Tuesday, January 31, 2006

Random Bits

* Boy will now be known as Hurricane. Girl X was Tornado as a toddler. She had this amazing ability to whip through rooms at high rates of speed so that the only evidence that she had been there at all, was the path of absolute destruction she left behind. Boy is the same way, but with the added benefit of water. This kid sprays drool with glee as he is tearing through the house. When he takes off his diaper (which he loves to do) he becomes a category 5, leaving Cat amid the flood waters.
Hurricane seems very fitting.

* I will never ever again let Mr X 'help' me re-upholster anything again. Ever. I have 2 chairs done. The one he did? He pulled it so tight it looks it belongs to Joan Rivers.
Also? Whoever stapled those chairs? HATE!!!

* Nothing goes better with the loss of your dignity than knowing that you just ripped the hell out of the butt of your pants. And your neighbors saw the whole thing. And they've started waving AA pamphlets in your general direction. And you don't drink.
Not that I know anything about that. Erp.

* I currently have 7 projects going. I am in my element.

I am also insane.

* When boiling eggs, it's a good idea to set a timer. And remember what that timer is for.
Eggs stink when they explode.

Not that I'd know anything about that.

* Hurricane invented a new game last night. It's called 'How Fast Can You Make Mommy Cry?' It entails waiting until I just fall asleep, than crying. As soon as I get up, go back to sleep. As soon as my head hits the pillow, cry. I sit up, you go to sleep. I lay down, you cry. Repeat until I burst into your room, crying 'You win! You can get a tattoo and your butt pierced and here, take my car and my credit cards just please for the love of awesome shoes SLEEP!' Then laugh because making mommy breakdown is funny.

* Hurricane is gearing up for another round of 'how many teeth can I pop up at once?' which is probably why his sleep and eating habits went all to hell. Yet another thing I forgot about babyhood.

* Girl X told me that a boy in her class is 'totally adorable and he wanted to give me his pudding but I said no.' I don't know whether to laugh or cry. At least she's finally stopped saying 'that's hott' (I loathe Paris Hilton and her stupid stupid slang slinging, brain-draining everywhere-ness).

Monday, January 30, 2006

Stapled and Dangerous

"Honey? Toile or damask?"

Nothing strikes fear in a man quite so quickly as the idea that his wife is going to torture him over fabric choices for the next several weeks. Add that to the knowledge that even if closes his eyes and points at a fabric sample in hopes that she will simply leave him alone she will then ask him why he chose that one and not the other, with the fact that no matter what he chooses, she's going to pick whatever the hell she damn well pleases and you will understand why my husband visibly shrunk when I told him I wanted to re-upholster the dining room chairs.
The things is, I won't ask him what he thinks of what fabric because I've seen his choices and people? It's not pretty. It's scary.
We have 8 dining room chairs, 4 that came with me and 4 that he had picked out while I swear he must have been under the influence. Of his mullet and the Best of Journey. When he bought his table, he bought the chairs, end table, coffee table, couch and love seat to match.
Take that in for a moment.
The fabric on the chairs is this really dark green with tiny orange diamonds all over it. And it matched the couch. And love seat. My only explanation is that he had a mullet and he called it 'bad-ass'. Which means? He just had really bad taste.
Don't get me wrong, I love the man. He can fix anything, he indulges me when I get the crazy idea to repaint the house or tear our kitchen chairs apart. I just wouldn't want him to pick out the fabric.
The other 4 chairs are equally awful. They look like something Don Johnson threw up on in Miami Vice. They're black with large purple flowers all over them. I inherited them from my stepfather. I don't know what was going on there because he never had a mullet and had pretty nice style.
Anyway, it was time for the 80's to meet the trash can.
Except that I've never done this before. Most of it will be pretty simple. Just a matter of stapling the new fabric to the seat bottoms. The Miami Vice chairs will require a little bit of sewing.
The hard part, the thing I didn't expect, was what a pain in the ass it is to remove the old fabric. It took me 3 hours to take off the fabric from 2 chairs. Whoever made them must have known how absolutely hideous they were and that someday, somewhere, someone with no idea what they were getting into would try to remove them because there are about 50 cajillion freakin' staples on it! And they are a pain to remove. First I have to try to pry them up because they are all but glued to the base and then I can yank them out with the pliers. Half of them break off before they get the whole way out so I get this little nub sticking out that I then must dig out or cut my hand all to hell while I try to remove the rest of them. Trust me, I tried to leave them because I'm all about the lazy. Which is why my hand is now all cut to hell.
After I removed the first one, Mr X suggested just leaving the rest on and covering it up with the new fabric.
Yeah! Except they stink. Years of Cat and spilled milk and ew. So no.
It's 10 pm and everyone else is in bed. Great. I can get the 2 chairs I have ready set up with the new fabric (light blue on cream toile pattern- LOVE!) right?
And then it hit me.
Mr X handed me a staple gun, something I've never used before, and went to bed.
Is he nuts? Has he not met me? Does he not remember that I cannot even be trusted with a simple flat head screwdriver because, oh that was just too ugly an incident I don't want to go into it. I still have a scar. And so does he.
But he did! Me and a staple gun.
I am armed with something that shoots sharp pieces of metal at high rates of speed.
I put the staple gun down and stepped back.
I must be crazy. I don't see anyway I'm going to get to do this where I don't end up stapling my hand to the floor. And a toe. These things always involve a toe. And then there's that whole thing I have about feet. And since I was the only one awake, it probably would be my foot.
Eh. What the hell.
I managed to do 3 staples (FROGS! That thing is loud!) but they wouldn't go the whole way through. They got into the chair back but stuck out too much so I had to get the hammer.
A staple gun and a hammer all in one night?? I must be a glutton for punishment.
I managed to hammer all 3 staples in without incident before I realized that my little project had woken Boy.
Project is now on hold until morning. You know, when I'm half asleep and bleary-eyed.
Because that would be the best time for me to be armed with a staple gun and hammer.

