So, my 5-year-old is in preschool, right? "Pre-K Plus" is what they call his class. Basically, there are 15 kids in the class and 2 of them are taking it as their actual Kindergarten requirement. So, he's getting a Kindergarten education a year early.
Sounds great, right? I thought so. That's why I signed him up for it (brilliant, aren't I?)!
I love his school. I love his teacher, I love all the teachers in the school. I love the school's principles, I love the school's principal. I just love this school. He comes home every day, excited to tell me what he's learned. I mean, he's learned the solar system, fercryinoutloud. The school is awesome.
Today was no different. We went out to lunch afterward and, after he told me about how he played basketball in gym, he asked to practice his letters. I handed over my notebook and pen and off he went. He practiced his name, he drew some pictures of tornadoes (it's raining here today) and then we played the "Mom, how do you spell..." game.
You know, the English language is dumb. (Even dumb is spelled wrong. Why can't it just be dum? Or do we just pronounce it wrong? Man, that's dumB. I'm going to try that for a little while - see where it gets me. DumBie.) My 5-year-old knows all his letters and the sounds they make, so spelling should come quite naturally, right?
WRONG.
This is how the conversation went:
Him: Mom, how do you spell "zebra"?
Me: Sound it out. What makes the "zuh" sound? (I know, I should've been a teacher, mIright?)
Him: Z?
Me: Good! What makes the "eeeee" sound? (Okay, I practically gave him that one, but whatever.)
Him: E?
Me: Great! What makes the "buh"...
You get the idea.
But then this happened:
Him: How do you spell "spoon"?
Me: What makes the "sssss" sound?
Him: C?
Me: Well, yes, but very rarely. It also makes a "kuh" sound. What else makes the "sssss" sound?
Him: S?
Me: Yep!
And then this:
Him: How do you spell "cup"?
Me: What makes the "kuh" sound?
Him: K?
Me: Well, yes. What else? (Read: I just taught you this a few minutes ago; if you have forgotten, read the above example. Go on. Read.)
Him: C?
Me: Great!
And THEN this!
Him: Mom, how do you spell "kite"?
Me: What makes the "kuh" sound?
Him: C?
See how damdifficult this is? Why does his version seem more logical than what's correct?
DumB language.
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Monday, April 8, 2013
The longest month. Ever.
March has always been my least favorite month. It’s cold, it’s hot, it is cold. Again.
The first day the weather finally breaks, I always get so excited. I’m ready to take the outdoor furniture out
of hibernation, transfer my winter clothes to
hibernation, spend every waking second in the glorious sunshine.
And then it snows again.
Sonofa.
To top it off, my family insists on waiting until the last possible second of the cold and flu season to actually contract the colds and flus. I always get my hopes up, thinking we got out of the season unscathed, only to find that we get run over by the Sickness Truck in March.
This March, in particular, had been especially long because the viruses themselves last so long. Aren’t stomach viruses just supposed to last a day or 2? What is this recurrence shit?? It has been going on in my house for over a month and I am FED UP.
I have a bit of Emetophobia. And when I say “bit”, I really mean, “a big honkin’ dose of it”. Last winter, I rushed my family out the back door of our elementary school during a movie night because some kid got sick. I. Just. Can’t. Deal.
Which, of course, makes me an epic failure as a parent.
And? It didn’t matter anyway because we all ended up with it. And, lucky me, I got both the stomach virus and the regular flu all in the same month (of course, it was March) last year. It was awesome.
But, it’s the waiting for it that I can’t handle. Because, once we do contract the stomach virus, I go into Military Commander mode. I prep the patient’s quarters, I wait a safe amount of hours before beginning the BRAT diet, I clean the house like a machine. I clean each. individual. Lego. piece. I am prepared. In control.
Exhausted.
Why can’t we just skip it? Just one year?
Now that it’s April, you think we’d be done with the damillnesses. But noooooooooooo. Because my husband woke up this morning sick.
It’s enough to make you cry.
And what did I do about that (because I'm a loving, wonderful wife)? Did I:
A. Hug him, and (with tears in my eyes) tell him he'll feel better soon, give him a Gatorade and quietly tell the boys to steer clear of their father while slowly backing out of the room?
B. Yell at him for going through 4 bottles of wine with my family last night, which, in turn, made him sick this morning and, in turn, made me late for work because I had to get the boys ready?
If you picked A, you don't know me very well.
Fine, I did B. You know why? Because I have to believe it's a hangover in order to feel safe in my own home again. I am D.O.N.E.
But, I did give him a Gatorade and blew him a kiss (from the other side of the house) before we left. I'm not that much of an asshat.
So, even though it’s technically the second week of April, I’m going to continue thinking it’s March until this mother lovin’ virus has left my house for good. I really really don’t want to go to prison for making my family drink Lysol.
And then it snows again.
Sonofa.
To top it off, my family insists on waiting until the last possible second of the cold and flu season to actually contract the colds and flus. I always get my hopes up, thinking we got out of the season unscathed, only to find that we get run over by the Sickness Truck in March.
