Dog Days

The best part about Labor Day weekend is the knowledge that at the end of it, school starts. Yes. As of Wednesday Girl will be back in school thereby saving us the hours of my lameness and her exasperation at my ill-planned attempts to be cool.
We celebrated Sunday by going to the All-American traditional cookout. With dogs. Ours, theirs, others. Mishka was reunited with 2 of her litter mates and they spent the entire afternoon and evening rolling, nipping, sniffing and flipping each other.
We watched and ate and interacted with other adults which? Seriously? Was it always that good? Because I'm almost certain that I didn't say anything to horribly stupid (minus the idiotic conversation I initiated about Hurricane's rash and the subsequent switch to cloth diapers which no one cared about so I shut up and we moved on). We laughed and talked and I didn't feel entirely out of place for once.


Hurricane loved the piano but was less certain of Her. But she loved him. She hugged him and kissed him and anytime they came within 5 feet of each other she felt compelled to put her arms around him.
Her father insisted that she immediately go to her room and remain there until she is 30. She is a beautiful little girl with liquid chocolate eyes. Her parents are doomed.
Mishka is one of these dogs but I'm not all that sure which one. I know she's not the dark one in the back.


Face is tasty!!
Meet the Ball. Let this be a warning of the Ball, should you ever happen to find yourself in the backyard of the Ball. Do NOT throw the Ball. Trust me.
Because I did when we first got there. I threw the Ball just as her owner was warning me not to. I then spent the rest of the evening being followed by the Ball Catcher who was slobberly hoping I would throw the Ball again. And again. And again.
And again.
When I escaped to the deck, Ball Catcher wandered the yard looking for some other sucker to throw the Ball. The moment my feet again touched grass, there she was, drool pooling around the Ball in her mouth. She would drop it by my feet and if I dared to refuse to pick up the Ball, she would follow me and at first opportunity, insert her body before my feet and again drop the Ball looking at me with expectancy. Throw the Ball throw the Ball throw the Ball!
Desperately panting, Come on! Throw the Ball!
Internet? Do NOT throw the Ball.
I spent 5 hours throwing the Ball and my arm fucking hurts.

Here is where Hurricane became enraged. Because puppies? Totally cute. Puppies in his pool? No freakin' way! He stomped into the water yelling and waving his arms calling them all 'Eeka!' (his name for our puppy) and surprising them enough to chase them off.

Satisfied, he stepped out and stood guard at the side.

****************************

This morning I gave him a bowl of cereal. He took two Apple Jacks and refused the rest.

At lunch I handed him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He sniffed and walked away.

We went out to eat dinner. Girl happily munched her chicken fingers (I don't think she's ever ordered anything else) and looked doubtfully at Hurricane's chicken quesadilla.

He poked it.

He stuck his crayon in it.

He laughed and merrily refused to eat.

How can a child subsist on 2 Apple Jacks?

****************************

At the risk of regretting saying anything at all, at the risk of being a fool given our past difficulties, we finally reached a definite decision about having more children.

It's a yes.

Here's to trying, ignoring the failing, hoping for the best.

Medically Speaking

We just got back from the Doctor's a few moments ago. Hurricane is passed out in his room because the whole thing was just exhausting. First flirting with the secretaries, then the waiting room ladies, and the nurses. Then there was the running from the Doctor followed by the biting of the Doctor (which Girl is so jealous of because all she ever did was kick the Doctor in the face and why didn't she think of the biting because that can leave scars and how awesome would that be?).
Since Hurricane was 2 months old he has had a really nasty recurring diaper rash. Yea, I know. I know. Diaper rash, big deal right?
Well, yes. It is. Or it is when it causes your ass to bleed and will not just please to go away thank you very much.
It would fade to a pale pink only to return to it's angry, scaly, bleeding self in a week. We threw out the wipes, slathered him in Nystantin, some other prescription cream and triple paste. We let him run naked which left Cat hating us even more than he had before we brought this thing that likes to pee on him home. We sacrificed goats to the Gods of Diapered Asses. We talked to the rash, trying to convince it of the absolutely amazing places it could go if it would just get off of our son's ass.
Still, it stayed. It ate away at his skin until finally Hurricane just began denying the poop.

