Three Things Not Important Enough For Their Own Post

1. Loodle and I were at Target in the First Aid aisle looking for bandages for my stupid thumb (it's fine, btw, and has turned a lovely shade of blue). Near us was a Target employee with one of those two way radio things, and an announcement was made that "Elmo has entered the building".

I giggled with Loodle and the employee laughed as well. He told us that Elmo is their not so secret now blabbermouth code for the armored truck guys who come collect the cash. He said that two years ago at Christmas time, an announcement was made that Elmo was at the front of the store, and a bunch of crazy people out looking for Tickle Me Elmo clamored forward looking for the shipment, only to be met by armed guards who were trying to figure out why they were being bumrushed by all these frantic moms. They changed the code word for a while, but now ELMO IS BACK!!!


2. The Man looked up from his laptop yesterday and informed me that the Webkinz authoritays were cracking down on eBay auctions. Huh? That's how WE got our Webkinz. Should I not answer my door for a while, lest armed secret service agents be outside demanding our stuffed duck and reindeer back? Um, not quite.

Apparently, there is a lucrative market out there for the "rare gems" that kids are trying to collect for a Crown of Wonder. I guess the auctioneers go mining for them, find the ones people really need and sell them on eBay. This is against Webkinz World rules and regulations, and it WILL NOT BE TOLERATED.

I was kind of chuckling about this because COME ON. Is there really a market for these jewels? And wouldn't an eBay auction involve adults who are putting up cash money for computer pixels for their kids? Then he reveals to me that there are over 100,000 people in China whose job it is to play World of Warcraft. They earn equipment and gold in the game online, and then sell it in the real world to sad, pale people living in their parent's basements. Chinese Gold Farmers is what they are called. Actually, that sounds like a really good job, playing on the computer all day, except my mom doesn't have a basement.


3. I've got sad, sad news. Due to the Texas summer heat, my kids are probably going to be diagnosed with a terrible, debilitating syndrome. It's called Nature Deficit Disorder, and it is a HUGE PROBLEM. I'm sure we'll be able to get some type of government assistance soon, and we'll most certainly be covered by the Americans with Disablities Act.

There is only one known cure, and that's to go outside and TOILET PAPER THE NATURE CONSERVANCY OF TEXAS.

I'm sorry, I must be suffering from Chocolate Deficit Disorder.


---

Wordless Wednesday: Future Amazon in Tights

Please note: Loodle's dancing buddies DO actually have faces, but I didn't want to post other people's kids without their permission.





This was after her dance recital a week ago, and no, she's not standing further forward than the others, and I did nothing to her in Photoshop besides make her less yellow. Welcome to the world of tall, kid. Pants that aren't long enough are on aisle 3. Unintentional belly baring shirts, aisle 7.

But all the chocolate you could ever want? It's on that tall shelf that only you can reach.

Not So Much With the Coordination

Last night I laid down with Boodle in an attempt to get her to fall asleep. She'd been feeling poorly over the weekend and was on a wonky sleep schedule. I really wanted her to fall asleep quickly to allow her to be well rested for school the next day.

As I lay there with her, rubbing her back, I was getting kinda antsy, wanting to get back to the living room couch and my remote control. Hello, High Stakes Poker calling! I listened to her breathing, and when she grew still and was breathing deeply, I turned to get out of the bed. She immediately rose up and told me not to go. Turns out she was faking sleep to get me to stay.

Irritated now, I told her to get. to. sleep. We all know that there's nothing like overwhelming pressure to lull you into a dreamless slumber. I laid there staring up at the upper bunkbed, and remembered the post a did a couple of days ago about cherishing these moments with my kids because they are precious and those moments will soon be gone blah blah blah. Okay, God, I hear you. I reached over and stroked her forehead and told her I loved her and just relaxed.

After another few minutes, she was really asleep. However, I didn't want to jostle her, so I slowly rolled a little at a time, lowering one leg then the other to the ground. Now all I needed to do was roll my hips and torso over, and gracefully slide out and make my escape.

Gracefully? Not in my repertoire. I kind of lunged sideways and put my left hand down to catch myself. Listen folks, I'm 5'10" and weigh 180 pounds. I can't sugarcoat that. Catching myself on one hand was a bad, bad idea. I got that hand down, my full weight hit it, and I heard a sickening crunching, tearing sound from the thumb region. Not good.