Sunday, January 29, 2006

Pushy Pushy

We took the kids to Mariner's fanfest this weekend (Go M's!).
We've never done this before and I think I know why now. It's because people are nuts, and when it comes to their favorite players, they are even nutsier. And before you say anything, I don't care that nutsier isn't a word. It is now. Because I said it.

We got their an hour early because Mr X is also nuts. Ok, it was because he wanted to be one of the first in line. When we got there, we realized that for that to have happened we should have camped over night.
We got in line and attempted to entertain the kids for an hour. In line. While it was raining. And cold.
It was kind of like trying to catch an oiled up pig in the rain. Blindfolded. So what if I've never tried to do that, I can guarantee that is exactly what it's like.
When the line finally started moving, Mr X decided he wanted to walk into the team store right then. And have me continue on with Boy.
And I agreed.
Did I ever tell you that I am stupid?
Very. Very. Stupid.
Standing in line to let them check my bags, I had 7 people step over me to get ahead in line. When the 8th lady tried it, I finally found my voice and said something. She sighed and rolled her eyes but got behind me.
And proceeded to shove me toward the gates 'come on, come on'. I finally asked her if she'd like to go in front of me and she said 'Oh no, that's ok.'

Great. Then quit fucking pushing me.
I finally got through and had to wait in line for a voucher. See, the whole 'thing' about fanfest is getting an autograph from one of the players. The Mariners have a new catcher this year, Kenji Johjima. And everyone wanted his autograph. I got my voucher but then had to back out of the line as I couldn't take a stroller up the steps.
After getting several dirty looks, pushy lady practically jumped over me knocked into the stroller. I caught it but barely.

While still trying to back out, she decided to do the same and came straight at me, and the stroller. Again. This time, I stepped in front and spread my arms out and around the stroller. She laughed while I restrained myself, barely, from tripping her.
I found Mr X and an elevator. Unfortunately we got the elevator operated by the guy who had no idea what was going on.
At first he didn't want to take us up because he was under the impression that only people getting a certain autograph could use the elevator. We tried to explain that we couldn't take a stroller up the stairs and were directed to come to the elevators.
The doors opened and closed about 7 times before we finally convinced him that we weren't trying to sneak anything by him and that it was ok to let us go up.
when e stepped off the elevators, there was pushy lady. "Oh Hi!' so cheerfully I again had to restrain myself. From shoving her off the balcony.
We spent several hours walking around, getting free stuff (hello lunchboxes! Hello bats! Bobbleheads? I don't have a fear of bobbleheads- just please leave it in the box) and letting Girl play games.
I took the kids down to the field to run the bases and sit in the dugout. Mr X waited on the terrace, taking pictures. Unfortunately, this meant that we had to get back on the elevator. And of course, because that's just the way it works, I got Confused Guy again.

A couple of people got off and he shook his head. "I don't know what they think is down here for them. All the autographs are upstairs."
I think someone failed to tell this guy just what was going on. And maybe really should have gotten off the elevator for a little while. We went up and down twice before he finally stopped and let us off. But not before he asked if we had gotten our voucher for an autograph yet.

We did get to meet Kenji Johjima and have sign 2 bats and a ball for us. Despite the language barrier, he was very friendly.

I can't wait for the first game!

Thursday, January 26, 2006

The One Where He Breaks My Nose

Or very damn near it because shit! that hurts! And I can't believe I forgot about that too.
In case you were unaware, toddlers and preschoolers have this great love of slamming their head square into your nose. Why?
I think the real question here is, why not?
It's fun. It makes the big people squeal. Sometimes it even makes red stuff spray everywhere. And nothing is more entertaining that watching someone hop around yelping and holding onto their nose for dear life because they are positive, POSITIVE!, that letting go would mean that their nose will fall directly to the floor and no one wants a Michael Jackson nose.
I witnessed in horror my friend's daughter smash her forehead in my friend's nose while yelling 'love bumps!' I learned a few new swear words that day. Also? Blood does not come out of beige upholstery. Also? Broken noses are not pretty.
So with knowing this, you'd think I'd also know the warning signs. Right?
I probably would. If there were any.
Tonight, I got a glimpse of what he'll be like when he hits the terrible two's. We didn't call Girl X Tornado for nothing and it looks like her 'bother' (her nickname for him) will be no different.
He had been 'petting' Cat all day. By petting I mean the thing he does when he throws himself at Cat, grabs hold and rakes his hands down Cat's back. By dinner time I figured Cat had about reached his limit (that animal has to be the most patient thing on the planet) so when I saw Boy gearing up for another round, I told him no. He looked at me, mildly shocked. With his eyes still on me, and an expression Mr X always gives me when I say something weird (um, every night), he reached his little hand out toward Cat. Cat was also looking at me like Wow, you're really going to stop this? Again, but a little bit sharper, I said 'no'.
And the heavens opened up, thunder clapped and lightening struck. A plague of locusts zoomed to our house and the water in the toilet began flushing in the opposite direction.
His face scrunched up and his hand still out as if Cat actually stuck around once he began screaming. His lower lip quivered and the sound! Windows! Shattering! Glasses! Ruined!
Right. Carried away again.
It's not like any of this is new to him. I spend much of my day telling him 'no'.
*No, don't eat the dog food.

*No, don't stick that in the fireplace.

*No, Cat doesn't like to be force fed your cheerios.

*No, you have to leave your clothes on when we're outside.

*No, don't pick your nose.