Most mornings he would greet me with a smile, then promptly stick his diaper-clad butt in the air and yell "Sstttiiiinnnggkkkeeeeeeeeeeee!!!"
But on those mornings when he would quickly hide his hands behind his back and declare "I no poo-ey", I knew the rash had returned.

There are claw marks on the walls of our hallway where tried to stop the inevitable march to the changing table. Our neighbors asked in concern and not at all hoping to need to call CPS if we were perhaps beating him and wouldn't that explain the screaming they heard?

No. What would explain it, and what would have been nice to know 18 months ago is monumentally simple.

He is allergic to the gel in the diapers.

I left the Doctor's armed with 2 new prescriptions to hopefully (oh please God!) get rid of the infection that has taken over his allergic reaction and the suggestion that we begin cloth diapering.
Yes, we will.

I am annoyed, endlessly, that it took as long as it has to know what was going on. We have been to the Doctor for this very rash 9 times. Each time we were given a prescription for some antifungal ointment and told it would clear up if we just gave it time. It would clear up if we just used all the ointment. It would clear up if we let him run naked for awhile. It would clear up if we stopped using wipes.

But it didn't. And now we know it never would have.

I blame myself more than anything. I should have been more insistent. I should have known that it was something more given his skin issues and mine. I should have sacrificed a chicken instead of a goat.

Actual Things Recently Stated In My House

Oh the pages I could fill on this one! But for the sake of my laziness, for oh how I love the laziness, how about if I just stick to this week?

-"Oh God please don't eat that slug! Please don't eat that slug. Don't eat that slugdonteatthatslugdonteatthatslugewewewew...... How many times am I going to have to pry dead slugs out of your mouth before you learn that crickets taste better?"

-"No Hurricane. I no longer put the cookies on the counter. If you want them you will just have to climb up on top of the refrigerator."
(Which, yes. He did. For I am a dumbass.)

-"I have no idea what his mom said but I'm pretty sure it was something about my going to hell. Because it's always about my going to hell. I love her."

-"You have the most hideous feet I have ever seen. I love you but I think I may hurl if those things come any closer."

-"But I don't like peas! They taste like green."
(I have no idea what green tastes like but Her Royal Highness, Queen of the Prepubescent Cheerleaders swears it is perfectly vile. Also lame. Yes. Very lame.)

-"Shut up! Ketchup is so a vegetable. It has to be because it's the only one your son will eat."

-"The only way you are getting me to go camping is if you kidnap Johnny Depp and have him chained naked to our tent. Just make sure he's made up like Jack Sparrow, 'k?"

-"Did that dog just eat poop?"
Yes. Yes she did.

-"Look! I can do a cartwheel!" *crash* "Um... Mom? Hurricane broke your side table."

-"Mahn an teese?" "No. No manatees for breakfast." Long pause with that unnerving glare that only toddlers are capable of..... "I want MAHNANTEESE!!!!!"
"And I want non-possessed type children, Linda Blair. You're still not getting manatees for breakfast. Here, have a cookie."
(Because only in my head is a cookie more acceptable for breakfast than mac and cheese.)

-"That John Wayne painting is going to be worth something someday!"

"Why? Is there going to be a desperate need for and shortage of ugly felt?"

-"Pshaw! I would so have made a kick-ass Rainbow Brite and she would have eaten Garth Vader for breakfast!"

-"No, He-Man was way hotter than Optimus Prime but I'd take Lion-O over either of them anyday."

-"Hurricane! Stop biting the dog. Cat is right there."

-"You're just excited that school is starting because then you can take Hurricane to the movies all day and then watch cartoons and eat ice cream while I'm being tortured!"

-"Just remember while you're pressing that forward button 17 times a day, I get to choose your nursing home."

