April 27, 2009
NOW I Totally Get It
After watching this preview, now I totally understand the whole "Twilight" thang.
April 26, 2009
A Pinch To Grow An Inch
Uno turned 6 on the 17th. I really don't think that's accurate. I'm too young and look too good to be the birther of a 6-year old. He was partied out! We had cake on the 11th at my Mom's (after the egg hunt) for him and Spence (1 on the 30th), cupcakes at school on his actual birthday, our crazy little clan that night for dinner AND a friends' party on the 18th. I thought 2 hours of 5 little boys would be plenty but Jay added an extra half-hour here and there and that last 60 minutes sure dragged along. Two little neighbors popped over so the big time-taker had to be sent home. We were scrounging for ways to keep 5 boys entertained without breaking something or staging a wrestling match.
We couldn't decide what to get him as a gift. Jay really wanted a Wii (but that was mainly for himself, I'm sure.) That's way too big a gift for a birthday so I thought that maybe Santa could bring one for our family this Christmas--big enough for everyone. Uno's always bringing home rocks and twigs and digs around in all the nooks and cranies in the house exploring (Note to Self: hide the sexy nighties better) so we went with a science kit and eye magnifier-thingie. Jay was hip on the Eyeclops but I think it takes a big of technique to focus and sit still and Uno's just got too many ants in his pants for that right now. He loves ickiness and has already made fake snot with his kit. Actually, these were perfect choices for him: a few days before his birthday I went to put something under his bed and accidently spilled some experiment he'd created: looked like barf but smelled like salsa with alot of water and string cheese mixed in. Jay got to clean that one up; I was running late for Muffins with Mom at school with Einstein.
We couldn't decide what to get him as a gift. Jay really wanted a Wii (but that was mainly for himself, I'm sure.) That's way too big a gift for a birthday so I thought that maybe Santa could bring one for our family this Christmas--big enough for everyone. Uno's always bringing home rocks and twigs and digs around in all the nooks and cranies in the house exploring (Note to Self: hide the sexy nighties better) so we went with a science kit and eye magnifier-thingie. Jay was hip on the Eyeclops but I think it takes a big of technique to focus and sit still and Uno's just got too many ants in his pants for that right now. He loves ickiness and has already made fake snot with his kit. Actually, these were perfect choices for him: a few days before his birthday I went to put something under his bed and accidently spilled some experiment he'd created: looked like barf but smelled like salsa with alot of water and string cheese mixed in. Jay got to clean that one up; I was running late for Muffins with Mom at school with Einstein.
Headed Straight For It
Hell, that is. And I'm the one on the pink Razor.
A few weeks ago I just stopped putting diapers on HRH. She doesn't like being inconvenienced and protested a bit, but I'm wise to her ways. She knows when she needs to pee and did just fine in panties, even at night. (Was it Chantal or Suzie that hates the word "panties"? Panties, panties, panties. he he he.) We've tried every form of 3-year old currency there is--paint her toenails, wear new Tinkerbell jammies, lose a toy (she just brings me one when she's dirty), my disappointment ("Cry, Mommy"), new panties, throwing panties away, but nothing's working for #2. She WILL NOT poop in the potty. We were downright sick (yuck-o!) of her poopy diapers but I don't think poopy panties are any better. She knows the consequences yet still decides to poop in her panties. Her excuse: "It's too hard." She just doesn't want to sit there that long and would rather just move herself while she plays. Our current deterrent for pooping in her panties, at least for now, is a cold shower. She hates them and I don't think they're working but it sure makes me feel better. "Yes, it's cold. Why is it cold? Because you pooped in your panties. If you'd poop in the potty, it'd be warm. No, I'm not done. Here's more cold water for you." Yep, I'm evil. And that's why I'm on that pink Razor.
(I just wrote panties 11 times.)