So why this particular 'no' set him off? Don't know. Eventually he calmed down enough to allow me to pick him up to soothe him. Ha!
Picking him brought on more wailing. He threw himself down on my shoulder and just wailed!
We rocked and walked and I talked (carefully avoiding the evil 'no' and also 'don't'- just in case) and he slowed to little sniffles.
He leaned back and looked at me, smiled a little as I made a silly face.


He slammed into my nose with his forehead. It was all I could do not to drop him. After I carefully slid him down to the floor, I had to run to the bathroom. I was sure he had just shattered my nose into a million pieces. I was seeing stars!

When I came back, assured that my nose was still intact, he was sitting on the floor smiling at me. I prefer to believe that he was simply happy to see me. That is what I will continue to tell myself.

In case you were wondering, it still freakin' hurts!

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

I Can Hear It Howling From Here.

Ick. And then more Ick.
I already had sleep issues. Getting Boy to sleep through the night was cake. Getting me to sleep through the night? Never going to happen.
I talk in my sleep. I've been caught sleepwalking. I have INSANE dreams that sometimes leave me wondering if that really happened. This week, I thought I was dreaming that I had gotten up and accidentally messed up my alarm clock. I even fixed it, in my dream. Unfortunately, it wasn't all a dream. I did try to fix my alarm clock except I was awake for that part and ended up screwing it up royally.
It gets worse when I'm pregnant. Towards the end of my pregnancy with Boy, I had one really vivid dream that Mr X still teases me about.
It was November, really cold, but I was still sleeping with the window open and the fan going because pregnancy makes you hot. Really freaking hot. Mr X couldn't stand it and was sleeping on the couch. I half woke up at 3:30 because he came in the room and kissed my belly. I could smell his soap and I remember thinking that was strange. 20 minutes later I heard the ice cream truck go by. He was playing that music and it was so loud. I remember wondering just what the froggy hell was going on! Then I heard sirens. 3 police cars went by and I could see their lights flashing on the ceiling. I was too tired to care that much and fell back asleep.
Then I heard Mr X yelling and saw that the light in the front room was on. I could hear him talking to his boss and telling him what was going on. The ice cream truck came by again followed by even more police. I couldn't believe my husband was on the phone to his boss at 4 am telling him about the ice cream truck that was going by waking up the neighborhood. I figured that the whole town had just gone nuts. Or some kid had found the keys and thought 'fun!'
I tried to get up but the belly just required too much effort.
When I woke up next it was 4:10 and the house was dark and quiet. I finally pulled myself out of bed and began walking through the house trying to understand what had just happened. I looked out the windows but the street was quiet. Which at 4:10 am, it should be.
I saw Mr X asleep and figured I'd just let it go. I turned around to go back to bed but I woke him up when I came down and he asked me what I was doing.
I asked him what his boss said when he told him about the ice cream truck.

The look on his face, and the laughter following my explanation, pretty much told me I had lost my ever-loving mind. And to top it all off? He never came in and kissed my belly.

Yeah. I get crazy during sleep. I also have a vivid imagination.

Knowing this, I can only assume my SIL's description of the wolf spider she found in her house was a device of torture.

I was then given all these fun facts:

*Wolf spiders are only poisonous to other spiders which makes them good and the kind you want to have around. (Except I don't because in my mind, this thing is big and mean enough to eat a person. Especially a person with a vivid imagination and natural born disgust for the creepy crawlies.)

* They are fairly big and hairy (Great. I'll take them to the barber and get them some cornrows).

*They have beady little black eyes. (which will now haunt me for all eternity)

I hung up on her before she could tell me more because Ick. I can already feel the little bastards crawling on me. I can hear them hissing and howling. Although, I doubt that they actually howl. Or hiss. But they do in my head.

Getting the Heebie Jeebies before bed is just very, very bad.


Tuesday, January 24, 2006


First, I need to point out that I am typing this with my fingers covered in band aids because I'm a dumbass and this could take me right next to forever. I have a mild allergy to latex. You know those rubber gloves that are so great for when you want to clean but don't want to drown yourself in cleaning solution?
They eat my skin right the hell off.
Most bandages do the same thing. Between the glue and the latex it's amazing that I have skin on my hands at all. But every now and then, I forget myself and end up doing some serious damage.
Do you know how hard it is to type when your fingers are covered in clothy band-aids and neosporin?
Very damnity hard. I have to keep going back and deleting things because otherwise it would read like this: anmd I cxant'; ikmagfinwe thnjat rthuis weolsd bne dfuhbn tro reazd (spell check hates me!)

Anyway, charge. Baby X is no longer Baby X. I guess I could call him Toddler Ex but it just doesn't have the same appeal. For now he'll be Boy. If you have suggestions, I'm open to them.
Why is he no longer Baby X?
Because he is walking. WALKING! Not just a toddle here and there. Not just the two steps it takes to grab Cat's tail and swing him around. Full on, around the house in 60 seconds walking. He still has a little bit of a John Wayne strut, the way he swings his hips and keeps his knees fairly stiff. I keep expecting him to look at me and say "Come on Pilgrim, hand over the cookies." But no, he just smiles at me, sticks out his hands and in the most hopeful and sweet voice he can muster "cookie?"
Cat is soooo over him now. This walking thing was just the last straw. Before, Cat could get away simply by jumping out of reach and fast. Boy would get bored and move onto the next thing to destroy.
Now that he can walk, and he's getting faster, Cat can't hide. Boy climbs, crawls faster and is onto some kind of teleportation trick that I want to learn so badly, Cat is doomed. Cat is looking through the want ads for a new home. I think of he could use the phone, he'd place his own ad.
WANTED: Home with lots of cozy chairs to sleep in. Meow Mix a must. Dogs are negogiable. NO KIDS. Will allow occasional petting.
The teleportation thing is making me crazy. One minute he's with me in the kitchen and the next he's down the hall and into my room emptying the clean laundry I had just folded. When I go to pick it back up, he's playing with his truck. I blink and he instantly vanishes to the living room and on top of Cat to boot.
If anyone can explain this to me, I'll give you a cookie.