This March, in particular, had been especially long because the viruses themselves last so long. Aren’t stomach viruses just supposed to last a day or 2? What is this recurrence shit?? It has been going on in my house for over a month and I am FED UP.
I have a bit of Emetophobia. And when I say “bit”, I really mean, “a big honkin’ dose of it”. Last winter, I rushed my family out the back door of our elementary school during a movie night because some kid got sick. I. Just. Can’t. Deal.
Which, of course, makes me an epic failure as a parent.
And? It didn’t matter anyway because we all ended up with it. And, lucky me, I got both the stomach virus and the regular flu all in the same month (of course, it was March) last year. It was awesome.
But, it’s the waiting for it that I can’t handle. Because, once we do contract the stomach virus, I go into Military Commander mode. I prep the patient’s quarters, I wait a safe amount of hours before beginning the BRAT diet, I clean the house like a machine. I clean each. individual. Lego. piece. I am prepared. In control.
Exhausted.
Why can’t we just skip it? Just one year?
Now that it’s April, you think we’d be done with the damillnesses. But noooooooooooo. Because my husband woke up this morning sick.
It’s enough to make you cry.
And what did I do about that (because I'm a loving, wonderful wife)? Did I:
A. Hug him, and (with tears in my eyes) tell him he'll feel better soon, give him a Gatorade and quietly tell the boys to steer clear of their father while slowly backing out of the room?
B. Yell at him for going through 4 bottles of wine with my family last night, which, in turn, made him sick this morning and, in turn, made me late for work because I had to get the boys ready?
If you picked A, you don't know me very well.
Fine, I did B. You know why? Because I have to believe it's a hangover in order to feel safe in my own home again. I am D.O.N.E.
But, I did give him a Gatorade and blew him a kiss (from the other side of the house) before we left. I'm not that much of an asshat.
So, even though it’s technically the second week of April, I’m going to continue thinking it’s March until this mother lovin’ virus has left my house for good. I really really don’t want to go to prison for making my family drink Lysol.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Why do we do this to ourselves?
It's the night before Valentine's
and all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring...
Except for the idiot motherwho waited until the last possible second whose mind is a-whirring,
And eyes are a-blurring,
And, because of the wine, her speech is a-slurring.
I had every intention to get on top of things this year. Because I suck at this stuff, I usually find myself the night before Valentine's Day, cajoling a whining child to sign his name to 25 Valentines. I really really appreciate that Target sells these nice (read: easy) little Valentine ensembles, with the candy already included. All the kid has to do is sign. his. name. Easy, right?
Wrong.
How hard is it to sign a damn name? Good grief, you'd think I was asking him to sign his life over to the Dark Side or something.
At this point, he'd probably rather do that.
This year, my darling sister (love her!) wanted to do something cute with the older kids. Homemade Valentines! Because, at this age, what kid doesn't like homemade... anything, really? Forget the box of Star Wars Valentines with the glow-in-the-dark light sabers! Or the ones with Fun Dip. Kids don't like candy!
To be fair, the Valentines she made for the 8-year-old were adorable. They're space-themed, each kid gets a bouncy ball (that represents a planet). Neat, right?
Again, wrong.
For one thing, the dambouncy balls don't stay put. So, we had to tape them in. Guess what? We ran out of tape (from 2 tape dispensers). So, I told him to just shove the balls in their holes (wow, ew) and, if they come out before he hands out his Valentines, he can just stick them back in. I mean, what else can we do? He's not happy, but that's what you get with homemade.
Reminder for next year: Go. To. Target.
Additionally, I'm the mom helper for the 5-year-old's Valentine's Day party. Great, right?
I spoke with the other mom helper and we agreed to divide and conquer. She was going to come up with a game, I was going to get a craft. We would split the snacks.
About a day ago Last week 2 weeks ago, I finally got around to checking checked out my old friend, Pinterest (still love that Pinterest!) for a craft idea. I was sure I'd find something quick and easy. But, you know, life happens (read: I got lost in the Hunger Games trilogy) and I had to beg my sister to find the quick and easy something for me. And, of course, she did (bless her). All it takes is some paper plates, construction paper, googly eyes and glue. I can do this. I have paper plates. I have construction paper. I know I have googly eyes in the house. Somewhere.
Of course, I can't find the dameyes. I still had to get the damsnack for the party (damn you, Hunger Games [said while shaking fist]!), so I dragged the boys out shopping tonight after dinner (after I wrapped up book #2). 2 hours, 3 stores, and no googly eyes later, I got home and called my mother. And? She had googly eyes! And? Since my brother was already over there, she had him drop them off! But? Her eyes aren't the sticker ones. Which means, of course, they won't stick with any amount of glue, I don't care what anyone says.
Big sigh.
I still have to cut out the body parts for this stupid craft that the little people can unsuccessfully glue onto their plates, pack up everyone's valentines into their respective bags, make sure I put the party snacks somewhere I won't forget (which, most likely, won't work and I'll have to turn around in the morning to get them, thereby not allowing me a Starbucks before school) and still find something red for everyone to wear tomorrow. Because we've got that lovin' feeling!
Happy damValentine's Day!
and all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring...
