And So It Begins

Last night, I uttered for the first time the words I've been dreading:

"BOODLE, GET OFF THE PHONE!"

Lord help us all.

Evening at the Park

One of our new activities as a family is to go to a park after The Man gets off work and have a picnic dinner, and then watch him play basketball with some guys from local companies. It's a tradition that dates all the way back to two Tuesdays ago.

Today, we started with this conversation:

Random ball player during a break: "Ma'am, do you have a watch on?"

Me: "Yeah, it's 6:40pm. And don't call me ma'am."

RBPDAB: (laughter) "Sorry, I'm from the southeast."

Me: "You can call me darlin' or honey, just not ma'am."

RBPDAB: "Well, which one's your husband? I don't wanna get in trouble."

Me: "Yeah, he's pretty big."

RBPDAB: "We'll just call him Mr. Ma'am then."

And they did for the rest of the evening.

I brought my camera and as soon as the girls saw it, I was met with two different reactions. This:


Or this:



(Please notice the razor sharp bangs that the girls got today at the kid's cut place. I'm so proud.)

Boodle finally wandered off and commandeered someone's basketball, and soon the girls were giving it a go.




This is what occurs when we don't take turns.
(It's a big stinkin' pout, btw)

Here, The Man has decided to shoot around with them and give them some pointers.

I don't think they're too receptive, do you?

Wordless Wednesday: Lock the Cabinet Doors Next Time You're Taking Care of the Neighbor's Cat

"Dude. It's about time."

Playing Catch Up

I've got several posts backed up in my mind, so I'm going to do my best this week to crank them out so I can breathe again. Wow, that sounded ominous, like I'm about to unload some serious, heart-wrenching stories.

Let me restate: I just downloaded all my recent photos from my camera, and I'm hitting my forehead repeatedly, saying "oh yeah, I meant to write about that!" There, that doesn't sound so dire.

And away we go, with pics circa two Saturdays ago of Boodle's dance recital. Actually, I took only 7 photos and got the rest on video because how boring are still photos of hip hop dancers?

Here's Boodle with the rest of her Hip Hop class:


So shiny!

And here's where I would insert the video I took of the two dances she did, except I'm a total loser and can't figure out how to get the video from my camera onto the computer and then into Blogger without injuring my laptop with my fist, so just imagine the awesome dance stylings of hesitant 9 year olds.

And then. Then, we discover what happens when grassy hillsides suffer torrential morning downpours and are combined with a dad who picks up his 86 pound daughter and attempts to traverse said hillside with her on his arm:



Luckily this happened AFTER the recital, as Boodle's outfit was TOAST. Hence the bare shoulder and blanket. And no, I didn't take photos of Boodle SCREAMING bloody murder in the middle of the parking lot, while The Man tried not to laugh. What kind of heartless mother am I?

One who kinda forgot that was an option

Scenes From an Elementary School

Scene 1:

Standing in the hallway, waiting to have lunch with Loodle. Her good friend's class files toward the lunch room, and I surreptitiously lean out to give her a high five. Not realizing that the rest of Good Friend's class and Loodle's class see this, I am then assaulted by 25 more high fives, of ever increasing violence enthusiasm. Thanking my lucky stars that I'm a lefty, as my right hand is now ON FIRE.

Scene 2:

Eating lunch with Boodle and her friends. I ask what she did today, and she tells me of a play she and three friends wrote in Theater Arts. It involved forest animals. Loodle: "I'm a squirrel and my friends are helping me find my nuts." The 12 year old boy in me struggles hard not to laugh.

Scene 3:

Eating lunch with Loodle's Kindergarten class. Girl next to me asks me how many Nintendo DS I think she has. I guess 47, 12, 4 and then 2 which was the correct answer. When I asked her why she's got two, she replies matter of factly, "my parents broke up, so at Christmas my dad bought me one and then I got another one from my mom." Heart breaking into tiny pieces for this little 5 year old.

Scene 4:

On the playground with Loodle and her friends after lunch. She is standing in front of a tree, and starts rubbing her back against the tree, and I tell her that elephants do that, also cows on fenceposts. Her friend, a VERY energetic little boy who spilled his water bottle at lunch in a most unfortunate place, goes over to the tree and begins to rub his back. And rub. And say things like "oh, yeah", "oh, that's it" and "oh mama". Flash to me, VERY uncomfortable, saying "hey, let's play TAG!!!".

I Know Her Secret

You know Victoria? Yeah, I figured out her secret, and if you're a man, avert your eyes and go look at sports scores, because I'm going to talk about bras now.