Monday, January 23, 2006

Football Madness

Sunday Mr X had managed to convince me that going to downtown Seattle and taking part in all the pre-game fanfare would be a 'once in a lifetime experience' and 'so much fun'. I was skeptical.
Now I'll admit that it was not nearly as bad as I had thought.
Ok, it was better than that.
The mood was infectious. It's hard not to get all hyped up when you are surrounded by a sea of blue and green faces. Yes, FACES! It seems that most of the people there were smurfs or related to them.
There was plenty of good-natured ribbing everytime anyone was brave enough to walk by in a Panthers jersey, and there were a few. I can only imagine what it's like to walk down a street and have about 200 people booing you. They smiled though and there was a lot of back and forth joking but no harassment which? I had actually expected that so it was a nice surprise.
We went to the events center and it was full of games and free food and give-aways.
There was a stand where they were doing free face painting and airbrushing. Girl X wanted to get the Hawk's symbol so we stood in line and waited. By the time we got to the front, the mood had taken me over and I can't believe I'm even admitting this but I got one too.
When we left, the streets were virtually empty. Something I had never seen before!
The downside to all this is that the crazy feeling is still there enough to have made me convince Mr X that we need to go to the Mariner's fan fest this weekend. He already bought the tickets so I really hope the crazy lasts long enough to carry me through to Saturday!

Sunday, January 22, 2006


I am amazingly good at blaming myself. During the Year That Was Black and Desperate I blamed myself for everything.
I wasn't good enough. I wasn't a good enough mom to Girl X. I was a terrible wife. I was an awful friend. I should have been a better daughter. I didn't do enough for others. I should have known something was wrong and said something, anything to the Dr because he could have waved his magic stethoscope and fixed everything for me.
And I know that's nonsense, but I have become a professional at the blame game. There are days where I think I must enjoy torturing myself because I am so damn good at it.
Recently, I've even found a way to blame myself for my MIL's mental illness. Perhaps if I had converted or just once not rolled my eyes and instead simply smiled, maybe the last time I saw here, the time I looked at her in such disgust she could not have missed it, maybe that was the thing that pushed her over the edge.
And again, I know that her problems were there long before I came along and would have been there no matter what I did or did not do.
When Girl X was first born and it was essentially just the 2 of us, the guilt was a 2 ton truck with blaring sirens I wore on my back every day.
For the brief period that her 'sperm-donor' and I were together and I was home with her, I felt guilt for not working and taking control of the finances. Something that would get us out of that hole in the wall we lived in. And when I did work, I felt guilt for knowing that I had just left her in the care of someone who would probably leave her in her crib for the time I was gone. My only saving grace was a neighbor who would listen for her and get her when he would inevitably leave.
When I could no longer kid myself about what our life was and left him, I felt guilt because I knew that he was never going to be what she needed and would most likely disappear once the restraints (me) were gone.
I felt guilt because I was working all the time in a vain attempt to pay all the bills and pay off the insurmountable debt that being married to him had left me.
I wasn't there enough. I missed so much time. So much that I can't get back. Knowing that there was no other choice didn't stop me from blaming myself when Girl X would scream and cry everytime I left her at her baby sitters. It wasn't that they weren't good to her or that they didn't love her because they did. She was adored there. But it wasn't me. It wasn't her one solid thing.
By the time Mr X came into the picture, I was itching for change. I could feel it. I just couldn't reach it.
Girl X distrusted men. She would allow only my father and brother within 5 feet of her. Any other male and she would scream bloody murder.
When Mr X bent down to say hello and shake her hand, she smiled at him. It stopped me in my tracks.
He played on the floor with her for 2 hours. She would not leave his side. It was amazing.
And I felt instant guilt. She needed a father. I had been doing my best to keep every male on the other side of my wall. I thought it was wise but I never considered the fact that it wasn't what was best for my daughter.
In many cliched ways, in ways that it's sometimes hard to admit, Mr X saved us.
He brought that change we needed so badly.
I don't buy into that 'you complete me' and 'he's my soul mate' stuff. Barf.
But I do believe that we fit. Pieces of a puzzle that were missing.
My life has turned 180 from where I started. And so has Girl X's. I am endlessly grateful for that.
There are moments where I still feel guilt. Especially when I see Baby X and the stages he is passing and I realize that I missed much of this with Girl X.
And then there are the moments, brief and sweet, where she lays her head in my lap as we watch a movie. She sighs and gently brush back her hair with my fingers. She smells like grape shampoo and peppermint. She giggles when the Robot busts out some Britney Spears dance moves. I smile and she snuggles in and whispers "mom, you're the best". I can let just a little bit of that guilt go.

There are many things I never thought I'd have and do now, but none I prize so highly as contentment.

Thursday, January 19, 2006

If It's a Battle Of the Wits, I'm Losing.

I am fully willing to admit that there are moments where I am totally out of my league. It's just harder to admit that I am being outsmarted by someone who has yet to master the ability to walk upright (getting closer everyday).
"Ok Baby X, we have to hurry up and get out of here. I'm going to grab your shoes, you wait here."

"Barazzack!" I don't want to leave. I want to stay and play with my toys.

"I'll be right back and then we're off ok?"

"AAAARRAAGGGG!!" No! I have plans to shove this block in Cat's mouth. We're not going.

I go to his room, grab his shoes, check his bag and come back to.........

Him. Sitting on the floor looking at me with this smirk on his face, his pants and socks in a pile next to him and his diaper on the other side of the room.

