Santa mights have to settle for plastic and wire.
So I think I've hit upon a snow day activity. Yesterday, popping popcorn with cranked-pot kept kids occupied. Stringing popcorn, however, was a failure. Seb kept eating popcorn off their strings under the table and the popcorn broke in two alot which made a mess. The consensus was playing in the snow again was more fun.
and something tells me the snow (and my sanity) won't last long. So, revisiting holiday activities of yore, I happen upon this pic when we made a gingerbread house and CG made the coolest Ginbread Man ever on the left. I mean Gingerbread pirate. Ahoy, there!Candy? Does leftover Halloween and Easter candy count? Yep. Check!
Ginderbread? While I do think I might have grahamn crackers, we are gingerbread snobs. This must be authentic. I might have to make it from scratch.
Oh, god! Is there milk in gingerbread?
They just emailed that school is once again cancelled. Stay tuned for my impending mental breakdown...
We've been out of milk for days(before the storm even), neighborhood roads still unplowed, mommy intel tells me that even if they did plow the roads, local stores are out of milk and a lot of things. Must look for Marilyn Manson or Ozzie Ozbourne video to truly reflect my inpending imploding sanity.
Must focus on holiday decorating...yes! Must focus on scrubbing house...yes! Must focus on finding sedatives for three spawn o' mine...Definitely!
So I am still getting the hang of this Atom vs. RSS.
So CG (Computer Geek Version 10.1.03 a.k.a. my husband) discovered I had also become a Feedburner member and said I should turn off my Atom feed now. I will follow his sage advice because I am, but a follower when it comes to techical savvy stuff. I have merited only "script kiddie" status when I changed my template.
So after this blog, I am turning of Atom. If you subscribed in this way, you'll need to re-subscribe via the buttons on the right sidebar (via your favorite feed aggregator). I have buttons for the four main readers or you can click the orange smart feed buttom which will give you more choices.
Sorry for any troubles and time this causes. Happy reading!
So where do you stand on breastfeeding? I apparently pissed off a rabid breastfeeder who made it a bit personal. According to the commentator, based on my comments,I have the following qualities (tee hee, still laughing about #4):
So, I guess I struck a nerve. She's either a flasher or a rabid breastfeeding advocate, or both. Funny she didn't leave anyway to communicate. Anywhoooo, feel free to weigh in here or on Wonderland (a great blog about news topics) . I'd be interested to see what others feel.
By the way, thanks for the words of encouragement, Laura. It's good to know not everyone thinks it's normal to have an in-your-face or look away breastfeeding mentality.
I sometimes wonder if our kids will grow up using Wikipedia, rather than dictionaries in school.
Already, I have considered having my laptop, rather than our large tome of a dictionary, at our kitchen table during Scrabble games. You know, because my skills are so daunting and my vocabulary so large, that CG feels the constant need to challenge--not very successfully might I add.
My Chemical Romance seems appropriate to my snow day mood; homebound with 3 kids, 2 dogs, with working from home CG, feelings abound: frantic, nostalgic, panic, frenzied, ecstatic, crazy, over-whelmed...Oh the mood swings!
Plus the colors of the video match my blog which makes me ha-ha-ha-happp-eeeeyyy:
Not sure how I feel about snow days. Why is it in Alaska, they never had snow days? How is it that it drops a few inches of snow and the world shuts down in Seattle?
There was even a school district policy on Fort Wainright(Fairbanks) that was -10 degrees or warmer, kids MUST go out to recess. They breed them hard core out there. The reality is that the kids would never be outside if they didn't.
So here, I'm stuck, homebound, with my coddled kids at 19 degrees. My head hurts from yesterday. At least CG made it home safely last night. The spawn aren't such spazzes when he's home. His conference calls compell them to keep it quiet or else Daddy won't have a job to pay the cable bill. You know what that means? No more snarky Spongebob! Ha!
There's a sound like a jug of milk being shaken behind my desk chair. Wait! I've heard that sound before...
Seb is licking his extremeties so deeply that his nose is buried and obviously suction has occured.
Oh the physics of dogs licking their butts.
Who knew this Washington state Republican soccer mom would share the SAME exact opinion as CG's most quoted rapper of his childhood. Yes, that's right C.G. We are talking the incredible Sir-Mix-A-Lot.
So here's a clip comparing Condi and Hillary:
So after today, I need a laugh. This is a favorite clip from the movie, "Everything's Illuminated." It's definitely worth seeing, if you haven't seen it already.
...and yes, CG, you are a premium dancer
...and I dig you all the way.
I just saw a poll on Aol News/Daily Pulse, in which on a scale of likeability, John Kerry got honors for being dead last and most unliked. Yeah, let's stuff your swift boats for lies and cowardice up your wachookie, John.
Betta yet, Harry Reid, Senate Minority whip came in second to last. Strike two!
Now, I have to admit that Republicans, notably Jorge, didn't do so well either. However, it's great to see Rudolph Giuliani, Former Mayor of New York and hopefully a Republican candidate for president in 2008, come in as most liked.
Senator John McCain and Condeleeza (my girl) weren't so far behind and were definitely ahead of the hag-o-licious duo of Senator Hag-illary Clinton and Senator Nancy "Nay-Sayer" Pelosi.