"Yeah well, Girl gets to choose yours and it might be good to remember that she likes her grandparents. Now shut up and read."

-"EEKA! NO BIIEEE!!!"
(screamed by angry toddler to Mishka which utterly confounded her as she had been sound asleep across the room at the time.)

-"Canada is still only a few measly hours away."

The Scourge of the Soccer Mom Network

If you see the words 'Soccer Mom Network' and have no idea what I'm talking about (which I swear, half of what I write? I write thinking 'no way anyone is going to get this let alone think 'ha!funny' but oh well' and I write it anyway) go here and scroll on down to trouble in paradise.
I laughed when I read it because I so got it! It was the same thing when Girl was in T-ball and sort of the same thing with Cheerleading.
Then today I got really excited because I discovered something that terrifies soccer mom's more than bad highlights and and full calorie dressing.

I was leading cheer practice under the covered pavement of one local elementary school. It was raining. It was chilly. The Soccer moms took over one end of the shelter which was totally fine. It gave the girls an idea of how loud they had to yell to be heard over the blaring sirens of a thousand ambulances.
Or it was totally fine until a few parents decided their boys should practice kicking the ball at the girls.
Finally, after the youngest had been bowled over, yet again, in the midst of their favorite cheer, I spoke up.
"Excuse me?"

Heads spun around but the bodies, oddly, still faced forward.

"Could you boys please practice elsewhere or maybe at least not use the girls as target practice?"

The Soccer Mom Network as a whole sighed. I've never before seen synchronized sighing and eye-rolling.

One over high-lighted Soccer Mom stepped forward.

"I suppose the boys could practice out there. In the rain."

And before I could retort with a 'Well gee, we wouldn't want to let the preshus little Hunter-William-Landon's get wet! They might melt!', 4 little heads turned in sync and gave the most frightening glare I've ever born witness too.
Thunder clapped and the Heavens cut loose a torrential rain of fire and those Soccer Moms were instantly burned to ashes.
For there is nothing more frightening than pissed off prepubescent cheerleaders who know how to Huerky.

The boys quickly picked up their ball and ran to the field. The remaining soccer spectators decided it would be safer to observe practice in the rain.
All 4 girls smiled angelically and turned their attention back to performing the perfect pencil jump.

I highly recommend getting your very own prepubescent cheerleader.
Think of the possibilities!
Your boss won't give you a raise?
He will after one quick round of "I've got Spirit!" involving a left side hurdler and a right diagonal.
Mechanic ripping you off? Not after little Janie shows him her Liberty with a dismount he'll be feeling for months.
Neighbor dumping his garbage in your yard (please tell me we're not alone!)? Just have sweet little Susie pay him a visit with her poms and megaphone. He'll be mowing your yard in no time.

I Was Due

Every now and then I disillusion myself with thoughts of being graceful, non-klutzy, able to walk 5 feet without falling on my face.
And then gravity kicks in and knocks me back to reality.

I am still trying to train Mishka (the 2 and 1/2 month old husky that snores louder than my husband). I had her outside to do her thing when she took off for the neighbors lovely green yard.
Our yard is sort of green. Here and there. In between all the patches of brown and then there's the bare spots that have yet to recover from those damn moles (and I would totally link you back to that whole saga if Blogger weren't being such a bitch).
So, off she ran and I followed just hoping they wouldn't notice that she was eating their lovely flowers. She is slippery and it took at least 4 devoured peonies before I caught her.
I started to carry her back over to our house when it happened.
We had our driveway extended a few months ago and when we did it left this little step up from the neighbors lovely yard to our driveway. A 6 inch step that I forgot all about until my foot found it and my chin met the sidewalk.
I skinned my knee, my shoe went flying off behind me. I caught the brunt of the fall with my hands and arms and cracked my chin on the pavement.
I laid there cursing gravity while Mishka chewed on my hair.
One of the neighborhood kids, I think she's maybe 4, stood over me slurping her popsicle.
"Whatcha' do that for?"

"It's fun. Why don't you try it?"