It's lunch time and we're at the mall. I buy him some fish, milk and a cookie. I lay it all out.

"No, not yet Baby X. Lunch first." and I point to his fish.

"Cookie." And he hangs his head so dejectedly but I have to stand firm.

I push the cookie further back to what I think is out of his reach and give him a bite of his fish. He smears parts of it over his face. I dig into his bag for those handy wipes I actually remembered to shove in there.
I look back to realize I did not put the cookie far enough away for he has taken a chunk of it.
He looks at me and as fast as he can, shoves it in his mouth. Ha! Try taking it away now crazy lady!

We've been doing baby signs for a few months now. Baby X will sign 'all done' when appropriate and occasionally 'eat'. Mostly he just looks at me like I'm nuts. I keep trying though. I'm hoping that maybe someday he'll be able to tell me what it is he wants when he bites my leg. (Yes it hurts).

The other night I was signing 'more' and saying it as I fed him his dinner. He looked at me and said 'more?' I made the sign for 'more' again without saying it.


I got so excited I carried him to Mr X and told him.

"Go on Baby X! Show daddy what you can do!"

He looks at me and makes the sign for more.

I sigh and we start to go back upstairs.


I run back down to show Mr X.

Baby X signs for 'more'.

This continued for awhile. Long enough for Mr X to think I'm crazy and Baby X to realize he now had a very fun game to play with mommy.

It's a very sad day when baby is smarter than mom.

Tuesday, January 17, 2006


This is my 100th post. I so need to shut up from time to time. I think blogs are what happens when you've been in a house with people under 4 feet tall for too long.
Anyway, in honor of my 100th post, here are my 100 things:

1. I have been married twice
2. Mr X was happy bachelor before me.
3. My ex-husband was a liar, a cheat and a drug addict
4. I had terrible taste in men
5. I left him after I found drugs in my house
6. Mr X is 8 years older than me
7 I always call him a cradle robber
8 I've been described as odd on more than one occasion
9 Olives freak me out because it feels they're watching me
10 Don't talk to me about feet
11 I don't get along with my sister
12 I didn't like my mother very much either
13 My dad rocks
14 I love being pregnant- minus the freaking out bit
15 I once broke my foot tripping over a brick
16 I can no longer straighten my pinky without the aid of my other hand
17 I got it caught in a drill press
18 I worked for a temp agency because I get bored easily
19 I'm dyslexic
20 I love to create
21 I go overboard for my kids parties
22 I made all the decorations for Girl X's 7th birthday
23 The theme was Alice in Wonderland and I made the flowers from the movie
24 I also drew Alice and the Cheshire Cat
25 I love decorating cakes
26 I knitted Girl X's first jumper
27 It was the first thing I ever knitted
28 I'm mostly boring
29 I love practical jokes
30 I cannot raise one eyebrow a'la the Rock
31 Mr X can and it makes me crazy
32 I have 2 siblings, 3 step-siblings and 2 half-siblings
33 My mom was married 4 times
34 My worst fear is being her
35 I am terrible at math
36 I love That 70's Show
37 I hate reality TV
38 I have green eyes
39 No one else in my family has green eyes
40 I don't know what I want to be when I grow up
41 Journalist
42 Teacher
43 Something in medicine
44 Something in law
45 Someone could pay me to make cakes for them every day
46 I hate driving on the freeway
47 I don't talk to anyone I ever went to school with
48 That Laffy Taffy song makes me want to rip off my ears
49 I laugh even if I don't get the joke
50 I took 2 years of French
51 All I remember is how to call someone my little cabbage head
52 I want to go to Greece
53 And Spain
54 And maybe Italy
55 oohh! Ireland. Yeah. Ireland
56 I hate flying.
57 I panic for months if I know we're flying somewhere
58 I have never lived completely by myself
59 The only time I came close, I had Girl X
60 I have never been a bridesmaid
61 Sometimes I wish we lived closer to my parents
62 I feel guilty for taking their grandkids so far away
63 But I love living here
64 My parents used to send me to camp every summer
65 I hated it
66 I once threw up in the top bunk while sleeping
67 I had told them I was sick but they didn't listen
68 I didn't realize I had done that until 2 days later
69 Poor lower bunk
70 I got my first kiss at camp
71 I was 12 and his name was Robbie
72 I will not be sending my kids to camp
73 I made spaghetti the night we brought Baby X home
74 I think of it every time I make it for dinner
75 I love his kisses
76 I love that he likes to cuddle
77 My first born, labor lasted less than 4 hours
78 She rarely wanted to cuddle
79 Some times I think about where we could be
80 Then I see Baby X and know that it's ok
81 I love blue
82 I hate orange
83 I don't really like pizza
84 I hate pizza sauce
85 I love Vietnamese food
86 I'll never tell my MIL that
87 I can't stand the smell of vanilla
88 I love the Gap's Heaven
89 I can watch Casablanca anytime
90 I love older movies far better then today's
91 I'm not talking about movies made in the 80's either
92 I can't carry a tune
93 I love to belt it out in the car
94 I don't have a cell phone
95 I don't really like talking on the phone
96 I'm lousy at making friends
97 I'm afraid that my kids might inherit that
98 I'm not as funny as I think I am
99 I'll laugh anyway
100 I love my life

The One Where I Get All Rambly and Off Topic.....