I have to admit I have this delicious fantasy of Condeleeza in a dark alley confrontation with Hillary. Set Scene:
Hillary throwing dowdy headbands like ninja stars, while former Stanford Prof. Condi takes the Stanford ax to her sorry excuse for a politician riding off her husband's coat tails. Hey, as a Cal Alum, I would willing give up Cal's obvious supremacy at the Big Game and the ax to see that go down.
OOAACH-cha! geeeck! Aaag!
What's that you say? That's me choking. I can barely talk. Terrible burning in throat ...help...need doctor? Strep? Tumor? Speaking Icelandic?
No, it's the 80 % result of yelling at 10 year old entire snow day to stop teasing his brother and 20% result of yelling at youngest to stop faking injuries to get older brother in trouble and then screaming bloody murder.
Yep, I'm screaming at my kids to stop screaming. Call me Mother of the Year!
Let's hit on a topic that annoys me. Rabid breast feeding advocates suck big time. They are everywhere and their suckle-ins for Barbara Walters and stupid airlines are so old.
Let me back up. I breast fed all my children. My daughter was 14 months when I weaned her. Another son was 12 months. I do believe breastfeeding is best, and Jim boy, it's a great diet plan. It's like having constant liposuction, so you can eat what you want. So, in the end, I am a big supporter of breast feeding.
However, I get annoyed with people who whip out their boobs in public like we all want to see your over-engorged nasty nipples. It's pretty simple, really. Put a blanket over your shoulder.
I breastfed everywhere: movie theaters, airlines, fancy dinners, restaurants, cafes, while walking, in grocery stores. I never would use a restroom to feed my baby though. However, I was never called on this because I was ... SUBTLE! I was able to hold child in one hand, lift shirt, unhook bra, and plant kid all in one smooth movement while under the cover of a light blanket. Did it take practice? Yes. However, it seems all my 5 sisters have the same skill. I have to admit, though, one sister with 5 kids is so extremely skilled she doesn't use a blanket and still there is no flesh exposed whatsoever. People think she is just holding her baby and brother-in-laws have actually asked to hold the baby when feeding.
Back on topic, using a cover, or at least subtlety, ensured that never did I feel uncomfortable NOR did I make anyone else feel uncomfortable. My brother, brother-in-laws and father at family gatherings never knew what I was doing. The Lieutenant Colonel who called me up on stage ( I tried to refuse politely which he took as being shy) during a speech was clueless then a bit red-faced (his wife explained my reluctance) when he did realize what I was doing, but hey, he was from the south. The end result was people thought I simply had a sleeping baby that I was shielding from noise and light. No harm no foul. I also felt this made breastfeeding a more intimate and bonding experience between me and my baby.
So the first time I was walking in the zoo when my kids were very little, I did a double take when a woman opened her shirt with no bra and fully exposed both breasts while nursing on a bench in full view. Gah! Are we gorillas? My kids were also very curious. If I guy whipped out his very natural penis to pee (a natural function) and kids saw, he would be a pervert and probably prosecuted for indecent exposure or lewd and lascivious conduct. Why is this any different? Why was the crunchy coot at the zoo able to expose my kids to her nasty, again gi-gantor nipples? Exposing breasts to feed is not a requirement.
So my message is this: Stop being so entitled and lazy. Yes, breastfeeding is natural and best, but so is masturbating and yet so many people would feel uncomfortable with a toddler (or anyone really) getting his shag on and would tell that child to go to the bathroom, their bedroom, or to stop altogether. Come on, it's only natural!
Let's respect our babies right to feed balanced with other's feelings of discomfort on being exposed to a highly sexualized body part. Why assert your rights and views over someone else's rights? Get some tact!
Did I say I love snow?! Snow sucks big @#$. So the snow melted before school let out yesterday, so we went to practice after all. It started to blizzard during practice with white out conditions. Yee-haw! Should have stuck with my instincts.
Normally, from Mercer Island to our part of Sammamish is a 20-25 minute ride. Well, for those of you in the region, did you see the weather? Our 25 minute drive took TWO Hours and FIFTEEN minutes. Insane!
We were spared the typical THREE hours because we decided to use a third lane. What is it about Seattlites that when they encounter snow or any inclement weather really, they turn a 4-lane highway into two lanes? They insist on only following each others tracks. I ranted to the kids that they should drive on the snow, not just follow the black ribbon tracks. "That's where they are losing their traction,"I rant. The kids look back at me like, "Nice tip, mom. I'll do that next time I drive on an icy road!"
So given I had a heavy 4x4 SUV, I held my own. I also had years of experience of driving on ice in Fairbanks, so it wasn't too intense. Driving in these conditions, though, is a skill. A skill that most of the dumb-f#%&s in Seattle don't have. Idiots would stall out in their light weight sedans and just leave their cars (whether that be in the 2nd lane of the freeway or the median or jack-knifed across two lanes) and start walking. There were scores of people walking on the freeway and many more on this huge road going up the plateau. However, they would leave these cars in the middle of the F!@#$%$ road. At least, slide your cars to the side, shit for brains!
So, there I was winding through cars with three kids, hungry and having to pee. Whining was kept to the minimum though. I must have had a crazy enough look in my eye to make them think twice.