Except for the idiot mother
And eyes are a-blurring,
And, because of the wine, her speech is a-slurring.
I had every intention to get on top of things this year. Because I suck at this stuff, I usually find myself the night before Valentine's Day, cajoling a whining child to sign his name to 25 Valentines. I really really appreciate that Target sells these nice (read: easy) little Valentine ensembles, with the candy already included. All the kid has to do is sign. his. name. Easy, right?
Wrong.
How hard is it to sign a damn name? Good grief, you'd think I was asking him to sign his life over to the Dark Side or something.
At this point, he'd probably rather do that.
This year, my darling sister (love her!) wanted to do something cute with the older kids. Homemade Valentines! Because, at this age, what kid doesn't like homemade... anything, really? Forget the box of Star Wars Valentines with the glow-in-the-dark light sabers! Or the ones with Fun Dip. Kids don't like candy!
To be fair, the Valentines she made for the 8-year-old were adorable. They're space-themed, each kid gets a bouncy ball (that represents a planet). Neat, right?
Again, wrong.
For one thing, the dambouncy balls don't stay put. So, we had to tape them in. Guess what? We ran out of tape (from 2 tape dispensers). So, I told him to just shove the balls in their holes (wow, ew) and, if they come out before he hands out his Valentines, he can just stick them back in. I mean, what else can we do? He's not happy, but that's what you get with homemade.
Reminder for next year: Go. To. Target.
Additionally, I'm the mom helper for the 5-year-old's Valentine's Day party. Great, right?
I spoke with the other mom helper and we agreed to divide and conquer. She was going to come up with a game, I was going to get a craft. We would split the snacks.
Of course, I can't find the dameyes. I still had to get the damsnack for the party (damn you, Hunger Games [said while shaking fist]!), so I dragged the boys out shopping tonight after dinner (after I wrapped up book #2). 2 hours, 3 stores, and no googly eyes later, I got home and called my mother. And? She had googly eyes! And? Since my brother was already over there, she had him drop them off! But? Her eyes aren't the sticker ones. Which means, of course, they won't stick with any amount of glue, I don't care what anyone says.
Big sigh.
I still have to cut out the body parts for this stupid craft that the little people can unsuccessfully glue onto their plates, pack up everyone's valentines into their respective bags, make sure I put the party snacks somewhere I won't forget (which, most likely, won't work and I'll have to turn around in the morning to get them, thereby not allowing me a Starbucks before school) and still find something red for everyone to wear tomorrow. Because we've got that lovin' feeling!
Happy damValentine's Day!
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Superpowers would be awesome
My
boys love movies about superheroes.
Superman, Batman, Iron Man (RDJ, call me!). Currently, our favorite is the Avengers. So, the other night at dinner, the boys and I
had a heated discussion about what superpowers we’d pick if we could.
5-year-old: I want to bwow tings up (naturally) or have supewspeed! I could get pwaces supewfast. Watch! (we watch him run from the kitchen to the family room and back.)
Me: Wow, that was superfast!
8-year-old (a little more mature): I’d like to fly. Or, actually, I'd rather control the elements.
Me (totally not mature): I’d like to be invisible! Or, oooooh, control minds!!
In my opinion, there are pros and cons to each of these powers. With great power comes great responsibility, mIright Spiderman?
Blowing things up
Pro: You can blow things up.
Con: You probably shouldn’t blow anything up. No matter how much your brother deserves it for stealing your Legos. It’s just not nice.
Superspeed
Pro: You can get to places, like Dairy Queen or Toys R Us, pretty fast.
Con: You run the chance of missing your exit on the highway. It’s a real pain in the rear (and illegal) to make U-turns and waiting for the next exit could take miles and, even though you’re superspeedy, you’re wasting all this time with U-turns and whatnot when you probably would’ve gotten there in the same amount of time had you just used your regular speed.
Flying
Pro: I mean, you can FLY. I’d never be afraid of an airplane again (unless, of course, said airplane was headed straight for me while I was flying).
Con: With the price of airline tickets these days, people would be begging you for rides everywhere.
Controlling the elements
Pro: Well, if he could make the sun shine all throughout the winter season, I’d be all for it.
Con: He already has the ability to create tornadoes through his bedroom, I don’t think I need any more destruction.
Invisibility
Pro: Who wouldn’t want this? Imagine being able to go wherever you wanted, whenever you wanted, without being noticed? Like Target? In the middle of the night? Awe. Some.
Con: You’d probably hear things about yourself you don’t really want to hear. “Lea isn’t funny” isn’t on my top 10 list of things I want to know about me.
Controlling minds
Pro: I could make anyone do what I wanted. I could make the boys clean up after themselves! I could make my husband see that my redecorating ideas are pure brilliance! (New kitchen floors are a great idea!) The world would listen to my every whim! Who needs shoelaces when velcro is so awesome! 4-day work weeks! Hibernation! Snickers as a food group (it has protein)! I could get my Starbucks for free! Every day! The world could be mine! Bwahaha!
Con: No. There is no con to this.
Who do you have to call to get one of these powers?