I came out and immediately told The Man that I had seriously injured my thumb. I somehow rolled/squished it, and I couldn't tell what the actual damage was. He asked a bunch of questions and with help of the World Wide Web, diagnosed me with a dislocated thumb. He told me how to get it back into place, and I calmly and reasonably told him to eff off and punched him with my good hand. Not really, but I couldn't bear to put it back into place myself, so he had to do it.

Dr. The Man rocks, by the way. He got me all fixed up with ice, Ibuprofen and the remote control. Then promptly went to bed so he wouldn't have to listen to my complaining.

Did I mention it was my left thumb and that I'm left handed? My WHOLE day has been a struggle to cope with using my off hand. And have you tried pulling up your pants one handed? Not so easy.

However, I still went mini golfing with Loodle, and I kicked her ASS.

Why, I Never! Except That One Time...

So I took Loodle to McDonalds today for a wholesome lunch. By wholesome I mean, go play with other kids so I can feel better about napping while you were on the computer this morning.

As I sat outside in the play area eating my grilled chicken salad Big Mac and fries, I saw a girl open the door of her SUV, blow some smoke from her cigarette and casually knock a grocery bag full of trash out into the parking lot. I kept watching, and after a few moments, she got out and, casually again, kicked the bag under the van next to her. She looked around to see if anyone was watching, and I couldn't tell if she noticed me or not from across the parking lot.

Hmmm, what to do. My first instinct was to yell "Hey! There are trash cans right over here! Stop destroying our beautiful McDonald's with your filth!" However, I was in the middle of the play area and didn't want to startle the kids. I could get up, walk out to her and confront her, but I'd have to leave Loodle there by herself. Or I could sit in silent judgement.

Door #3 it is. I sat there fuming. What gall to throw a full bag of trash on the ground when you're right outside a restaurant that has lots of trash cans available. Sure, it's about 937 degrees out, but you can walk that far. You're young, and it'll do your nicotine clogged lungs some good.

Some people. As I sat and harrumphed to Judgy McJudgerson myself that I would NEVER do that, I suddenly remembered a particular outing at the mall in Los Angeles. I parked, foolishly, on the top deck of the parking structure on a blindingly hot day, and had one of the girls with me. She was a baby at the time, and as we made our way to the van to go home and nap, I smelled that smell we all recognize. Code brown, DefCon 1, a stinker has landed.

I got to the van and discovered it was everywhere: on her, her clothes and the stroller. I luckily had supplies to clean her up, wipe down the stroller and change her outfit. However, by the time all of this was completed, I was dripping in sweat, the baby was screaming bloody murder and I was done. I had shoved everything in a plastic bag and instead of dragging the baby out of her carseat and trying to find a trash can, I casually dropped it on the pavement next to the van, got in and drove away, never looking back.

I hadn't thought about that in quite a while, but I'm pretty sure God shoved it to the forefront to teach me a lesson.

STOP GOING TO McDONALDS.

Cinderella

Yesterday morning as I drove Boodle to school, we were listening to the local Christian music station, and Stephen Curtis Chapman's "Cinderella" came on. She had never heard it and thought the chorus was cute. I personally think the song is pretty sappy, but I can listen to it without hurling.

She got out of the van, clutching her gold medal that she got from gymnastics the day before and the book I bought her entitled "Diary of a Wimpy Kid". She couldn't wait to show these off at school. She left with such a happy, contented look on her face. This kid, who has struggled so much lately with school, who has just in the last two weeks been able to get her confidence back, heading into school with a spring in her step. I hardly recognize her.

I cried on the way home, thinking how proud I am of her, and how lucky I am to be able to be with her to see her triumphs and to help her through her troubles. The song is really about dads and daughters, but still, it reminds me I should not take it all for granted, live each moment, blah blah blah insert corny life lesson here.

I got it together before I arrived home, and vowed not to share with The Man how I'd cried, partly over this song. I'd never hear the end of it.

I was going to write this post this morning, and then I awoke to this story:

Christian Singer's Daughter Killed In Car Accident

What a sad, tragic thing to have happened, and what new meaning it gives to this song for their family. Pray for them, particularly his son. The depths of his guilt I cannot even fathom.

Wordless Wednesday: Why I Love Photoshop

Boodle, Age 7

Fashion Tuesday: It's Clear Now Where She Gets It

To be completely fair, this was what Boodle picked out when dressing The Man for her younger sister's dance recital.