Worst example of said driving, idiot in Mercedes on Duthie Hill. Yes, you F#$ for brains. He's revving, back tires spinning, moving inches at a time, and yet he insists on pushing his way in front of me, ignoring the six-pack of other sedans littering the steep-graded road in front of us. Then he immediately stalls in front of me and starts to slide backwards at me. Shit! I can't back up because other shit for brains sedan behind me is on my bumper as if giving people space to slide in icy condition was an entirely unknown concept. So Mercedes idiot stopped, but then decides to u-turn and again starts shimming toward me sideways now as if in reverse T-bone.
So, other stuck Mustang guy starts ground guiding and pushing Mercedes maniac away from my car, but then says he wants me to wait after he does this until he gets chains on his stuck Ford Mustang which is also covering 3 lanes and two directions of traffic! Again, phallic horsepower doesn't equal success on icy roads. What were you thinking even trying?! Luckily, while he guides said car, his empathetic buddy motions for me to move around and get out when I can. By now, the roads leading to our house are backed up for miles.
It's snowing huge flakes. The house is quiet. It's just me and the pups decorating for Christmas. It's so quiet. I can hear the hum of the furnace. This kind of weather makes me miss living in Alaska. I love snow. I love feeling like I'm in a snowglobe.
CG: In scholarly tone, "Did you know that seamen helps women with depression?
Me: Sceptically arched brow
CG: "No really, apparently it's absorbed in the vagina and can make you happy. It's right here in my magazine"
Me: "Don't believe everything you read, snookums. Did you ever think a men's magazine might be just slightly biased?!"
Damn those men's magazines. Esquire is getting almost as bad as CG's Maxim, Blender and Stuffed subscriptions. Before you think badly of CG, I subscribed him to those magazines. We received 10 free subscriptions a while back, so I just started picking mags with interesting or familiar titles. Then the hootchie mamas started to invade our mailbox. CG loved it, but this is the last month of said magazines. I'd like to say I'm cutting him off, but really, I'm too cheap and cancelled them or else we would have had to pay for them as well as my free Cosmo, Harper's Bazaar, and Better Homes and Garden.
Here's what I've been listening too. Gotta love those bitchin' shoes in the beginning scene. Regina Spektor works for me lately, and no, not because she talks about hearing voices in the video.
Isn't it great that we live in a country of opportunities where all that is possible for women? God Bless America.
The religious right (and perhaps a little nepotism) really screwed up my party.
They have sidetracked and twisted our intent for years. To me, being a Republican means:
Yep, you heard me right. When you tell Sebbie to sic'em, he looks from floor to ceiling to attack and eat whatever offending bug is in the room. You don't want to know what he's eaten. He'll even go after very large beetles although they are hard to get past his lips; you can tell when they crawl around and his mouth quivers before he gulps them savagely whole, even the prickly ones.
Right now, he's on alert because we have a smoke detector beeping. He's whining non-stop. He's learned that opening the oven (which is ridiculously placed below one of our very sensitive smoke detectors) incites the beeping that causes his people to wave newspapers mercilessly at an unknown foes; so he now growls at said offending oven. Every time we open it now, he's on alert. He must protect us from the magically invisible beings that escape and cause that incessant f#%-ing noise.
I said to CG, at least we know he'll rouse us from our beds, before there's any possibility of a house fire.
So here's to our Smokey the Bear Fire-Fighting, Bug-Eating Dog who thinks only he can prevent burnt creme brulee.
Here's to the dog that will always defend this damsel from play-fighting CG, so that she always wins.
Here's to the pooch that lets me rub is silky ears because that's my favorite even though he would much prefer me to rub his chest.
Seb
Shield your eyes. The garbage men came late today because of the holiday. I heard their crunching and moaning down the street. So out I rushed with rumpled hair, bare feet, and shorty nightgown to thrust garbage can and recycling trolley to the street.
Trying to bend at the knees because snow and a breeze was trying to show the neighbors that the nighty was ALL I was wearing, I enlist princess baby and Li'l Man to help. Their bare pink toes became quite frosty on the freezing wet asphalt. Bad mama!
I guess it's better than if that had happened when we lived in Alaska. We would have been stuck to the drive. I'm sure , after a while, we would turn to white snow men. I am fairly certain the Home Owners Association would approve of white snowmen. Filthy racists!
It's snowing this morning. Magical flakes are drifting softly down. Beautiful, but troublesome. Troublesome because it's only sticking to the dirt and bark. My monster spawn are already making plans to make snow men. I can see it now: little round mud balls on our front lawn. Definitely poop glazed.
Home Owners Nazis...ahem...I mean association: Ma'am, do you realize that some thing made a huge fecal matter mound in your yard.
Me: (in my best Yoda voice) No, no. In-laws those brown little people are. Dark skinned they are. Dwarfs they are. Audacious your racism and little people-ism is, sir!
So CG on his blog, is carrying on about a silly campaign to prove he's right about casseroles--like that's every happened! See His Sillinesses' thoughts here.
The essence of his argument is that anything in a casserole dish is, henceforth, a casserole. So here, young pup of matrimony and acrimony, I have made you a luscious casserole.
Yes, this would be the same said casserole dish that my luscious, caramelized, ultimately sweet and spicy sweet potatoes were in and you showed as evidence on your blog. Would you like a side of toe nail clippings with that, honey bunny?