Okay, see here's the thing. Victoria's secret is that if you are one of the 94% of women who do not have an ideal breast/body shape, you can just F*@# off and die. (Sorry mother-in-law who reads my blog faithfully. As my grandmother said once, sometimes the "F" word is the only one that fits.)

I spent an extremely frustrating half hour in Victoria's Secret today, attempting to find a bra that would wrangle the ladies appropriately. As you know, I'm not a small woman, and I bore two gargantuan children who wanted me to actually feed them from MY BODY. I was successful with the second kid at this task, and was left with a chest that has drifted decidedly south, east and west. Gravity is my bosom buddy. Ahahahahahahaha. Whew, that was really stupid. I'm sorry. Moving on.

I discovered after trying on 12 (TWELVE) bras in varying fits and sizes, that Victoria, in her infinite wisdom, cannot help the likes of me and my penchant for back fat and creating 4 boobs out of 2, if you know what I mean (and if you're a woman who's ever struggled with an ill fitting bra, YOU DO). I even went up to the DD size to see if that helped, but no, I can't claim porn star proportions yet. Plus, the SALE bra I tried on in vain was $30. I must be destined for those full FULL coverage, matronly bras that don't jive well with summer tank tops and camisoles.

I left dejected, but soon my day would turn around. I had one more stop to make. A place that understands me, and caters to women JUST LIKE ME. That place is Walmart.

I kid you not. I found 3 bras that fit me very comfortably and did not require more than a yard of material to construct. That Wally sure knows how regular women can be shaped. The best part? $14 each. Plus, where else can you pick up the ice cream cones and hamster bedding that were also on your list?

(I'm sorry for all the poor, underpaid, poorly compensated employees and overseas workers that I just took advantage of today. But you have to understand. Boobs. Boobs were at stake. Forgive me.

Wordless Wednesday: Killer Bunny In My Yard

**Note: I was standing still in one place during this entire sequence




For a minute there, I thought I was in for this:

Music and Lyrics

Over the last year, our girls have been phasing out listening to kids' music, focusing more on tween and adult fare. They still love Hannah Montana and the Jonas Brothers, but more and more they request one of the mix CD's that I've created for use in the van.

This leads to several issues. One, I'm now having to explain what certain lyrics are referring to. How to explain, for instance, what "Can you turn my black roses red?" or "Big girls don't cry" or "No more dating, I'm just waiting" mean to a girl who is big and indeed cries but has no concept what "black roses" and "waiting" are. They're learning a lot about heartache, but I'm hoping I'm tempering it with my "YOU would never choose a boy who treated you like this, right?" lecture.

Going further, listening to your 4 year old belt out "She's my cherry pie" or "Thnks Fr Th Mmrs, he, he tastes like you, but sweeter" gets a little uncomfortable, especially when they start singing it a cappella in the grocery store at full volume.

Now, our latest challenge has been songs with actual bad words in them. The girls, at 6 and almost 9, are aware of some, and that we're trying to shield them from the worst of it. They used to think that "stupid" was their nastiest word, but they know what damn, hell, ass and crap are. I'm sure they've heard worse at school, but that's not MY fault, right? Right?

Anyway, I had my iPod loaded up with some hard rock songs for use during workouts at the gym, and Boodle has been listening to it in the van at various times. I knew there was one particular song by the Flobots that didn't have bad words, but the ending has a possible offensive part that I didn't want to expose her to. I've told the kids in the past that this song was not for them, and I'd skip it if it came on or alternately fast forward at the ending. So I told Boodle if she heard that one start, just skip it.

Today I went to charge the iPod, and since Boodle has been listening to it, I thought I'd change the songs, or at least take out the one that was offensive. Here's where my aforementioned good parenting skills come in. There were at least 10 songs on the list that, had I sat down to load the iPod with her in mind, I would have rejected outright.

It contained 3 songs with the "F" word, 3 with the "S" word, and 4 with hell or damn in them. She's been listening to this iPod off and on for at least two weeks, and I find it hard to believe that she's not heard ALL of these songs in that time.

I truly amaze myself sometimes with my spectacular parenting failures. I might as well buy her some ganster rap for her birthday.

Men in Tights Followup

So, as a follow up to Thursday's post about the bet involving men in women's clothing, The Man was not in fact one of them. Apparently, the bet was to go three weeks without drinking any alcohol, and the none of the three guys made it. That should give you an indication as to the level of risk involved in this undertaking.