5-year-old: I want to bwow tings up (naturally) or have supewspeed! I could get pwaces supewfast. Watch! (we watch him run from the kitchen to the family room and back.)
Me: Wow, that was superfast!
8-year-old (a little more mature): I’d like to fly. Or, actually, I'd rather control the elements.
Me (totally not mature): I’d like to be invisible! Or, oooooh, control minds!!
In my opinion, there are pros and cons to each of these powers. With great power comes great responsibility, mIright Spiderman?
Blowing things up
Pro: You can blow things up.
Con: You probably shouldn’t blow anything up. No matter how much your brother deserves it for stealing your Legos. It’s just not nice.
Superspeed
Pro: You can get to places, like Dairy Queen or Toys R Us, pretty fast.
Con: You run the chance of missing your exit on the highway. It’s a real pain in the rear (and illegal) to make U-turns and waiting for the next exit could take miles and, even though you’re superspeedy, you’re wasting all this time with U-turns and whatnot when you probably would’ve gotten there in the same amount of time had you just used your regular speed.
Flying
Pro: I mean, you can FLY. I’d never be afraid of an airplane again (unless, of course, said airplane was headed straight for me while I was flying).
Con: With the price of airline tickets these days, people would be begging you for rides everywhere.
Controlling the elements
Pro: Well, if he could make the sun shine all throughout the winter season, I’d be all for it.
Con: He already has the ability to create tornadoes through his bedroom, I don’t think I need any more destruction.
Invisibility
Pro: Who wouldn’t want this? Imagine being able to go wherever you wanted, whenever you wanted, without being noticed? Like Target? In the middle of the night? Awe. Some.
Con: You’d probably hear things about yourself you don’t really want to hear. “Lea isn’t funny” isn’t on my top 10 list of things I want to know about me.
Controlling minds
Pro: I could make anyone do what I wanted. I could make the boys clean up after themselves! I could make my husband see that my redecorating ideas are pure brilliance! (New kitchen floors are a great idea!) The world would listen to my every whim! Who needs shoelaces when velcro is so awesome! 4-day work weeks! Hibernation! Snickers as a food group (it has protein)! I could get my Starbucks for free! Every day! The world could be mine! Bwahaha!
Con: No. There is no con to this.
Who do you have to call to get one of these powers?
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Decorating schmecorating
So,
my mother is celebrating a milestone birthday this weekend (I won’t tell you
which milestone birthday – you’re welcome, Mom). We decided to do it up good for her this
year by having a big party.
At my house. Awesome!
Last year, I had made a (rather long) list of all the cosmetic changes I wanted to make to the house over the course of… our lifetime. I understand the rule of doing it one room at a time and I have been pretty good at doing that (read: basically, I do nothing), but now that I had a reason to make the house look nice, I wanted to do that. In all rooms. Like, yesterday.
Because, as you know, when the prospect of new people coming to my house is upon me, I go into a frenzy of cleaning/redecorating/blowtorch-and-sledgehammer renovating. I don’t mind so much. It’s motivation. I find that I can live with what we have if it’s just us that have to see it. If it’s someone new… oh, hells no.
Not that we don’t have a great house. Because, in all honesty, we do. It’s just a little dated. The problem is that none of the things on my list have been done. Or, even more irritating, they were done halfway. And I’ve had enough. So, this year, I’ve resolved to do something about it. Good thing this party came along, isn’t it?
Some of the things on our (read: my) list are pretty simple. Replace foyer lighting. Buy new window treatments. Paint the kitchen cabinets. Replace kitchen flooring. Get new carpeting in the living room and dining room. Buy a new couch.
Wait. I said simple, didn’t I?
For this party, however, I just wanted to fix up the living room. It’s the first room you see when you walk into the house. And it sucks. There’s one massive piece of furniture in there (the server to our dining room set), a couple dining room chairs as a conversation corner and that’s it. Our damcat uses this room to leave her "little presents" for us, so the carpeting needs to be replaced. There’s no function or purpose to the room.
I came up with the idea to turn it into a library. I scoured pictures on Pinterest (love that Pinterest!) to get an idea how I wanted the room to look and, once I came up with my game plan, I was ready to implement. Buy bookcases! Add books! Get a nice chair! And a floor lamp! Aaaaand… that’s all I wanted to do.
I forgot I live with another adult. Who has other ideas what needs to be done.
The husband has been bugging me for a new couch for at least 2 years now. The one we had was looking pretty beat up (that’s what happens with 2 boisterous boys who like to jump and a babysitter who sat on it nonstop for a year). He has always wanted a sectional and he has always wanted leather. So, we set out looking for a leather sectional.
My mother, on the other hand, has made comments about my too-short window treatments for… about 5 years now. Finally, she shamed me enough to replace the curtains.
(Incidentally, my brother said preparing for this party has been complete madness. I want to get A, B, and C done, the husband wants D, E, and F done, while my mother wants to get X, Y, and Z done. Yeah, hilarious.)
