talented, even at such a young age.)


Two Bits continued to be an excellent baby.  She slept through the night.  She took great naps.  She ate.  She played.  She even listened when I said, "Don't touch that."

She was a little slow in her gross motor development, and she was wary of new situations, and she didn't usually say much.  But, overall, Husband and I considered ourselves to be huge parental successes.  It was later that we learned that Two Bits was just an excellent kid.

She was only 17 months when Opie was born.  I think they had about the same amount of hair, only it took Two Bits all of those 17 months to accumulate what Opie was born with.  And big bows weren't even in style back then, so she wore a lot of pink so people would stop giving us the "your little boy is so cute" comment in public.


Two Bits took to being an older sister right away.  She only bit her baby brother once.  And after I overly-freaked out about it, she was too scared to ever try anything like that again.  Most of the time she liked being helpful anyway.  I'm pretty sure her mothering instincts were fully functional at birth.  (She certainly has always had the bossing others around thing down to a T.)

Although she has always been mostly well-behaved, Two Bits does have a bit of a stubborn streak.  For instance, when she was two we made her eat a slice of cooked carrot and she held that carrot, unchewed, in her mouth for almost an hour before I finally relented and let her spit it out.  And she still refuses to eat carrots.

She also refused to talk until her second birthday.  No amount of speech therapy and bribery could get her to say even simple things like "pop".  She was also that way when we wanted her to crawl and walk and even reach for toys.  Instead, her first couple of years involved a lot of watching and learning and planning, and then she'd crawl or talk or whatever, when she felt good and ready.  She still likes to do things at her own pace, thankyouverymuch, and don't even think about pushing it.


By the time she was 3, Two Bits was a downright princess.  She was spunky and smart and loved all things girly.  (Possibly from all the years dressed in pink?)  She finally grew some real hair and it was blond and full of curls.

Imagination burst out of Two Bits at the rate she used to projectile poop.  She liked to dress me in pretend gowns and shoes and jewelry to go to fancy pretend parties, or play invisible musical instruments while she danced around the room, or construct big scenes with our Fisher Price Little People. 

It was when Two Bits was about 3 1/2 that she invented Gootka, her invisible best friend.  Gootka hung around for years and years and years, and sometimes, just for fun, we still talk about Gootka and what she's doing.  As time went on we learned more about Gootka: she had a little sister named Geesie and a little brother named Austin; her mom was from Mexico, but her grandma lived in China; Gootka taught Two Bits how to play Cricket and ride invisible ponies and play Super Hero Cowgirls.  We had to feed Gootka invisible dinner and keep her seat clear in the car.  Two Bits and Gootka were inseperable.


When Two Bits was 4 she went to preschool.  She had a friend, who lived around the corner, named Carter who she claimed she would marry.  But when Carter moved away, Two Bits didn't worry too much and just moved on to the other cute boys.

Except that at age 4, she was horribly shy and timid.  Her speech was hard for everyone but me to understand, and she wasn't really sure where she fit in around her peers (other than planning their weddings, of course).  But she loved school, and loved her friends, and loved to learn.  And she was happy.


By the time Two Bits turned five, she had 3 younger siblings.  And they took up a lot of my time.  And she was required to help a lot.  And she was mostly ok with that.

She started kindergarten so we let her participate in some of the after school programs like ballet and soccer and theater.  It was then that she started to find her passions (art,ballet and theater), and her not-so-passions (soccer and cleaning her room). 


At six, Two Bits dealt with first grade.  At first it was a little rough.  I could tell that school stressed her out because she would walk to the playground every morning on her toes after I'd drop her off.  I know it sounds kind of weird, but we were learning a lot about sensory integration, and phsyical therapy and auditory processing that year and I knew that walking on toes = stressed out Two Bits.

About half way through first grade it all got better for Two Bits.  She graduated out of speech therapy.  She had friends.  She stopped walking on her toes (for awhile).  She learned to read.


Seven was a good age for Two Bits.  In second grade we found out that she was excellent at math (even though she hates it).  And the she is excellent at reading (even though she only likes books with lots of pictures).  She coasted through school days on a cloud of happy fluff, helping other students and chasing boys at recess.

She also coasted through her ballet classes, with all of her natural gracefulness and strive for perfection.

She also coasted her way into a lot of time outs at home when she decided that she was tired of being the oldest and that she didn't want to help out all the time.  But then I realized that she was right.  And I started making Opie help out too. 

Even with less mandatory "helping" we've butted heads a lot the past little while.  She's older now, and exerting her independence.  I'm older now and exerting my "I'm the parent and you WILL listen to me"ed-ness.  It's not exactly a smooth combination.

But despite the butting heads, I think we've gotten a little closer the past little while too.  She's started joining in when I'm being sarcastic at the dinner table (which I adore).  She'll practice her braiding skills on my hair on days that I have a headache (it's like getting a head massage).  She'll tell me about her day or things she has learned or how she's pretending to be a teenage orphan who ran away from the orphanage and is setting up a shop to make her own way in the world and that's why there's a billion toys cluttering the entry.

And NOW.

Now, Two Bits is eight.  And in third grade.  And getting lanky.  And growing adult teeth.  She is creative.  And kind.  And smart.  And still a little bit stubborn.  And now she's a baptized member of the church.  The years go by much too fast.  Every day she becomes more and more amazing.  And less and less that round, bald baby that began our journey as a family.

But sometimes she still lets me dress her in pink and take her picture.

Aug 27, 2011

my genius brain faeries

It is really no secret that I am not a fan of old houses.  (I'm pretty sure I complained enough about it when I was moving, yes?) And while some people would adore to live in a charming, character-filled, and possibly haunted, old house I have never had that particular desire.


But it's surprising how quickly one can acclimate.  Even when one was absolutely positive that one would undoubtedly die if one was forced to live here even for one second.  It has been 8 weeks since I moved here, and I am not even slightly dead.  AND, I sort of, almost, semi like-ish my house a little bit.  Maybe.  EVEN THOUGH IT'S OLD.

The vents don't even seem as scary now.  Sometimes.

And we sprayed for spiders.

But here's the thing - someday we need to eventually BUY a house.  Like real grown-ups do.  Our landlord is also a real estate agent and upon hearing that we want to someday eventually buy a house took us to see two properties today.  And then said he'd call in the afternoon to see if we wanted to put in a offer.  And then we said, "WOAH NELLY, we are not putting in an offer on anything today."

Because do we really even want to buy a house?!

And also, if we want to live anywhere near Husband's office (seeing as we're also mostly opposed to things like gas guzzling commutes so we kind of want to stay near Husband's office) we will have to buy an OLD HOUSE.  Because that is all that's here.  It is ALL old.  (And probably haunted like old houses tend to be.)

SO.

The ultimate plan, which I concocted in my head with the help of my highly imaginative and illogical brain faeries, is to buy a fixer upper-type house that we can renovate, add onto, and COMPLETELY CHANGE (and all this changing would happen in under 2 years, says the faeries).  And, as I am now discovering, old houses are perfect for this whole change completely thing. And there are plenty of fixer-uppers around here with "amazing potential".

It would be like turning this:


into this:


It would be totally amazing because my brain faeries are geniuses.

But still, do we really want to buy a house?!

And do I really want to worry about remodeling said house?! 

The handy with power tools thing is not a strong suit here.  Plus also, it takes that green paper stuff that has dead president's heads on it (I'm not really quite sure what it's called, because it's been so long since I've seen some).  And I highly doubt we'll be having very much of that green paper stuff because HOLY SULFUR BOMBS, houses are expensive.

You can still be a real adult if you live in rentals for the rest of your life, right?