'
It's so cool to know that someone hears me and I don't need to see eye rolls or feel judged. It's also pretty bad-ass that I have had visitors on SIX continents. Yep from Lichtenstein to Singapore to Santa Cruz to Amsterdam to Berkeley to Riyadh to New York City to Victoria to Atlanta to Seattle(and many more), they have come.
When I started this blog nary 1 week ago, my only desire was to eventually hit all 50 states. (Wow! Do I sound like a 5th grade school assignment? ) Still working on that, especially those middle states, so feel free to link my blog to yours, email a friend or co-worker and especially family. I would love to think all your Aunt Fannys, Niece Beckys, and wicked mother-in-laws read about my crazy silly existance.
One last plea, add some comments or requests. Besides CG, only anonymous and my bitchin' sister Molly has given feed back. Feed me, Seymour!
pssst, it wouldn't hurt to click on an ad or two either.
Just saying...yes, call me an ad-whore.
All the ads I've seen on blogs today are all about food disorders . What the hay? Pretty insensitive considering it's the day after Thanksgorging.
So no one thinks I am fighting a food disorder, I must insist to all I don't, at least not the bulemia/anorexia kind. I have another disorder. I eat everything. Nutella and sardines? Yum.
So not really, but I think dieting services might be more appropriate. So here's a shout out to one of the tools that could help me lose weight if I had ambition, focus, will-power. Yep, last I checked, I'm all out of those.
Dear CG,
It's not a freaking casserole.
Sweet potatoes and casseroles are not in my vocabulary as synonymous. Never have I made junk with goo, nuts, and marshmallows that would qualify as a casserole. Bleh! I am a sweet potato snob and it's best you know it now before we embark on another 10 years of marriage.
So stop blogging that I made a casserole. Yes, you shiz-nuts. Yep, you, the one who is rubbing my back right now and offering me a cocktail! And stop reading over my shoulder...
So surprise me with my cocktail, just none of that chartreuse crap you think you like just because it looks cool, and maybe I'll forgive you for using the c-word.
(In lilting song voice) When I was just a little girl, I asked my mother, what would I be?
Will I be pretty? Or smart and witty?
Or will I be plain craz-eey?
Here's what she said to me:
Que sera, sera.
Whatever will be will be.
The future's not ours to see.
I'll love you no matter what you be.
Just try not to be craz-eey like me.
Love you Princess Baby.
CG Replicant is having the tantrum to save all tantrums. Almost as good as when I videotaped him telling me that I was meaner than the devil. This occasion has been augmented by new tricks of manipulation and volumes of whining.
Why? All over the hated breakfast of Cream of Wheat.
Stay tuned...
So Thanksgiving, done in style. We went to two different homes:
One home for dinner: Great conversation from friends also transplanted from the Bay Area, comfortable, homey, cozy, delicious food! Amazing cranberry sauce with Grand Marnier.
Intermezzo Movie: Happy Feet. Pretty cute at first, but the concensus with the group we were with was that there some very adult enviromental messages that turned the movie into a bit weird and a little inappropriate for younger audiences.
Different home for dessert: Fantastic selection of at least 30 homemade desserts(highlights for me were peppermint-chocolate trifle, fudgy oreo cream pie, Red Velvet cake with coconut-pecan frosting,and CG's famous pumpkin pie from his Grandma's 50 year old recipe book). Fun games, friendly houseful stuffed with gads of people, and literally tons of kids.
So, this was our first Thanksgiving without extended family in a very long time. While we missed family, it felt good to be included in a group of friends. The kids got to run wild with packs of kids just like would happen at a normal gathering for my extended family. It was very satisfying.
Generally, we had very little clean up. I am traditionally a very messy cook and it showed with my Stinking Rose recipe of garlic mashed potatoes and my own carmelized, maple-y sweet potatoes everywhere in our kitchen. Beau used his gadgets to time a Roasted Butternut Squash and pancetta risotto and said Grandma's Pumpkin pie. Not too much damage in the kitchen considering the ungodly mess we (mostly me) make when we take the whole meal on.
After cleaning, there was even time to tuck in one last "snack" plateful of turkey and fixings while watching CSI and falling asleep in front of the fire.
Ahh Thanksgiving...
At a pre-school co-op meeting I went to with my husband, the parent-educator discussed coping mechanisms. She stated that as adults, we are able to cope whereas most pre-schoolers can't filter out noise, stresses, fatigue, etc. Both CG and I both came to the same conclusion. I must have missed that part of childhood. Cope with stress? noise? Wuh?
To my credit, I've finally had my hearing loss diagnosed. No, I'm not deaf. However, I had missing spots in the highest aand lowest of decibal ranges. So the end result, as my doctor said, was that I don't hear most vowels and a few odd consanants. Finally, I have explained why I am always saying "What? or "eh?" I can hear volume, but it often takes several tries to decipher sentences, as sounds run together.
For instance, as we were driving in the car with the family last night, CG Replicant #1 was singing," I see your hiney. white, bright, and shiny!" Clearly he was annoying Li'l Man who started a Whack-a-Mole campaign on his noggin.
Clearly inappropriate, but I (ahem) went a little overboard on the lecturing because I heard "vagine-y," instead of "shiny." Oops! It's okay, CG Replicant #1 has this tendency every once in the while to call me or princess baby "woman!" so he needed a lesson on the inappropriate genderizing of insults anyway.