Because I never do that. Ok, well not that often. Shut up.
I realized the other day that I am way behind in these stories I have talked about (sometimes with myself) like Girl X's adoption and that whole process and the preceding drama and I think I promised someone a picture of that awful rubber band tie I bought Mr X (stop laughing) and the other bagillion ideas I had that I can't remember right now.
I've thought about actually writing these ideas down but then I start thinking about all those little scraps of paper with things like 'purple cow' and 'shoe meet brick' and 'that funny thing the goose did to my brother' and Mr X finding them and wondering if it's some kind of code and then I have to explain it to him which leads me to the story of my old crazy neighbor (she kept pickled eggs under her kitchen sink to ward off the 'hoogie boogies' and that's a whole 'nother story) and that time she freaked out because someone had dumped a bunch of those Always pads tab thingies in her yard that had a spade on it and said 'remember your symbol' and she thought that it meant some spade gang was out there warning her they were going to kill her with a deck of cards and that's just more than he really wants to know and wow! That is a run on sentence. Are you still with me? Did you pass out trying to read all that in one breath? I'm sorry. See? I told you I was going to get rambly and when I get rambly I tend to run on. And on. And I can't remember now what I was going to finally remember to talk about. I need to go back a minute.
Ok, right. John Wayne. That's what I was going to remember to talk about. I'm about to post these pictures that will appear up at the top. I have yet to figure out how to move them down here where I want them without losing everything I just wrote and we do NOT want to go there again. Oh no. We do not want that.
That second one is the awful felt (FELT!) painting Mr X bought off of some police auction site. I've comforted myself with the thought that the artist (The hell? What made this guy wake up one day and say 'hmmm, I think I'll paint on material normally reserved for puppets!') is sitting behind bars for making bad art. I've had it hidden in a closet with poor John Wayne facing the wall. I couldn't take his pleading any more! "Come on pilgrim, just set me on fire. This ain't art, this is crime, pilgrim" Which tells me I have to stop watching John Wayne movies with Mr X.
So, Girl X got him that first one for Christmas but it's all in charcoal and it looks so much better and it's NOT ON FELT!! So we should be able to get rid of the felt (barf!) one right? No. Mr X wants to pass it on to Baby X someday because he is convinced it will be worth something. Unless felt suddenly becomes scarce and unmake-able and therefore worth more than gold, I predict Baby X will someday bury it in the backyard with that bedazzled bird.
And this all leads me to the reason my grandmother told a bunch of people (after swearing them to secrecy and telling them they were the only ones she was telling) that we were related to John Wayne.
See, my Grandmother was crazy. It's why she was so much fun. I've never felt the need to ride roller coasters because I've been in a car with her. Do you know what it's like to go the wrong way on an exit ramp and then drive 2 miles the wrong way on the freeway before having 2 state patrol officers stop you and turn you around?
I do.
And it was funny because she kept getting mad at everyone else for driving the wrong way and we kept telling her that she was going the wrong way but she didn't believe us.
She used to get lost all the time. She'd be driving down the road and say "I don't think I'm supposed to go down that way. I'll be lost." and then she'd turn that way and we'd be hopelessly lost. But without trips like that, we'd never have found that one Chinese restaurant that gave us steamed rice topped with gumdrops. No, we didn't ask for the gumdrops. That's just how they served it.
Or the time she flashed a bag boy at our local grocery store after asking him if he'd ever seen a woman with one boob. She had two, but they were attached to each other. She was a lot of fun at parties. She never drank more than a teaspoon of champagne. That was her thing. "I'll just have a teaspoon of champagne."
And her house! She had a couch. It disappeared 12 years ago under some boxes that apparently mated and then never moved out. She was a packrat. A packrat that multiplied daily. Her house is a scavenger hunt.
But that's not what I was talking about. I was talking about this thing about us being related to John Wayne and let me just preface this by saying, we are not. As sad as that makes Mr X, we are most definitely not related.
My grandfather's uncle had a child out of wedlock. In fact, I have the court papers that show he paid a grand total of $245 in child support in 1930-something. My grandmother was certain that the mother's maiden name was Wayne (it wasn't) and since John Wayne's real last name was the same as hers, they must be related. She was sure that John Wayne was my grandfather's cousin. My grandfather just shook his head and sighed.
And um, I'm not really sure why I had to go through all that other stuff to tell you this one little thing but I hope that it makes up for taking so darn long! And I will try to remember to post the picture of the rubber band tie and so on.


Last night I was typing out my entry and I was really into it and it was long and then the power went out and I lost everything. Irony? I had just been typing how frustrating it is that I can't highlight and copy everything I right so that if I lose it when I try to publish or save as draft I can just paste it back in. I was steamed!
Plus, I can't sleep when it's quiet. I know this sounds odd, but it's too loud! I hear every creak and step and it keeps me up. To make it just that much better, our fire alarm kept beeping and it's a shrill beep. Ours are hardwired and I guess the backup battery was bad. I tried to ignore it. I tried to stop it (barstool wasn't tall enough for me to reach it). I even tried talking to it.

Can you just save that for later because I'm trying to sleep?


Come on, you're loud. You're going to wake up Baby X (because I figured maybe it didn't like me since I was always setting it off while cooking but it couldn't have anything against Baby X, right?).


If you stop beeping, I'll make Mr X put in some uber-expensive top of the line battery.


You are mocking me.


You've been talking to the laundry room haven't you?


Forget what he told you. We worked it out, I learned my lesson. Please stop.


I hate you.


I did finally fall asleep about 2 hours later. 20 minutes later the power came back on and woke me up.

I'll try to get the entry I was working on up later today.

Sunday, January 15, 2006


After today, I learned that Baby X's little experiment with his shampoo bottle last week was merely practice for the Stupid Thing I Did, Weekend Edition. I had a fight with my laundry room. The laundry room won.

When Mr X built the laundry room, he put a little shelf above the washer and dryer. I use it for the detergent, fabric softener, dryer sheets, baby detergent, woolite, stain remover, bleach pen, rags, dusters.... basic laundry things and a few cleaning supplies I use often. The shelf runs the entire length of the washer and dryer. Except that it isn't one long board. It's 2. And the brackets that support it? They aren't centered. It's never been a problem before today.