I thought X, Y, and Z would be easiest, so we set off to do that first. I? Am an idiot. You have no idea how difficult it is to find window treatments. The rod in our family room is not the correct height for 84” panels. So, of course, the rods needed to be moved. But, because my husband only cared about D, E, and F, he didn’t think the window treatments needed work at all (mostly because that required more work – filling in holes, repainting, etc.). After buying (and returning) 7 different sets, I settled for raising the rods to the more appropriate 95” length. My husband was out of town, so I hurriedly called my dad to raise the rods, install the new curtains (which, in turn, hide the old holes – yay!) and voila! X, Y, and Z were done!
Surprise, honey!
To take care of D, E, and F, we researched furniture online. I’ve been doing this for a while now, but now we were On A Mission. One Saturday morning, we stopped at a furniture store on our way to visit family. Found one we liked, for the right price, and 30 minutes after we walked in the door, we were the proud owners of a new leather sectional. Done!
(‘Course, now that we have this piece, we need a coffee table in the room to balance it out. Sonofa.)
At last, it was my turn! I bought bookshelves at Target. Took one chair from the family room and put it in the living room (read: Library. I’m faaaancy now!). My mother brought over books I had read in college that had been collecting dust in her basement. I rummaged through our basement for hidden treasures (I still have wedding presents in boxes, y’all). I busted out the FaceTime to discuss placement of said treasures with my sister. She had me take her all around the house, removing knick knacks from where I already had them (and liked them) and moving them to the bookshelves. I was all, “But I like it therrrrrre” while my mother and sister were all, “Too bad.”
Eff you people. Who lives here anyway?!
And all this for a damparty! (Kidding! I love you, Mommy, and am thrilled to do this for you!)
How much you want to bet no one will notice any of this work?! At least there’ll be alcohol. Which I’ll be enjoying in my new library. Cheers!
At my house. Awesome!
Last year, I had made a (rather long) list of all the cosmetic changes I wanted to make to the house over the course of… our lifetime. I understand the rule of doing it one room at a time and I have been pretty good at doing that (read: basically, I do nothing), but now that I had a reason to make the house look nice, I wanted to do that. In all rooms. Like, yesterday.
Because, as you know, when the prospect of new people coming to my house is upon me, I go into a frenzy of cleaning/redecorating/blowtorch-and-sledgehammer renovating. I don’t mind so much. It’s motivation. I find that I can live with what we have if it’s just us that have to see it. If it’s someone new… oh, hells no.
Not that we don’t have a great house. Because, in all honesty, we do. It’s just a little dated. The problem is that none of the things on my list have been done. Or, even more irritating, they were done halfway. And I’ve had enough. So, this year, I’ve resolved to do something about it. Good thing this party came along, isn’t it?
Some of the things on our (read: my) list are pretty simple. Replace foyer lighting. Buy new window treatments. Paint the kitchen cabinets. Replace kitchen flooring. Get new carpeting in the living room and dining room. Buy a new couch.
Wait. I said simple, didn’t I?
For this party, however, I just wanted to fix up the living room. It’s the first room you see when you walk into the house. And it sucks. There’s one massive piece of furniture in there (the server to our dining room set), a couple dining room chairs as a conversation corner and that’s it. Our damcat uses this room to leave her "little presents" for us, so the carpeting needs to be replaced. There’s no function or purpose to the room.
I came up with the idea to turn it into a library. I scoured pictures on Pinterest (love that Pinterest!) to get an idea how I wanted the room to look and, once I came up with my game plan, I was ready to implement. Buy bookcases! Add books! Get a nice chair! And a floor lamp! Aaaaand… that’s all I wanted to do.
I forgot I live with another adult. Who has other ideas what needs to be done.
The husband has been bugging me for a new couch for at least 2 years now. The one we had was looking pretty beat up (that’s what happens with 2 boisterous boys who like to jump and a babysitter who sat on it nonstop for a year). He has always wanted a sectional and he has always wanted leather. So, we set out looking for a leather sectional.
My mother, on the other hand, has made comments about my too-short window treatments for… about 5 years now. Finally, she shamed me enough to replace the curtains.
(Incidentally, my brother said preparing for this party has been complete madness. I want to get A, B, and C done, the husband wants D, E, and F done, while my mother wants to get X, Y, and Z done. Yeah, hilarious.)
I thought X, Y, and Z would be easiest, so we set off to do that first. I? Am an idiot. You have no idea how difficult it is to find window treatments. The rod in our family room is not the correct height for 84” panels. So, of course, the rods needed to be moved. But, because my husband only cared about D, E, and F, he didn’t think the window treatments needed work at all (mostly because that required more work – filling in holes, repainting, etc.). After buying (and returning) 7 different sets, I settled for raising the rods to the more appropriate 95” length. My husband was out of town, so I hurriedly called my dad to raise the rods, install the new curtains (which, in turn, hide the old holes – yay!) and voila! X, Y, and Z were done!
Surprise, honey!
To take care of D, E, and F, we researched furniture online. I’ve been doing this for a while now, but now we were On A Mission. One Saturday morning, we stopped at a furniture store on our way to visit family. Found one we liked, for the right price, and 30 minutes after we walked in the door, we were the proud owners of a new leather sectional. Done!