We were able to swing our insane equity in California to a home in Washington that we would never have been able to afford otherwise.
With this huge house and neighborhood of trophy wives, sits crunchy ol' me. Yep, I put the garbage out in my pajamas(gasp).
So our home was clad with immaculate white carpets and linen hued walls when we moved in last year. I say was because now it's coffee stained, paw printed, and generally grungy. My God! Who in the Northwest puts in white carpets?!
We also have this massive chandelier with our Craigslist furniture and beat up stuff from college hand me downs.
Sometimes, I feel like a pretender. Then I get catty and go on zillow or Red Fin and discover what they paid for their house. Bah! I archely whisper, "Peasants!"
Grendel, our unladylike lady pooch just farted and sneezed at the same time while we ate breakfast.
CG disgustedly: "That's not the first time she done that!"
10 year-old CG Replicant, with admiration: "Yeeah, she's just showing off."
Yes, we've emasculated my half-Bernese Mountain Dog, half-Lab, ALL Castrato (that's castrated for you folks not educated in...em... singing eunuch dogs) cross-dressing hound.
~Compliments of Princess Baby
P.S. Seb, you're such a sport. Good boy.
So evil to make her a redhead like me, I know.
Here we have Grendel trolling our runway dressed as "Madeleine." Designer Princess Baby added the rhinestone gown and boa as a nice touch. Accessories, ladies!
Whatta a dog! Whatta a dog!
She's going to need therapy, or at least a "Pet" medium, like my friend Yvette used. Gah!
This almost (I said almost CG, I swear) almost gave me baby lust again? But, it's okay, the most fertile couple on the planet (C.G. and I) will have babes no more.
After, three forms of birth control in college came CG Replicant #1. Four days after 6 months deployment in the Sinai, our princess baby was conceived. Finally, L'il Man was conceived in not so immaculate conception AFTER botched military-paid vasectomy. People, we try not to even use the same toilet, even after CG 11.2 had a SECOND vasectomy. Yep, our genetics must be amazing for CG's baby batter and my green eggs to be so potent
'Lest good friends and family happen upon this site, I must make a disclaimer:
As a child that attended church for three hours every Sunday, I have strong memories of this wildly popular song in the Sunday School and "Primary" (1st level of brainwashing for the uninitiated) set. A personal fave, it went like this:
Give said the little stream
Give, oh, Give
Give, oh, Give
Give, said the little stream as it hurried down the hill.
I'm small, I know,
But wherever I go,
The grass is greener still
Innocuous enough until you realize the king's ransom the Mormon church extracts from ALL of their members. Even in a song, I now read their dastardly plan to extract every last penny.
Yes, I remember receiving a professionally prepared statement listing all money given per annum, separated by categories such as tithing, church building, missionary fund, etc.
AT AGE FIVE!
I was also given an interview with my family at which I was asked if I felt this was a "full tithe" by this very authoritarian bishop. Of course, like any scared as shit kid, I said,"Y-y-y-e-s-s-s-?"
Well, I'm 'fessing up... I know I'll burn in hell, BUT IT WASN'T! I kept at least 92 percent. Screw that! Bubblegum and ice cream were and still are more important than my "Eternal Salvation."
So, uh....Sorry? And really, how sad is it to be squeezing birthday money and newspaper tips out of little kids to build holy white castles.
My god is free!
I received some out of the blue jewelry today, Li'l man made a fan-tab-u-lous brightly covered penne necklace at the crunchy pre-school. I complemented him on the necklace.
He quickly said without a bat of the eye, "oh, Mommy. I made it for you."
He took it off and insisted on putting it on my head.
Wow! I know in some cultures, compliments are considered not so good because it entitles the flatterer to said item. Do you think Li'l Man is going down this path?
I prefer to think I am programming him to be a much more advanced C.G. version that requires less programming by future daughter-in-law. I can already see her thanking me with jewel bespeckled hands.
So besides gay marriage, another blip in my Republican stream of consciousness is my love of animals. I do believe I was the only ROTC uniform wearing, College Republican on the
Now, just to clarify, PETA got too wacky to continue to have my endorsement and my very Polish, very meat centric husband ended my vegetarianism, along with a tough to beat streak of anemia. However, a little known routine still exists every once in a while.
Let's call it a slight tendency towards OCD and definitely deranged. In high school, this rebelling Mormon-raised Gothic teenager, hung a crucifix from her rear view mirror station wagon. Said teenager, then somehow got into a routine for praying for the dearly departed road kill. It went like this:
"Bless this animal
Let it feel no pain
Give it re-birth"
All this had to be chanted before I passed the animal or else it would most surely have died painfully (even though already dead--crazy I know!) and wouldn't be reborn. Yes, peeps! I was a Gothic all-black wearing, ex-Mormon, crucifix crossing, believer in reincarnation. Call up the Scientologists now! I would have made a perfect recruit.
So today, I just say that chant in my head when I see the dearly departed skunks of yesteryear. In my head, so as to pass as sane for adult passengers and NOT pass on my form of crazy to my kidlets. My C.G., then and still an adamant believer in the right to bear arms, just rolls his eyes.
This came up today because my C.G. said something that redeemed me. Let's roll back a couple of days. My youngest has two pre-schools to attend. One a more crunchy, granola i.e. kids need socializing, not academics. The other is uber-structured, academic, with slight tendencies toward Montessori such as my Li'l Man calling all activities, "work?" But I digress.