A few weeks ago I just stopped putting diapers on HRH. She doesn't like being inconvenienced and protested a bit, but I'm wise to her ways. She knows when she needs to pee and did just fine in panties, even at night. (Was it Chantal or Suzie that hates the word "panties"? Panties, panties, panties. he he he.) We've tried every form of 3-year old currency there is--paint her toenails, wear new Tinkerbell jammies, lose a toy (she just brings me one when she's dirty), my disappointment ("Cry, Mommy"), new panties, throwing panties away, but nothing's working for #2. She WILL NOT poop in the potty. We were downright sick (yuck-o!) of her poopy diapers but I don't think poopy panties are any better. She knows the consequences yet still decides to poop in her panties. Her excuse: "It's too hard." She just doesn't want to sit there that long and would rather just move herself while she plays. Our current deterrent for pooping in her panties, at least for now, is a cold shower. She hates them and I don't think they're working but it sure makes me feel better. "Yes, it's cold. Why is it cold? Because you pooped in your panties. If you'd poop in the potty, it'd be warm. No, I'm not done. Here's more cold water for you." Yep, I'm evil. And that's why I'm on that pink Razor.
(I just wrote panties 11 times.)
April 19, 2009
Any More Flattery?
Friday was Uno's birthday, he's six and I sooo look good for a child that age (more on his birthday later if I don't forget or actually stop caring to try and remember to post) so we (just the Wallet, the Nose Wiper, Uno, HRH and the Messy Eater) went to dinner and then got ice cream. Unfortunately the kids don't eat free anymore and Chocolate w/Hershey's Special Dark was freshly churned so I had to get some.
I'm not skilled with hair and makeup, which Jay reminds me with his guffaws when I mistakenly look through college photo albums, but I was tired of my face and hair. Plus, I wanted to show my HOT bread-winner (but not the bread baker-that's my job) that I looked too good to be the birther of a 6-year old. I tried something new and went for flat hair and a sexy, smokey eye. Believe it or not, flat hair is tough--you don't want it to be too flat but you want it to be smooth and silky and swingy. For the eye, I went daring with a black eyeliner on top & bottom and 3 eyeshadows. Add mascara and I was set. And I looked gooood.
Jay arrived, we loaded the cattle-car and departed. I waited, knowing he was awed and struck mute by my beauty and looking for a bit of quiet to whisper sweet odes in my ear.
His eventual observation: "Misty, did you bruise your eye or something?"
Really, Dear, if you compliment me any more, I think I'll die of the overload.
I'm not skilled with hair and makeup, which Jay reminds me with his guffaws when I mistakenly look through college photo albums, but I was tired of my face and hair. Plus, I wanted to show my HOT bread-winner (but not the bread baker-that's my job) that I looked too good to be the birther of a 6-year old. I tried something new and went for flat hair and a sexy, smokey eye. Believe it or not, flat hair is tough--you don't want it to be too flat but you want it to be smooth and silky and swingy. For the eye, I went daring with a black eyeliner on top & bottom and 3 eyeshadows. Add mascara and I was set. And I looked gooood.
Jay arrived, we loaded the cattle-car and departed. I waited, knowing he was awed and struck mute by my beauty and looking for a bit of quiet to whisper sweet odes in my ear.
His eventual observation: "Misty, did you bruise your eye or something?"
Really, Dear, if you compliment me any more, I think I'll die of the overload.
April 12, 2009
April 11, 2009
From the Trenches
I've been "commanded" by an unnamed in-law to update my blog 'cause she's tired at looking at my 5 AM Reflections. Uh, sorry, but my life is really just a repeat of those occurrences over and over and over and... So as follows:
-After 8-9 (depending on who's counting) ear infections from October to late February, #3 got tubes in late March. I'm asked "Oh, he must feel so much better; does he act different?" Um, no, but he wasn't really a grumpy baby before. As long as he was well-fed and snuggled, he was content. My secret hope was his horrible night-time sleeping habits were due to earaches and this would be corrected with tubes. No. Unfortunately, his bad sleeping habits were due to babyness on his part and exhaustion/laziness on our part and I get to correct them. Now. At the ripe old age 1-year old on the 30th of this month. And with the freedom of weaning looming.
-Leading to: I haven't had more than 4-5 hours straight of sleep in well over a year (middle of the night pee breaks included). College friends who are familiar with my love of and addiction to sleep, naps, dozing and rest in general will be quite amused. Go ahead and laugh, I'll wait.