(‘Course, now that we have this piece, we need a coffee table in the room to balance it out. Sonofa.)
At last, it was my turn! I bought bookshelves at Target. Took one chair from the family room and put it in the living room (read: Library. I’m faaaancy now!). My mother brought over books I had read in college that had been collecting dust in her basement. I rummaged through our basement for hidden treasures (I still have wedding presents in boxes, y’all). I busted out the FaceTime to discuss placement of said treasures with my sister. She had me take her all around the house, removing knick knacks from where I already had them (and liked them) and moving them to the bookshelves. I was all, “But I like it therrrrrre” while my mother and sister were all, “Too bad.”
Eff you people. Who lives here anyway?!
And all this for a damparty! (Kidding! I love you, Mommy, and am thrilled to do this for you!)
How much you want to bet no one will notice any of this work?! At least there’ll be alcohol. Which I’ll be enjoying in my new library. Cheers!
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
How to care for a pet (aka We should not be pet owners)
Over Thanksgiving, my sister (and her sweet little pooch)
were in town. While here, Sweet Pooch
decided to take a romp in my parents’ backyard.
By “romp” I mean, “Roll around in poop and fleas.” (Sorry, sister dear. I know you didn’t want to talk about this anymore, but it helps set up the story.)
We noticed Sweet Pooch wasn’t smelling so sweet, so my dear mother gave her grandpooch a sweet bath.
Didn’t help the fleas, though.
Last week, my mother noticed a bug in her house. And another. I found one crawling (shudder) on my 5-year-old. By now, we. were. freaking. out. It was confirmed that Sweet Pooch did, in fact, contract fleas, so my mother had her house bombed.
We own a cat, right? And Sweet Pooch had spent some time at our house over Thanksgiving, so I spent this past week looking for signs of fleas. And vacuuming like a madwoman.
Saturday morning, as I was changing bed linens, I noticed some black specks on our comforter (shudder). Was it lint? Was it (ugh) something worse? The specks weren’t moving (double shudder), so it could’ve been lint, but I wasn’t taking any chances.
I raced to the phone and called the husband, who was out running errands, and asked him to go to the local pet store for flea treatment.
He came home with a spray bottle of something. Was he serious?
a) How were we going to hold her still long enough to saturate her fur?
b) What happens to the fleas after she is sprayed?
c) Should we instead pat her head (with surgical gloves, of course), wish her luck and dropkick her out the back door?
We decided to take the bull by the horns (literally – she’s a beast) and help our cat. He held while I sprayed (I’m no dummy).
So, I’m spritz-spritz-spritzing while the husband is being clawed to death. In the end, she won the battle and shot out of his arms like a bat out of hell, but not before I sprayed the product directly in her face (which, of course, the instructions specifically say NOT to do).
(Sidenote: Have the manufacturers ever tried treating a cat themselves? Their instructions should really include directions on how to subdue a psychotic cat like this one, as well as how to treat scratches and bites on humans.)Moments later our poor drowned rat was huddled in the corner, licking her wounds (gack)… with foam coming out of her mouth.
What do we do now?
Lock her in the bathroom. Right! I don’t want that stuff all over my house!
Lest you think I’m a heartless bastard, I did stay in the bathroom with her to make sure she didn’t cough up a lung (not touching her, of course). I stayed with her long enough for her to love me again, while my husband bandaged his hands, arms and face and vacuumed the furniture.
Today, she is still the samepsychotic loving feline she’s always been. And the house has been vacuumed about 50
times since Friday.
If she didn’t have fleas, I’m going to be so pissed.
By “romp” I mean, “Roll around in poop and fleas.” (Sorry, sister dear. I know you didn’t want to talk about this anymore, but it helps set up the story.)
We noticed Sweet Pooch wasn’t smelling so sweet, so my dear mother gave her grandpooch a sweet bath.
Didn’t help the fleas, though.
Last week, my mother noticed a bug in her house. And another. I found one crawling (shudder) on my 5-year-old. By now, we. were. freaking. out. It was confirmed that Sweet Pooch did, in fact, contract fleas, so my mother had her house bombed.
We own a cat, right? And Sweet Pooch had spent some time at our house over Thanksgiving, so I spent this past week looking for signs of fleas. And vacuuming like a madwoman.
Saturday morning, as I was changing bed linens, I noticed some black specks on our comforter (shudder). Was it lint? Was it (ugh) something worse? The specks weren’t moving (double shudder), so it could’ve been lint, but I wasn’t taking any chances.
I raced to the phone and called the husband, who was out running errands, and asked him to go to the local pet store for flea treatment.
He came home with a spray bottle of something. Was he serious?
a) How were we going to hold her still long enough to saturate her fur?
b) What happens to the fleas after she is sprayed?
c) Should we instead pat her head (with surgical gloves, of course), wish her luck and dropkick her out the back door?
We decided to take the bull by the horns (literally – she’s a beast) and help our cat. He held while I sprayed (I’m no dummy).
So, I’m spritz-spritz-spritzing while the husband is being clawed to death. In the end, she won the battle and shot out of his arms like a bat out of hell, but not before I sprayed the product directly in her face (which, of course, the instructions specifically say NOT to do).