He went out in public like this, two days after the big procedure. He did remove the tie before we went to lunch at Cheesecake Factory. The Man has standards.

Some Thoughts on Yesterday's Event

1. One of the doctors in the group The Man went to is named Richard Choppe. Let that sit for a minute.

2. The nurse kept calling out this guy's name while we were waiting for The Man to be brought back: "Um, Mr. Nutt?"

3. The Man definitely needs to take some Xanax every once in awhile. Hi-larious.

4. Explaining The Procedure to the kids is... interesting. Loodle, at age 5 1/2, didn't get it at first when we explained that we didn't want any more kids. She began crying, having heard it as "We don't want kids anymore". Boodle, at almost 8, is just upset that she can't jump on The Man and get carried around for a few days.

What Could These Things Possibly Have In Common?

Hint #1: Scissors often are used to "snip" things


Hint #2: The green veggie is a Texas One Ball Zucchini


Hint #3: Frozen Peas can be... soothing when applied, um, places


Hint #4: The Man is home today.


Hint #5: I really, really meant this post

Shout out to mamaDB for the photo idea

Wordless Wednesday: Shouldn'ta Had That Second Sippy Cup

Fashion Tuesday: A Hair Retrospective

Having exhausted all her totally rad outfit choices, Loodle has given me no new material for Fashion Tuesday.

However, in going through some old photos, I remembered how crazy her hair was after birth. So, here's a tour through the first few years of her coiffured life.

Because of the brand new baby pics being on a non-functioning laptop, the tour shall begin at age 3 months.

Um, wow. I mean, wow. That's some tall hair. I assure you, no styling products were used in the raising of this baby.





Good God, kid. It's just getting taller.





When you can scare your father with one glimpse of that hair? Dude.





"You're making fun of me? But what can I DO?"





Ahhhhhh, it's finally gained so much weight that it's flopped over. Sweet.





Okay. Okay. I hear ya Loodle. I see where I've let things go a bit long. Something needs to be done.





"Well, now, I like the bangs for sure. And I'm feeling the little ponytail at the back. But it doesn't really POP, you know?"





"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"





Whew, double ponytails COULD NOT come at a better time.





Now we're back into the dangerous blah zone. It's not long. It's not short. There's no THERE there. It is bad enough to make one take refuge on a bench and get a good mad going. (That might have also been the result of an overzealous duck at the pond, but I'm mostly sure it's hair dissatisfaction)





Now THAT pops.

Happy Mother's Day

This lady:




I love her and am so glad she's around to help me figure out how to raise these two monkeys:







These two:




I'm so glad I'm around to be their mom.

Oh, He's Gonna Shave It Now For Sure

So, The Man got a haircut, but didn't shave it all off even though he would have been justified.

However, this happened to Boodle on Wednesday:



I'm pretty sure he's got ALL THE JUSTIFICATION HE NEEDS to shave his head. Two out of three ladies of the house with short hair. Luckily for him, Loodle INSISTS on having long hair and gets visibly upset when she spies someone with longer hair than she. She's weird.

I really like Boodle's haircut, and it has NOTHING to do with the fact that she told the hairstylist that she wanted it short so that she could look like me. Her hair is so full and thick and course that the longer it got the heavier it looked and the harder it was to manage. The back of her hair is layered really well and flips up really cute and one would think I photographed that but one would be wrong.

I think the stylist could have done a little more on the sides in the front, but when you go to a place where the chairs are in the form of vehicles, you get what you get and you don't get upset. Boodle LOVES LOVES LOVES her hair, and THAT is my favorite part.

Crooked Neck Giraffe

In my earlier post regarding my hair, as I was writing about my neck tilting, I was going to reference a giraffe that lives at the Santa Barbara Zoo that had a crooked neck. My hometown is nearby, so I saw this giraffe often.

As I searched for a link to Gemina so that I could write some kind of funny comparison, I found out that she died in January. Damn that makes me sad. I hadn't realized that she was 21 years old. I remember when she came to the zoo as a two year old, which means I started visiting her when I was 17.

Soon after she went on display at the zoo they had to put a special board near the enclosure to educate zoo goers about her neck deformity. So many people were alarmed and tried to bring it to the zoo's attention that they got tired of saying she was FINE.