-On Tuesday, my only day of partial freedom (where #1 & #2 are in school/preschool for about 2 hours at the same time) this week, since somehow #2's Methodist preschool was closed on Good Friday (I thought only Catholics did that.) and I'd have no partial freedom then, I was messed over by the Fates. We're running late, SURPRISE, since Her Royal Highness Princess didn't want THAT shirt, no to THOSE panties, no to the potty, no, no, no, NO! Preschool starts at 9:30; we leave the house at 9:30. Tick, tick, tick into my "alone" time, or as alone as I get with #3 around. Zipping along in our oh-so-zippy Ford minivan (see next point) I turn left, left, left and then before my right HRH Princess starts crying, "Mommy, Spen-suh fwew up. Mommy!" So I whip into a gas station, grab a wet wipe to dab his chin and hop out. Tick, tick, tick. Yank open the door only to find that Mount Vesuvius has erupted all over my son in his car seat! Clearly 1 little wet wipe is hopeless against these ruins. With much less zip we return home. HRH waits in the van, wanting no part of cleanup duties. First I unbuckle #3 and sit him on the ground. Unknown matter is all over his coat, his shirt, onesie, pants, socks and shoes. It attaches itself to my coat and shirt and a large puddle remains in his carseat. Tick, tick, tick. I carry in the carseat and leave it for later, carry him in and strip him, throw my coat and shirt onto the stinky, sticky pile and toss him in the tub. Quick wash (damnit, I forgot the cotton balls and vaseline to protect his new tubes!) and dry him. Try and dress him while he whines and licks/gnaws on my bra--Not Now, Spencer! New shirt, new jacket for me and we're out the door. HRH Princess goes in #1's seat, #3 goes in her seat and I toss in a random booster saved for whenever #1 gains weight and hits 40 pounds-he can use it for today. We're now off, again, and HRH Princess gets to preschool at 10:30, only an hour late. I get a bit before I pick up #1 at 11:36 at kindergarten so I go shopping for ME.
-About a month or so ago, yet another quirk revealed itself in our lovely Ford minivan. I was turning right to enter the minivan caravan for HRH's preschool, late obviously, and obediently blinking right. When I straightened up, I was blinking left. Huh? I didn't notice until after I dump off HRH and I can't get it to stop blinking left. Scratch head again. After a fiddle or two with the lever it cuts off. Zip, zip, zip along. Next time, I turn left and keep blinking left. A few fiddles won't fix it and then Ford started beeping at me that I've left the blinker on. Uh, Duh, I know it's on! It won't turn off! I almost break off the lever and it still won't stop blinking left. I turn right and it blinks both ways. I push my flashers button and the right blinker turns off but the left blinker is eternal, along with the beep, beep, beep. Good thing I'm only running errands all morning. After 3-4 days of the beloved quirk, it stops as suddenly and mysteriously as it appeared. At least, until today. We go to my mom's, an hour away, and Jay drives. Lefty starts blinking about 10 minutes before we get there, Jay fumes and I laugh. "Dear, you've left the blinker on." He he he. I get to drive home and blinky left joined when I started the van. Yeah! I missed you while we hunted eggs and ate chocolate. I drove all the way home, 70 miles, with my left blinking at me and Ford beeping me: DUMmy, DUMmy, DUMmy, you're blinker's on. So the next time you're driving down the interstate and sneer at the stupid driver who forgot to turn off his blinker, think of me and give him the benefit of the doubt. He could be stuck in his own little hell with a broken blinker and a beeping car.
Just keeping it real.
-After 8-9 (depending on who's counting) ear infections from October to late February, #3 got tubes in late March. I'm asked "Oh, he must feel so much better; does he act different?" Um, no, but he wasn't really a grumpy baby before. As long as he was well-fed and snuggled, he was content. My secret hope was his horrible night-time sleeping habits were due to earaches and this would be corrected with tubes. No. Unfortunately, his bad sleeping habits were due to babyness on his part and exhaustion/laziness on our part and I get to correct them. Now. At the ripe old age 1-year old on the 30th of this month. And with the freedom of weaning looming.
-Leading to: I haven't had more than 4-5 hours straight of sleep in well over a year (middle of the night pee breaks included). College friends who are familiar with my love of and addiction to sleep, naps, dozing and rest in general will be quite amused. Go ahead and laugh, I'll wait.