I've always left the caps off or loose on the bottles because laundry has to get done at lightening speed here. I have 1 minute and 24 seconds while Girl X plays with Baby X before school to sort, wash and start the dryer. Then he notices I am not in the room and decides that he can not live another second without me (even though he just spent the last 7 minutes ignoring my pleas to play) and begins screaming and beating his sister.

Point is, I do not have time for caps. I laugh at caps. Ha!

Today they laughed at me.

I started the wash and set the brand new, nearly full, 1.36 gallons of All back on the shelf exactly where it had been sitting for 3 days.

And the shelf had had enough of my arrogance and tipped.

Bottles went flying, soap! Everywhere! My hair! The walls! Yeah, EVERYWHERE!


Soap. Me. Ack.

The only thing I can be really relieved about, is that it wasn't a school day. Because I would have been thoroughly screwed.

And of course most of the bottles went flying behind the washer and dryer. I had to pull them out to clean it up, which, the All? Was being carefully held up because it had gotten stuck between the washer and the wall so really the spill wouldn't have been too bad.

It wouldn't have been too bad if I HAD KNOWN THAT BEFORE I MOVED THE DAMN WASHER!

The walls were covered in sticky blue soap. The floor was a mix of blue, green and clear and their were dryer sheets floating everywhere. Damn 240 count box.
And I thought the shampoo was difficult to clean up? Ha!
The shelf chose that moment to right itself. It was mocking me. MOCKING me!! It was as if it was saying "You dared to attempt to defy the laws of gravity! Suffer the consequences! Fool!"
Soap is sticky.
I figured the best way to clean this was not going to be paper towels. I won't need to pour any detergent for awhile. I'll simply use one of the 8 towels it took me to wipe up all that soap.
Then I had to get a wet cloth and try to scrub down the walls and get rid of the sticky. It took just the other side of forever.
So now, all caps are tightly twisted on the bottles. The heaviest ones are balanced safely where it can't tip. My laundry room smells disgustingly good.
And I will forever deny this moment when Mr X brings it up over the next several years.

Thursday, January 12, 2006

Just.... Awwwww......

This was just one year ago. He was 6 weeks. He was really that tiny.

He weighed 6 lbs 7 oz at birth. 3 weeks later he weighed 5 lbs 7 oz. At the time of this picture he had just barely topped 7 lbs. He sounded like a kitten when he cried. Mostly he just eyed us all with this intense stare.
It always amazes me how quickly they change. To go from this tiny, completely helpless, fragile person. To the Tower of Terror, capable of flattening unsuspecting cats everywhere.
I've forgotten who we were before him. It was the same with Girl X. It just seems that he's always been here. So when I realized the date, and realized that under different circumstances I'd be talking about my 2 year old, it seemed more surreal than I could have imagined. I still wonder who they would have been. Yet, at the same time, I cannot imagine Baby X as someone else. I think it's how I've accepted what is now, and not what it could have been.

I can't tell you how many times I've heard "Oh, (insert number here) is my favorite age!" and always for different reasons.

I haven't found my favorite age yet. I love the newborn period. Multiple night feedings and all. I don't mind the sleep deprivation.

I love it when they get more mobile and learn to roll, crawl and walk. Each discovery is like a miracle to them. You can see it in their eyes everytime they do something new. "Ha! Did you see that? I am AWESOME! Next stop, the world!"

I love the terrible twos and threes. For the temper tantrums because come on, it's pretty funny that someone under 4 feet tall and all of 30-35 lbs can stop everyone and command their attention simply by throwing themselves down, screaming and pounding their little fists. It's even funnier to see their reaction when you do it right along side of them. Not that I've ever done that or anything. And the things they say and do.

One morning, I think Girl X was 4, she decided to make oatmeal. I was asleep as it was 5 am and I had no idea she was up. But she didn't want oatmeal. No, this was for Cat. Because Cat likes oatmeal. Except that she couldn't reach the bowl. So she just used the drawer with all the handtowels and dishclothes in it. With the dishclothes and handtowels still in it. But Cat didn't like the peach oatmeal. So she dumped some blue Blue's Clue's applesauce in it. Because Cat prefers blue oatmeal. Except that he doesn't. I don't know about you, but there isn't much more I could do but laugh as I washed all my towels and dishclothes and cleaned blue oatmeal out of the drawer.

When she first started school, she'd come home every day very excited about the things she had learned that day and the things they were going to do tomorrow. But when I'd ask her what it was that she learned or what they were doing the next day? "I don't know."

And now, my pre-tween. Attitude and all. Wild imagination, great with stories, loves her brother to the point that she will actually let him play with her prized possession (a Mickey Mouse she takes everywhere and uses to scare away bad dreams). She's temperamental, but sweet. She's smart but gets bored so easily. She's silly.

I haven't found my favorite age yet. I love them all. I'm looking forward to what comes next with her.

And I can't wait to see what Baby X makes in my towel drawer for Cat. I just hope he doesn't put Cat in the drawer.

Wednesday, January 11, 2006


Don't worry, I'm not going to be mean and get all descriptive on you or anything. I totally blame the internet. It seems every one in here with kids is passing it around. Stomach bug through the monitor. I think the point can be made with this:
5 AM- Baby screaming. Smell hits me before the door does.

5:05 AM- Baby screaming. Me in the bathroom hosing him down with the shower head.

5:10 AM- Baby screaming. Ears ringing. Dirty jammies soaking, clean jammies half on. Note to self- pants don't fit over baby's head.

5:20 AM- Baby magically inhaled contents of cup without actually touching it to his lips. Yawn in awe. Both crash.