So the crunchy co-op pre-school required us parents to bring in a spider for a spider zoo. Most parents would go yeesh? I start immediately panicking, because I worry our gorgeous house spider Joe is in jeopardy. Joe's marvelous size as a spider of the Northwest and amazing webs have entertained us at our kitchen table for weeks. He's made his home on the transom window above our sliding door, which illuminates during the day and shows us great skills in the savagery of the night time hunting habits of spiders.
Convinced Li'l Man might sacrifice Joe, I tell him we can find a spider at school. We did and I apologized immediately to the spider. A week later all the little baby food jars covered in plastic wrap, mason jars with vent holes and yogurt cups of spiders were lined up in the planter in front of the school. There was a sign for families to take home their critters.
CG and I were there a little early to pick up Li'l man. I discovered that many spiders had already expired, but many clung on. I immediately, as a true animal crazy in a
I ignore him and start tenderly plopping spiders in the planter box. He rolls eyes again, but he knows it's useless to argue just like it was useless to argue when I lured a slightly feral, hairless, scabby stray dog with fleas and mange and took it to our vet. C.G.s hard earned dollars paid the bill before luckily my vet convinced me to take it to the humane society.
...Just like it was useless to question the insanity of backing up 300 yards on the shoulder of a 4 lane highway to save a poor lost shepherd pup I had almost just hit on the freeway. The dog was so spooked, I convinced some utility workers to cut chain link to get "Highway" (see I had instantly named him) to safety. Luckily, they offered to take him to the pound.
... Just like it was useless to argue when on said highway, with C.G. and the whole family unit, I see a dog again and insist on going to it's aid. Only this time, I was to be surprised by the surly, grizzled transient living in said highway greenery who said to get the fuck away from his dog. Exit stage right quickly. Run!
...Just like it is useless to argue when I rushed a vermin infected pigeon I found on our door step to the
...Just like when I rushed another vermin infected to said wildlife center. Poor baby opossum having just been mauled by my playful dog Grendel. I rushed said truly gross, but living creature in my brand new car only for it to have passed on during the 30 minute drive.
So maybe I have issues because I have a Dad that whenever he got tired of the madness of a untrained dog, overgrown duck, various family pets, would dump said beloved pet at park or where ever. This always came with the assurance that they would find a good home. Maybe I do have some issues.
Maybe turning our suburban bliss into a slaughterhouse for what I thought were our family's pet bunnies had an effect. Yes, I still remember the scream of rabbits improperly slaughtered in front of my very huge five year old eyes.
Maybe being forced to eat said rabbits as well as our pet goose of a couple years aptly and beloved named for his runny stools, "
Maybe, after our gorgeous duck that my brother and foster brother naively tried to make fly with clipped wings, had it's legs cruelly and compound-ly fractured, there was some effect. My sister compassionately gave the poor thing Popsicle stick splints. In the end, said brothers were forced to slaughter said pet duck with ax as punishment, but 7 year-olds don't do a very good job and only tortured the duck so much more. Yep, forced to eat said protein.
Yes, so call me Clarice. Call me crazy. But I save animals. Both of our gorgeously flawed canine units are my pound puppies saved the day before extinguishment. My favorite movie of all time is "Lady and the Tramp." I played with stuffed animal and never dolls as a child.
Today, coming full circle, I get a break from my C.G.'s eye rolls.
He tells me, "Remember those spiders you released."
Me, "Yes." Expecting too be made fun of...
C.G., "You did a good thing. The next day, when I picked up Li'l Man, it had rained and all the spider's 'cages' were filled with water." He smiles tenderly.
This makes me happy that my crazy works for C.G.
Side note: As I wrote this, I talked about Joe the spider. We had a huge wind storm that knocked out the power for about 18 hours. Road were blocked and trees were down. Oh, no, whatta about Joe? Sadly Joe is gone. I dedicate this blog to Joe, Toulouse, Sambo the missing most perfectest dog, 3 of Sambo's missing pups that homes weren't found for, Chocolate the missing poodle, Strawberry the missing Beagle, Beauty the English Setter, Buffy the Blond Cocker Spaniel, all other dumped dogs my saddened brain can't remember, and all various forms of critters taken too soon by speeding motorists. Please God, bless them, let them feel no pain, and give then rebirth.
Here's pic of Da Boyz. My CG wants me to title it "eye candy." You decide. Let's start a poll. I just know it makes me smile.
Not everone can say they have a resident explosives expert. Moi? Yep. Useful? Yep.
CG was an Army Engineer with a light Infantry unit . He loved giving a description of his job as, "I blow shit up." His fave was collecting champagne magnums to use as shape charges. He was also an "Expert" with the M-16 and M-4,(roawr, sexy) but I digress.
As we watch trash t.v., a Lethal Weapon scene flickers on the screen of a toilet bomb.
Me sceptically: "That seems like an awful large amount of plastic to blow up one guy?"
CG: "Yep."
Me with admiring smile and "Grasshopper" reverance: "How much would you need to blow up a man on a toilet?"
C.G. casually: "To kill him or make him disappear?"
Me clearly enthusiastic with my explosives lesson: "Um, both."