I think the original consequence of losing was to eat an entire cherry-sized ball of wasabi, which dude, that's QUITE a consequence. The first guy was able to do it, although I'm sure it was not without much pain and regret. Apparently, the two dress wearing fellows saw this and decided they could not handle it, so the second idea was born.

The Man was unable to secure permission for me to post these guys' pictures on the web, but the one he sent me, showing them seated at a restaurant (!) for lunch was pretty awesome, albeit blurry and poorly lit. They were of course wearing jackets in the 95 degree heat to try and cover up as much as possible. Good times.

I wonder if they learned anything from this challenge, other than Ross Dress for Less really DOES have great clothes at discount prices.

Germs Suck and So Do I

**Warning to MamaDB: Please go somewhere else and read a story about puppies and rainbows, because I'm gonna talk about that thing you don't like**



Is she gone?


Good.

Last week, an email went around our neighborhood yahoo group regarding hand sanitizers and alcohol poisoning. Someone thought they'd seen an earlier email that was debunked by snopes, but this one appeared to be true. I have become the arbiter of all things urban legend on this group, because I got tired of reading how Swiffer wipes can kill your dog, so I would "reply to all" with a link to Snopes, hoping the original sender didn't find me snarky and come TP my house that night.

They asked me what the deal was, and after I checked on Snopes, I replied with the following:

"I don't remember the original email you're referring to, but I would trust Snopes and your own common sense on this one. Don't allow your child to use the stuff unattended, and monitor them after use to make sure they don't lick it off. Also, don't use half the bottle in one go. :)

Personally, I don't subscribe to the Sanitize Everything school of thought. We use anti-bacterial soap in the kitchen for food-borne bacteria, but nowhere else. I'm old school, head in the sand some might say, and believe that building up my kids' immune systems by exposing them to good and bad bacteria is what keeps them from getting sick much (that statement guarantees we catch every bug that comes through Steiner in the next 4 months). That doesn't mean we don't clean the house with bacteria killing stuff, but that's about it. I am chagrined to admit we rarely have the girls wash their hands before meals. I'm also the mom who stood by and let her daughter eat dirt when she was 1 if that gives you any indication of my laid back attitude. That's good parenting right there."

Ha ha, aren't I smug and lighthearted and carefree?

Yeah, that was Thursday, and on Saturday, Boodle woke up with a red, itchy eye, which proceeded to get worse as the day wore on. We, of course, still took her to her Hip Hop dance recital, because hello, good parenting continues.

After buying some questionable homeopathic drops to stave off a trip to the urgent care hellhole on a Saturday night, I was awoken this morning at 5am with a crying, crusty-eyed kid in pain. One blissfully easy trip to the urgent care on SUNDAY later, and we're confirmed to have Conjunctivitis, (pink eye) are in possession of a bottle of eye drop antibiotic, and are waiting to see how else God shall chuckle at me and my blase attitude and poor hygiene habits.

(I'll spare you a photo of the afflicted eye, because ew.)

I'm Gonna Need Some Pictures

I got a phone call from The Man today at lunchtime. Here's how it went:

The Man: Hey babe, I need some womanly advice from you.

Me: Oooo-kay.

TM: A couple of guys at work lost a bet and they have to wear dressed to work tomorrow. Where should they go? For like, dresses that are nice but not too expensive?

Me: Ross. Ross Dress for Less. The one by the mall.

TM: Okay, thanks.

Me: And you're gonna need to borrow my camera tomorrow.

TM: Yeah, I might do that.

Me: Yeah, you are.


I'm counting on an awesome follow-up post, complete with details and pictures. In discussing it with The Man, I was informed that my photographic skills might finally pay off if he has me come in to take the actual photos tomorrow.

Wordless Wednesday: The Obligatory Return From California Post

Wherein I bemoan the fact that these women do not live withing screaming distance of me, and that it's ALL MY FAULT.

(Please note: many of these people are not nearly this blurry in person, and I don't know nearly enough about my flash and aperture settings.)

Hamilton the Hamster: Living the Dream

Stupid hamster, is what we've affectionately called Hamilton since we got him. I even wrote a post about him a while back when he escaped the first time.

Now, I'm convinced he's a genius. The first time he escaped, we had no idea where he'd gotten to. He just showed up back in his cage through the door we left open.