(Sidenote: Have the manufacturers ever tried treating a cat themselves? Their instructions should really include directions on how to subdue a psychotic cat like this one, as well as how to treat scratches and bites on humans.)Moments later our poor drowned rat was huddled in the corner, licking her wounds (gack)… with foam coming out of her mouth.
What do we do now?
Lock her in the bathroom. Right! I don’t want that stuff all over my house!
Lest you think I’m a heartless bastard, I did stay in the bathroom with her to make sure she didn’t cough up a lung (not touching her, of course). I stayed with her long enough for her to love me again, while my husband bandaged his hands, arms and face and vacuumed the furniture.
Today, she is still the same
If she didn’t have fleas, I’m going to be so pissed.
Monday, December 3, 2012
The most wonderful time of the year. Tell 'em, Johnny Mathis.
As I did pretty
much the exact same thing over the weekend, I thought I’d republish my post from
last year. With a few colorful comments.
So, we have an Elf on the Shelf. Or, rather, my mom had some elves that looked like the Elf on a Shelf, so she gave them to me so we could play the game this Christmas season. You know, to help the boys be on their best behavior for 6 or so weeks so I wouldn't have to threaten them with no Christmas. Instead, I have someone else threatening no Christmas. "I didn't tell Santa you were bad, it was the Elf on the Shelf." Whoever came up with this elf thing was a genius!
For those who don't know of this tradition, the purpose of the Elf on the Shelf is to ensure kids are good so parents can spend time buying and wrapping presents instead of peeling one screaming child off another every 5 minutes. For said children, the elf is the eyes and ears of The (Big Fat) Man, taking in the daily activities of each house. Each night, the elf uses his magical powers to fly back to the North Pole with status updates of these good and bad children. For example, if my 4-year-old kicks the 7-year-old in the face (yes, that happens a lot) (ETA: yes, this still happens a lot), Santa is going to know about it. And each morning, upon the elf's return, he likes to play tricks on the families by hiding in a different spot.
So, basically, it's just one more thing we adults have to remember to do every night. (ETA: Tru dat.)The first 2 weeks we had Frank (I was hoping for Lou, but Frank it is) (ETA: This year, his name is James. We apparently forgot we named him Frank. Eh, whatever.), he hid in our kitchen cabinet. Along with the other elves my mother gave me. In a pile. Yeah, I suck at this stuff. (ETA: This year, he was in one of our boxes of Christmas decorations. Our neighbor’s elf had come to their house early, so the boys had been wondering where our guy was. I told them he doesn’t come until our house is ready for Christmas, so there you go. I’m a genius.) Honestly, it's just another thing I have to do. With the decorating and the shopping and everything else, I lost the will to add one. more. thing.
Really, I'm not a bah humbug kind of person. I love Christmas. I love the music and the lights and the shopping and the baking (or, more to the point, the eating of the baked goods my husband makes) and seeing the Nutcracker and all that crap. I was all gung ho this year, too. As we speak, I'm almost done with my shopping! Being a notorious Christmas Eve shopper, this is an amazing feat for me.
As a general rule, I try not to get into the Christmas spirit too early. Otherwise, I'm burnt out before Christmas arrives. So, ever since I left retail (which celebrates Christmas from the 4th of July on), I hold off listening to any Christmas music until 2 weeks before Christmas. (ETA: Still true. I’m too busy listening to the Breaking Dawn 2 soundtrack. But I did listen to Christmas music while we decorated the house. It’s not Christmas decorating without it. It’s more like… glittering the house just to annoy myself.)
But, this year, I went off the reservation. Since I was Christmas shopping, I had to listen to the music to get in the mood, right? So I did. The last 4 days, I have spent all my spare time shopping and decorating. I have more glitter on me on any given day than all the strippers in the world combined. (ETA: Again, still true. I also have broken more bulbs this year than ever, so there’s glitter and tiny shards of glass mixed in just for fun.) I spent 2 hours on Friday at Toys R Us alone. And Saturday, my mother, SIL and I closed down 2 shopping venues. (ETA: I spent the 3 hours of alone time last week at Target. I love Target. Whoever has me in the Christmas exchange this year, I’d like a Target of my own. Thanks in advance.)
We are in it to win it. I have shin splints and sore arms, but my monthly cardio quota was met in one weekend and it's a small price to pay for giving the boys the perfect gift.
But, if I have to hear Johnny Mathis sing "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" one more time, I might actually kill someone.
So, as you can imagine, the Elf on the Shelf got the shaft. But, over the weekend, I realized what fun we could have with this guy. I love the magic of Christmas. (ETA: Still do.) And, with my 7-year-old already questioning the existence of Santa Claus (with a "Just tell me the truth, Mommy" - damn those older elementary kids for planting seeds of doubt!), I had to do something.
Okay, I suck at it. Friday night, I decided to move Frank from his kitchen cabinet to the top of our lamp. And my wonderful (painintheass - kidding, my brother! I love her!) niece caught me moving him. And then told her cousin the next morning.
The extra 5 minutes at night to move him? Totally worth it.)