-On Tuesday, my only day of partial freedom (where #1 & #2 are in school/preschool for about 2 hours at the same time) this week, since somehow #2's Methodist preschool was closed on Good Friday (I thought only Catholics did that.) and I'd have no partial freedom then, I was messed over by the Fates. We're running late, SURPRISE, since Her Royal Highness Princess didn't want THAT shirt, no to THOSE panties, no to the potty, no, no, no, NO! Preschool starts at 9:30; we leave the house at 9:30. Tick, tick, tick into my "alone" time, or as alone as I get with #3 around. Zipping along in our oh-so-zippy Ford minivan (see next point) I turn left, left, left and then before my right HRH Princess starts crying, "Mommy, Spen-suh fwew up. Mommy!" So I whip into a gas station, grab a wet wipe to dab his chin and hop out. Tick, tick, tick. Yank open the door only to find that Mount Vesuvius has erupted all over my son in his car seat! Clearly 1 little wet wipe is hopeless against these ruins. With much less zip we return home. HRH waits in the van, wanting no part of cleanup duties. First I unbuckle #3 and sit him on the ground. Unknown matter is all over his coat, his shirt, onesie, pants, socks and shoes. It attaches itself to my coat and shirt and a large puddle remains in his carseat. Tick, tick, tick. I carry in the carseat and leave it for later, carry him in and strip him, throw my coat and shirt onto the stinky, sticky pile and toss him in the tub. Quick wash (damnit, I forgot the cotton balls and vaseline to protect his new tubes!) and dry him. Try and dress him while he whines and licks/gnaws on my bra--Not Now, Spencer! New shirt, new jacket for me and we're out the door. HRH Princess goes in #1's seat, #3 goes in her seat and I toss in a random booster saved for whenever #1 gains weight and hits 40 pounds-he can use it for today. We're now off, again, and HRH Princess gets to preschool at 10:30, only an hour late. I get a bit before I pick up #1 at 11:36 at kindergarten so I go shopping for ME.
-About a month or so ago, yet another quirk revealed itself in our lovely Ford minivan. I was turning right to enter the minivan caravan for HRH's preschool, late obviously, and obediently blinking right. When I straightened up, I was blinking left. Huh? I didn't notice until after I dump off HRH and I can't get it to stop blinking left. Scratch head again. After a fiddle or two with the lever it cuts off. Zip, zip, zip along. Next time, I turn left and keep blinking left. A few fiddles won't fix it and then Ford started beeping at me that I've left the blinker on. Uh, Duh, I know it's on! It won't turn off! I almost break off the lever and it still won't stop blinking left. I turn right and it blinks both ways. I push my flashers button and the right blinker turns off but the left blinker is eternal, along with the beep, beep, beep. Good thing I'm only running errands all morning. After 3-4 days of the beloved quirk, it stops as suddenly and mysteriously as it appeared. At least, until today. We go to my mom's, an hour away, and Jay drives. Lefty starts blinking about 10 minutes before we get there, Jay fumes and I laugh. "Dear, you've left the blinker on." He he he. I get to drive home and blinky left joined when I started the van. Yeah! I missed you while we hunted eggs and ate chocolate. I drove all the way home, 70 miles, with my left blinking at me and Ford beeping me: DUMmy, DUMmy, DUMmy, you're blinker's on. So the next time you're driving down the interstate and sneer at the stupid driver who forgot to turn off his blinker, think of me and give him the benefit of the doubt. He could be stuck in his own little hell with a broken blinker and a beeping car.
Just keeping it real.
My Life
"Anyone who imagines that bliss is normal is going to waste a lot of time running around shouting that he’s been robbed. The fact is that most putts don’t drop, most beef is tough, most children grow up to be just people, most successful marriages require a high degree of mutual toleration, most jobs are often more dull than otherwise. Life is like an old-time rail journey…delays, side tracks, smoke, dust, cinders, and jolts, interspersed only occasionally by beautiful vistas, and thrilling bursts of speed. The trick is to thank the Lord for letting you have the ride." –President Gordon B. Hinckley quoting Jenkins Lloyd Jones, "Big Rock Candy Mountains", Deseret News, 12 June 1973, A4
Thank you, Lord, for letting me have my ride.
Thank you, Lord, for letting me have my ride.
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