A week ago, I heard a rustling in the pantry while the girls were at school. Assuming it was a venomous snake, or a vicious tarantula, I called The Man at work to make sure someone could hear my last dying breath. While I was waiting for him to answer, it occurred to me that it could be a hamster, and upon checking cages, found Hamilton's door wide open. Sure enough, he'd made his way into the pantry and had set up shop inside a 12-pack box of Diet Coke. Discerning taste.

He had also managed to clean up a fair amount of Cheerios, almonds, Goldfish and Rice Crispies that have been residing on the floor of my pantry for the past two years couple weeks since I've mopped the floors. He looked pretty fat and sassy to me, and no worse for wear after his latest adventure.

Fast forward to this evening, when I began searching again for Hamilton the escaped hamster, who'd been missing since last night. We left his cage out all day, to no avail. I put the kids to bed tonight, Boodle in tears that she'd lost her hamster yet again. I got out a flashlight and started searching in earnest. I decided to check the pantry again, and who should I find there? Indeed, Hamilton had once again taken up residence, looking proud and well satisfied.

He's a genius, I tell you. At least I know next time, and oh Lordy I'm sure there will be a next time, the unending source of contraband food is the first place I'll look.

Wordless Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday

I'm in California starting tonight, and I'll be seeing her and her! I'll leave you with this gem, as it's always good to remember no matter how bad things get, someone else has got it worse.

A Clear Sign the Other White Meat Flu Hysteria Has Gone Too Far

This news item.

I don't even know what to say. A single pig in the entire country? In a ZOO? And they QUARANTINED him? As The Man put it: "I understand these words individually, but all together they're confusing."

Of course, when I asked him why they didn't have pigs there, he said: "Because of a million year old book", so take his mental aptitude for what it's worth.

----------

As a postscript, I imagine Marjan the lion lived out his toothless, sightless days with the satisfaction and memory of killing that stupid, stupid fighter.

Amazing Cyclist

Okay, so it seems my last video link, sent to me by The Man, was not appreciated by some.

*cough* Sister in Law *cough*.

So here's another one he sent me today. Despite what it seems in the beginning, it is not a series of failed attempts at awesome. It is a completely successful awesome. Wait, what? Never mind. Just watch.

PS - I KNOW it's five and a half minutes long. DEAL.

Photo Ops Missed

1. Self-portrait: me giving a hamster covered in lip gloss a bath, after someone thought it was a good idea to get gussied up and smooch a rodent. No worries about swine flu around here. Just hamster plague.

2. Me getting my toe caught in one of the little openings in the side of a laundry basket as I went to go fold clothes, losing my balance, falling face first on the couch, breaking my medic alert bracelet and barely avoiding taking out The Man's laptop.

3. The look on my face when Boodle, in response to some obviously stupid thing I said, replying with "O-M-G Mom", wherein she actually SPELLED OMG at me. Please remind me of this harmless, amusing exchange when I'm here bitching and moaning about teenagers in a few years.

4. Loodle getting her ears pierced today, for which she's been saving for two months. I missed this one because we got all the way to the mall and inside the store, before she turned to me and solemnly admitted, "I'm just not ready, Mom." I admire her bravery and willingness to admit her fear.

5. Me, snuggling in Boodle's bed with her, after I read three chapters of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory to she and her sister before bedtime. She fell asleep holding my hand, which is unbelievably rare.

6. Loodle still awake now in her room, bedside light "secretly" on, continuing to read Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, her curiosity burning that brightly.

Goal = Achieved

VICTORY!!!!

Today was official weigh in day in the great Fit and Forty Challenge. The inspiration for this challenge was Muffin Top, and what did she do to get out of it? Got PREGNANT. Considering The Man had the chop suey last year, my chances of escaping in that manner were slim to none.

I'm attributing my success to the well-timed stomach virus that pushed me over the hump. I officially lost 12 pounds in 10 weeks. Whoo hoo!

Now the bad news: we're doing another challenge. This time I have to lose 5 pounds by July 1st. Doesn't sound that hard, but so far I've been pretty happy with the exercise/diet program I've got myself on, which allows me to still eat some of my favorite foods, albeit in smaller quantities. This next challenge is going to require a greater level of painful deprivation commitment, even though I'm trying to lose less weight this time.

We're going to be taking new pictures of ourselves in our bathing suits. Last time we took them in the stark light of the hallway, The Man's lack of photography skills cutting me off at the shins. I'm thinking a backyard nature setting this time, in more flattering light, perhaps with me in repose. I just have this feeling that I'm going to want my pasty-white, semi-flabby skin to look it's best when I end up half a pound shy of my next goal.