She WAS fine, and grew right along with the other giraffes, even giving birth. Every time we visited the zoo we had to make sure we saw her and marveled at just how crooked her neck was but how well she got along despite that.

It will be bittersweet to go back to the zoo when I visit home and not see her there.

Wordless Wednesday: The Baby Who Hated the Red Eye Light on Our Camera

Happy Birthday Captain

Happy birthday Grandpa!



You're 92 years young today. You're still driving, which is awesome and a bit scary at the same time.

You're not my Grandpa by blood, but you're the only one I've truly known. You were with Grandma for 41 years, and as I've said before, it gave me great joy to introduce you to friends as my Grandma's boyfriend. I can't imagine the pain you went through at the end of her life, and what you're still coping with, but your strength through it all has shown me what true love and devotion looks like.

I love hearing about the latest thing you learned from Scientific American, and hope that if I'm around when I'm 92, I'm still trying to learn something new every day.

Although we endlessly tease you about your stock market schemes, we know that it keeps your mind sharp.

Thank you for your service. I still don't know the full story of your ship being hit in World War II. I know you lost your room mate and your best friend in one horrible moment. I cannot imagine how you kept going, but you continued to serve our country with honor. I cannot say thank you enough.

I dread the day that you move up to Oregon to be closer to your actual family, because you are such a part of ours that the void you leave will be immeasurable, and will not ever be filled. I fear that once you're up there, because of time and distance, we won't see you again, and I can't even think about that right now.

I can't wait until we visit in June and I can give you a big hug. I want to hear all about how much money you've made/lost in the stock market, how the damn Democrats are ruining things, and what the Legion is serving for dinner on Friday night. You've got a date for June 27th, and don't be late.

I love you. Happy birthday.

Fashion Tuesday: One of These Things Is Not Like the Other Things

One of these things just doesn't belong:

'Cuz I'm Cre8tive

When you are battling what is either food poisoning or psychosomatic stomach issues relating to not wanting to go to the gym, here is a suggestion for how to occupy your five-year-old:



Blanket fort + Animal Crossing on the Wii + Teddy Grahams = Awesome 1 Hour Nap for BD

Nausea + frequent bathroom trips = Poor housekeeping + crappy photos for you

I've Got Principles!!

I was reading this entry on Dad Gone Mad's blog and was reminded of what a dorky, dorky kid I was.

My fan mail experience began and ended with The Bionic Woman. Lindsay Wagner was my idol back in the day. The Bionic Woman was from Ojai, California which is near my hometown. She was a tennis professional and was engaged to The Six Million Dollar Man, which to me at 7 meant she was set for life. She survived a near fatal sky diving accident and came out with all this cool stuff, only to be killed off and then RESURRECTED and given her own show, complete with amnesia so they could explain why she was no longer with the 6M$man. How do you not worship this woman?

Well I did. I wrote to her and told her how much I loved her and I even had her doll that had the removable bionic parts in her arm and legs. I received info to join her fan club and faster than a speeding bullet I sent away for my official membership card. Soon after, my club swag package arrived and I ripped it open with great joy.

However, I discovered something which shook me to my core. Something which would challenge my basic principles and cause me to question all I believed in. Included in my package was an 8 x 10 glossy of Lindsay Wagner as The Bionic Woman. Brace yourselves. She. was. showing. cleavage.

I KNOW. I was horrified, too! My 7 year old self was so offended that The Bionic Woman would send out this PORNOGRAPHIC image that I wrote them AGAIN and canceled my membership to her fan club.

I was a child of principle, unwilling to support a character that was so obviously attempting to corrupt me and my fellow second graders. I would NOT stand by and allow my standards to be compromised.

I WAS A HUGE DORK!

Don't worry, though. I soon moved on. I distinctly remember that this phase was followed by the Shaun Cassidy phase, which was the epitome of cool. I even had a jigsaw puzzle of him that I spent many afternoons with. However, my principles had already been compromised, as he was showing just as much cleavage as The Bionic Woman.

I'm Getting Prouder and Prouder of My New Home State

See, we've got guys like this here in Texas, and you just can't beat that kind of initiative.

A heart of gold is what he's got. He's just looking for a little seed money for his record business. Just a little to get it off the ground, something with about 10 zeros should do the trick. Maybe rent a little office space, get a desk and a chair. Used laptop. He's gonna sign the next Alan Jackson, I'm sure of it.

I'm really rooting for him.