C.G. gives me recipe which I won't post here, lest I hear about some guy disappearing in his "second office." However, how cool is it to be able to test Hollywood scenes for reality with one's very own G.I. Joe?
The C.G. slut just reminded me that I should have said boobie, not booby. As if he had some...
Ok, off to a horridly 2 long swim meet for me two oldest darlings. At least in public, the CG slut won't be so nonchalant about his quid pro quo ethos.
So it's 6 AM and yet my husband still acts like a slut. I barely have caffeine coursing through my veins. Our walk-in pantry's 2 lights are burned out. I'm blind, but more importantly, our two pups dine in there as well. how will they be able to see I ponder?
Then my superhero husband comes in to save the day. Without comment, he grabs lightbulbs and steps on the ladder as I stand there mouth agape. Wuh? no nagging? Then with a smooth flick of the wrist, he unzips his fly. Wuh? He looks at me calmly as if saying while you're down there.
Let's not forget that nary 2 minutes previous, my "super" helpful husband also required a double booby flash for said coffee coursing through my veins.
Did I say super hero? I meant super slut. Man whore. Clarence Thomas. Yeesh!
I grew up in a family of eight. Six kids-five girls. My parent also dabbled in foster care so for my early years, there were up to 12 kids in our house. Call us crazy. Add to that bundle that my mom was legally blind and couldn't drive. Add to that the girls periods tending to synchronize! I couldn't wait to get out of that house.
How did we survive?
Did I mention it was a Mormon family and I had more than 60 cousins? I had a cousin in Fairbanks when we lived there and I wouldn't have even recognized her on the street if I bumped into her.
Anyway, despite the madness, one of the things I miss the most now that we have moved away is having my crazy family close. My kids miss their cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents. I never equated having a big family as being a close family. Yet, somehow, as all the kids became adults and started having kids of their own, we became close. Having a big family comes with it's issues, but there's something about knowing they are there no matter what.
Now we won't talk about the C.G. 10.0.2's family. I haven't talked to my in-laws or sister-in-law in more than 2 1/2 years. Some things are better left blogged about on days when my thoughts are more rational and less depressing.
Part of the deal with us picking up from the Bay Area to move family, home, and career to Seattle was that my C.G. got to get his dream car. I had no idea that a little car favored by lesbians and old retired folks (no offense to either group) in CA, would turn into a love affair for my C.G.10.0.2. Don't get me wrong. It's a cute car and I'm the one who found it on Craigslist. However, I thought that would be the end of it.
My C.G. has turned into one of those freaks that belong to a car club and goes on rides where you see a ton of cars on the road (a la Harley Davidson)all of the same make. He listens to podcasts about Minis. He dreams of silly red brakes? He babble about the John Cooper works package in his sleep. He even calls his Mini a "she," and has convinced my two smaller savages that she breathes through the front venting super-charger. He learned how to drive her better at professional driving lessons this August which cost us dearly. He's continually buying her trinkets, buttons, badges and treats. It makes me want to take a sledgehammer to the bitch.
(Note: Picture digitally obscured to hide the identity of the guilty whore)
Two days ago was the last straw! That bitch cost me $1700 in service and repairs. What's next, is he going to turn into one of those dorks who names their cars?!
I have just figured out why today is one of those soul-breaking,sapped of energy days. Sometimes, they happen when the weather here in the Seattle area gets me down. Other times, it's the state of my house or relationships. It's sunny today. No new family problems. Today, it's as simple as giving blood. I'm bleeding out.
Another of the side effects of having children, besides loss of brain mass that goes straight to your hips, is how screw-y the female plumbing becomes. My last li'l guy was over 10 lbs. Let's all imagine pushing that size pumpkin out of an orifice. Damage is likely and my gynocologist says it's pretty common.
My damage causes 10 days to 2 1/2 week gut-twistingly heavy periods. I often can't leave home because products don't even last me 10 minutes at times. It's similar to what I expect 80 year women with incontinence would have to deal with--but they aren't shuttling kids to school, pre-school, swim practice, soccer practice,DI practice, while still managing to be the perfectly involved PTA Board member I've become. I have quite literally been anemic for the last 12 years. The last 4 have been the worse though with my doctor closely watching my anemia. Apparently, there is a very medical reason for my severe forgetfullness and confusion and it's all based on C.G. impregnating me after failed vasectomy.
So here I sit, blogging away, with my li'l guy who helped cause this damage watching Wonder Pets , Backyardigans and Blue's clues in front of a roaring fire. We irresponsiblely are missing his pre-school and my mommy coffee group. Sapped of energy, I cuddle with him and decide he's well worth it.
My li'l boy is growing up. He'll tell me when his sister dares to utter words that are "inappropriate." He sets up a mini-office next to C.G. And now C.G., the sometimes retard Dad, thinks it's funny to even make my little man his own espresso which he will drink at 4 years old.
C.G. is now having freedictionary say "vagina" over and over so my little man is also saying vagina...vagina...vagina..
So here's me waxing nostalgic and sending out one of my favorite pics of the li'l man self-attired as a even littler guy:
There's fear and then there's fear. Today, I experienced a 8.8 on the fear scale.
To explain, I must go back to this summer when my hardrive went kerplunk. Guess who hadn't backed up as if the sky would never fall? Guess who was the dingleberry (my mom's nickname for me )? Yep, me! So after throwing down my husband's hard-earned dollars
What was the other 10% you ask? Only my outlook calendar and email. AAAAAAAHHHHH!