Seriously, this kid rarely ever cries. I've been lucky. Really lucky. Girl X was the same way. Which is probably why I have this crazy idea that I want to keep reproducing. This morning was nuts. He didn't want me to hold him he didn't want to be put down he didn't want to play he didn't want to not play no juice yes juice not hungry HUNGRYHUNGRYHUNGRY and so tired. I got desperate. Let me tell ya', Winnie the Pooh is a freakin' lifesaver that early and I am now all kinds of strangely in love with the Disney channel because it made him finally STOP THE EAR SPLITTING SCREAMING.

Now most kids when sick get really lazy right? I mean, when your ass is exploding every 30 minutes making that chapped ass match your eczema who really wants to run around and tear the house apart. Right?

So what the hell is wrong with my kid? Did someone not give him the memo that sick=mellow? It was like someone gave him a bunch of pixi sticks and set him loose.

*He dumped his shampoo all over the bathroom floor resulting in his second hose off of the day. It took forever to get that all off of him. It took just next to eternity to get it off the floor. Twice that since you have to keep preventing a certain somebody from using the shampoo to paint the walls.

*He put his disposable sippy cups just under my rocking chair enough that when I sat down, the lid popped off spraying pedialyte EVERYWHERE. And he laughed. This time he skipped the hose down and just got wiped down and his 3rd outfit of the day.

* He stuffed half soggy cheerios into the fireplace vent. As in, 'hmmm tastes bland, I'll hide it here she'll never notice.' Except that he had to taste every cheerio first.

* He sat on Cat and refused to move. I was doing dishes, Baby X was watching Sesame Street (he lalalaloves Elmo). It was only the desperate cry of one very freaked out kitty that saved him since I thought that Cat was downstairs. I tried to tell him to get off but he just smiled at me and chirped 'Cat'!

* He continued to practice this whole walking thing since it seems to be the latest craze. Plus we all clap and cheer like a bunch of idiots everytime he takes more than 3 steps.

* Stick one finger up each nostril, turn to me smiling and say 'cookie'. I had to leave the room.

* Hand me the phone, say 'dada' and then proceed to hang up on him after I call. Giggle maniacally.

* He has this great trick of removing his pants at will. He's been able to do it since he started crawling. It's an art form. Today he also learned how to remove his diaper. He figured it out in time to pee all over the carpet and one very groggy and freaked out Cat (which, get over it buddy. It was only a few drops and I've seen you pee all over Mr X's lunchbox when you were mad at him. Deal). He was quite pleased with himself until he realized that I had been holding out on him. Here was this great toy in his pants that magically sprays liquid and it's fun to poke and how dare mommy not tell him! He gave me The Look. And it is eerily just like Mr X's Look.

Tuesday, January 10, 2006


Because I know some of you who are reading this, I know you are not shy, in fact, I know some of you to be like me and never shut up already! Not that that's a bad thing right?

Thursday, January 05, 2006

He Means Well......

Mr X is an awesome husband. He laughs hysterically at my spastic exercise face, but would never even dream of trying to capture it on film (I so would). He puts up with my inane movie chatter during his favorite flicks. He indulges me when I think it's funny to dress the kid's up like oh, say, Humpty Dumpty or a bunny even if it's not Halloween.

So I know that he really thought this was an awesome idea and for most people it would be.

He got me this pedicure set (and I asked but he said 'no, definitely pedicure') and some foot shaped sander thingy also for my feet.

Why is this odd?

Because I can't even say the word 'foot' or 'toe' without mine curling up and maybe dying a little inside.
I am extremely ticklish plus, ew. I mean, feet? Ugly and ew.
My neighbor's kid has webbed toes and she spent one of our cookouts showing them to me and I thought I would DIE!!
One of the rare, and the last, times I went to sleep without socks, Dog licked my foot. I don't know what ever possessed him to do this. I do know he still twitches everytime he sees bare feet and I can jump really high.

The thought of getting a pedicure makes me want to cry.

I know it's pathetic and just weird, but there it is.

So why would my husband do something like this? He has met me. He knows me very well.

This has to be a practical joke right?

Wednesday, January 04, 2006

Moments in Which I Am Truly a Spaz

My one and only real resolution for the year is to be healthier. This involves eating better, and exercising.
The eating better part is not a big deal to me. I'm not a big fan of chocolate or sweets in general so I don't mind not having them. And ok, exercising doesn't really bug me either but........

Mr X once foolishly said I looked like I was having a seizure while doing my pilates. Something about the way I was moving and the look on my face. And I kind of already knew I looked ridiculous (who doesn't when they're all sweaty and contorting themselves?) but I did not need to hear it.

Which leads me to my main point that as much as I sort of want too, I can't join a gym. All those equally sweaty people making those strange spastic faces? Or worse, working out and not making those strange spastic faces. No, instead they'd all be looking at me and thinking 'oh good Lord! Maybe we should call 911?'

Combine that with my natural grace and it's a recipe for disaster!

I can't even jog a mile on my own treadmill without falling off and that just doesn't seem like something I want to do in public. I fall down in my driveway enough I don't need a whole new crop of people thinking I'm a drunk.

Mr X got me a mini-stepper for Christmas as requested. It has those stretchy elastic pull thingies for your arms. The first time I got on and tried to use those stretchy elastic pull thingies while stepping I punched myself in the nose and fell off the stepper. Mr X burst out laughing and chucked my shoe at him. It felt so Jerry Springer!

I no longer use those stretchy elastic pull thingies while stepping.

I do yoga a few times a week. As spastic and clumsy as I am, I have a strange ability to contort myself in those odd positions. These are always accompanied by Seizure Face but hey, whatever. No one is watching but Cat (and he laughs) and Baby X.
Tonight Baby X did downward facing dog, followed by trying to balance himself in that position with his arms behind his back.

Mr X is now begging me to not do yoga in front of Baby X in fear that I will forever damage his boy-ness.