So, we have an Elf on the Shelf. Or, rather, my mom had some elves that looked like the Elf on a Shelf, so she gave them to me so we could play the game this Christmas season. You know, to help the boys be on their best behavior for 6 or so weeks so I wouldn't have to threaten them with no Christmas. Instead, I have someone else threatening no Christmas. "I didn't tell Santa you were bad, it was the Elf on the Shelf." Whoever came up with this elf thing was a genius!
For those who don't know of this tradition, the purpose of the Elf on the Shelf is to ensure kids are good so parents can spend time buying and wrapping presents instead of peeling one screaming child off another every 5 minutes. For said children, the elf is the eyes and ears of The (Big Fat) Man, taking in the daily activities of each house. Each night, the elf uses his magical powers to fly back to the North Pole with status updates of these good and bad children. For example, if my 4-year-old kicks the 7-year-old in the face (yes, that happens a lot) (ETA: yes, this still happens a lot), Santa is going to know about it. And each morning, upon the elf's return, he likes to play tricks on the families by hiding in a different spot.
So, basically, it's just one more thing we adults have to remember to do every night. (ETA: Tru dat.)The first 2 weeks we had Frank (I was hoping for Lou, but Frank it is) (ETA: This year, his name is James. We apparently forgot we named him Frank. Eh, whatever.), he hid in our kitchen cabinet. Along with the other elves my mother gave me. In a pile. Yeah, I suck at this stuff. (ETA: This year, he was in one of our boxes of Christmas decorations. Our neighbor’s elf had come to their house early, so the boys had been wondering where our guy was. I told them he doesn’t come until our house is ready for Christmas, so there you go. I’m a genius.) Honestly, it's just another thing I have to do. With the decorating and the shopping and everything else, I lost the will to add one. more. thing.
Really, I'm not a bah humbug kind of person. I love Christmas. I love the music and the lights and the shopping and the baking (or, more to the point, the eating of the baked goods my husband makes) and seeing the Nutcracker and all that crap. I was all gung ho this year, too. As we speak, I'm almost done with my shopping! Being a notorious Christmas Eve shopper, this is an amazing feat for me.
As a general rule, I try not to get into the Christmas spirit too early. Otherwise, I'm burnt out before Christmas arrives. So, ever since I left retail (which celebrates Christmas from the 4th of July on), I hold off listening to any Christmas music until 2 weeks before Christmas. (ETA: Still true. I’m too busy listening to the Breaking Dawn 2 soundtrack. But I did listen to Christmas music while we decorated the house. It’s not Christmas decorating without it. It’s more like… glittering the house just to annoy myself.)
But, this year, I went off the reservation. Since I was Christmas shopping, I had to listen to the music to get in the mood, right? So I did. The last 4 days, I have spent all my spare time shopping and decorating. I have more glitter on me on any given day than all the strippers in the world combined. (ETA: Again, still true. I also have broken more bulbs this year than ever, so there’s glitter and tiny shards of glass mixed in just for fun.) I spent 2 hours on Friday at Toys R Us alone. And Saturday, my mother, SIL and I closed down 2 shopping venues. (ETA: I spent the 3 hours of alone time last week at Target. I love Target. Whoever has me in the Christmas exchange this year, I’d like a Target of my own. Thanks in advance.)
We are in it to win it. I have shin splints and sore arms, but my monthly cardio quota was met in one weekend and it's a small price to pay for giving the boys the perfect gift.
But, if I have to hear Johnny Mathis sing "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" one more time, I might actually kill someone.
So, as you can imagine, the Elf on the Shelf got the shaft. But, over the weekend, I realized what fun we could have with this guy. I love the magic of Christmas. (ETA: Still do.) And, with my 7-year-old already questioning the existence of Santa Claus (with a "Just tell me the truth, Mommy" - damn those older elementary kids for planting seeds of doubt!), I had to do something.
Okay, I suck at it. Friday night, I decided to move Frank from his kitchen cabinet to the top of our lamp. And my wonderful (painintheass - kidding, my brother! I love her!) niece caught me moving him. And then told her cousin the next morning.
Sonofa...
I think I saved it. I told them adults sometimes need to help the elf if he asks. And he asked me to move him because he ate too many cookies and couldn't move himself.
I think I saved it. I told them adults sometimes need to help the elf if he asks. And he asked me to move him because he ate too many cookies and couldn't move himself.
Right. That was
why.
After my marathon shopping on Saturday, I hid my loot in
my closet and went straight to bed. And
then remembered I didn't move the damelf.
So, I went back downstairs and threw the elf head first into an almost
empty box of Cheerios, making it look like he got caught having a late night
snack.
I'm so clever.
Fine, I'm not.
But, the boys laughed, and that's all that mattered.
(ETA: Last night, James (Frank) decided to play a
game of Connect 4 with our Wall-E action figure. The boys ran up the stairs this morning to
let me know. They were ecstatic. I should also
mention they’ve been on their best behavior since JamesFrank has returned. No kicks to the teeth, no whining. They.
Are. Sharing. Toys.
The extra 5 minutes at night to move him? Totally worth it.)
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