Those who don't know me, don't realize I have absolutely no memory-short or long term- after having three kids. Add in the constant stressed part of my personality, and there you have it. A mommy form of Post-Traumatic stress syndrome a.k.a. Post Maternal 'Sycho Syndrome. I call it simply mommy brain on steroids. So what's left? One empty noggin of fluff. So I NEEEEED my calendar to tell me what to do. I write everything down, lest I forget it 10 seconds later. Daily I check my calendar because I never know what I am doing--even today? Yep, clueless!
Outlook Calendar is my god and I am, but it's humble servant. Then, one day, my god was gone. We won't go into my harrowing hell of teeth gnashing and hand wringing that ensued, but it was a very ugly period; it took weeks to come out of the darkness and recreate my madness of routine. In the end, my survival was hanging to the fact that all, but a few of my digital pics of my scruffigans were saved. Praise be Jesus! And, I learned how to back up some stuff.
However, I still larken back to those days of darkness and today, there was a excruciating close call. I...sneezed. I am a very big sneezer. I sneeze, according to C.G., at least in factors of three. So wuh? Well, I had a sneeze coming at the exact same time as I had a huge steaming to the brim mug of coffee poised above my laptop.
Sneeze one was stifled as I,with nerves of steel inched it from right to left hand. Sneeze two getting harder to stifle, I panic and move it less smoothly. Sneeze three uncontrollable, but I've made it to my desk without a splash. Mission completed, soldier. Whew! Crisis averted.
Really, you should see me sneeze while talking on my cell-u-lar while driving my 2 ton tank of an S.U.V. Now that's some excitement.
I do believe, today, "it happened..." It must be good if I am acting like a sensationalist newscasting whore. Yes, I believe I both closed and locked the door to use the bathroom today in my house.
Having been a Mommy for 10 years, privacy is nonexistant. My 10 year still thinks it's okay to converse with me as I am showering. My kids constantly bring disputes to me while I am on my porcelain throne. So, when I purposefully shut, and my god, locked that door, I knew I was embarking on a new era. I was asserting my right to wipe in peace.
Little did I know that it would be the C.G. that couldn't stand the new independance. The door rattles at first. Pregnant pause. Like one of the creatures I bore, he knocks demandingly on the door. "What are you doing?" "Are you sure you haven't been sidetracked?" It was hard to resist, but I steeled myself and plopped on while I wrote my first blog.
Yep, how's that for a visual image. Know that it will happen often while i blog! The C.G. and I call my porcelain throne "my other office." It's where I escape, in the past, with door open. Now the C.G. seems surprised as a gazelle in the sites of cheetah on the African savannah. Wuh? Wife wants to insert tampon without physical witness? What is the world coming to?
Aaah! Independance. Yep, "liberty does await my fingertips," as the picture on my blog states. And yep, I did steal that pic from your blog, C.G. 10.2.1.
There is this new kind of journalism that gives me the hives. It infected the S.F. bay area when we lived there and now I am starting to hear it on Seattle stations. It’s the leading line, “It happened in __________.” Not Silly Sally was hit by a car today or there was a car accident in Sammamish. No, it’s
My husband has been urging me to blog forever. His motivations are that of your typical Northwest convert, formerly SF Bay Area denizen, definite Cal Engineer computer geek variety. I can hear him say, "Dude! Blogging chicks are hot." However, as a frustrated, oft depressed stay-at-home Mommy of three with huge crazy (and now that's it's close, scary) law school aspirations just on the horizon once our youngest goes to school next year, I haven't seen the need to spread my humor, insanity, despair, frustrations, in essence my malaise ad nauseum with the world. Who reads this crap?! Okay, I do, especially as a recovering mormon, Dooce.
However, a line was crossed. My husband mindlessly steals my material . Let's reference his latest Quivering Beaver. Ahem...my idea which was stolen without remorse. Another favorite, the 87 cent store? Yep, my quote while in a trip to Vancouver again assumed as his own. Eunuchs equal "sexual harassment." Well, you are getting the idea. He gives me no credit and I am starting to sound like Rodney Dangerfield here. Not one line. Not even a footnote or general disclaimer such as, "humor and/or original thought on my blog may not be my own. "
Do we really think that Computer Geek guy can come up with this all on his own? No, all we women know behind ever C.G. is a wife that has dastardly formed him into a Gap wearing, well hygiened, ambitiously career-minded, socially capable man of the community. We even have our first date in months tonight at a town hall meeting. How freaking civic minded of us!
I, in fact have so trained him that this latest version of my computer geek guy --let's call him C.G. 10.0.2 --now admits to voting based on my notes in my ballot book. Blahahah...I will rule the world. I now effectively have two votes. If we ever move back to California, my vote will be the equivalent of 14 due to ridiculously low voter turnout and apathy.
Back on topic, does any one really care to hear my kind of crazy? Can anyone really relate to a gay-marriage believing, once army lieutenant, raised Mormon now agnostic, tree hugging, highly patriotic, former PTA President, dyed in the wool Republican, and first and foremost Mommy? I just don't make sense... Why do you persist in still reading?
Wishing you weren't so relentless, C.G. 10.0.2?