She didn't take me up on that. I'm almost sure I would've stopped her.

Maybe.

Because I Can't Believe I Forgot..........

In making my laziest post ever, I totally skipped over the part that still haunts me. And everytime I see this picture, I feel a little ill but........



Did you know that some fish have teeth. Like, an underbite and everything?

Fucking teeth!

Picture Day

Never mind that it's been a few weeks of me trying and Blogger being a little bitch. Or that they are entirely out of sequence. They are posted. Except I don't remember half of what I had intended to say, so let's skip the boring parts and I'll hit the hightlights. Yes? Woo-hoo!


First up is proof of Hurricane's inherited feelings about feet.

He? Absolutely against them. Except, perhaps, for his own which, he has informed me and I concur, taste quite yummy.

One of the Lime Kilns at Lime Kiln Point. There was a point to this picture but I'm not entirely sure it's interesting anymore. Maybe because I don't remember the whole story. I do remember that this is just north of Dead Man's Bay, so named because well..... duh. Lime, in it's powdered form, it does not like the water. Workers would load this powdered lime onto the boats but because that area of the coast is so rocky, it would frequently get wet and burn up the entire ship.
Pretty. This is a favored point for whale watching. It's my favorite spot on the island. The lavendar fields. Really great place to go, take a deep breath and relax, if you like the smell of lavendar. I do not. 3 seconds after taking this picture and seeing the long expanse of lavendar planted before me (which was about 5 seconds after getting out of the van), I returned to the van and attempted to not throw up.

I almost succeeded.

While he desperately hates feet, he is hopelessly in love with frogs. He would not leave this damn guy alone. The guy would move on to greet another kid and there was my son, tugging at his leg in awe breathily bleating 'rrriimmiihhhttt?'
Meet Spot. Spot does not Baaaa as a normal sheep would. Spot burps. Loudly. Spot burped every time Hurricane turned his back. Hurricane was utterly confused by this noise because he was certain it came from this animal but it didn't even blink when he looked at it. Finally, he stood with his back turned slightly and caught it mid-burp.

Hurricane burped back and laughed.

They burped back and forth at eachother for 10 minutes before Hurricane's father rolled his eyes and carried him away.

This trip also began Hurricane's obsession with Dance Dance Revolution. I am certain this will lead to a fulfilling life touring the country in order to dance in competitions. Oh, you didn't know people did that? Well, yes. They do.
Then there were the chickens. Chickens my children felt the need to chase, much to the amusement of our friends, the owners of said chickens.

Girl would run after them, her arms flailing at her sides, yelling "Chicken nuggets, fried chicken, buffalo wings, chicken soup! MMMM!!" Proving only that she is my child, demented and lovely.

Hurricane simply bent over, his arms behind his back and "bawk, bawk bawk". Smiling as though he knew exactly what it was he was saying to them.

Verbal

In the past few weeks, Hurricane has become more and more verbal. He has happily slapped "paw-paw's bebly" and ran from "Bama's bad fee!"
As with the signs he learned from us, most of his words have to do with food.
"Mama. Diiinnnna?"

"Dinner?"

"DIIIINNNNAAAA!"

"Ok, I'll make you dinner."
As I start compiling the makings of grilled cheese with his hummus dip, he frowns and tugs at my pant leg.

"Man and teese!"

"Mac and cheese?"

"Man and teese! Man and teese!" He claps his hands pleased with being able to express his wants.

In the morning I am woken to his pleas for 'ceeerrreaahhhllll!'
In the afternoon it's 'ha dog' or 'peeba and ehhllly'.
"Cackers."
"Ilk."
"Waner."
"Bana."

My favorite is his hopeful request for a cookie.
Recently after being handed one cookie, he looked mournfully at his empty hand. He then turned his ever wanting face to mine.

"Two?"

I was so pleased that our practice with counting (which consist of me repeating the numbers 1 through 10 over and over again while he ignores me and shoves blocks into Cat's face) that I happily handed him another.

"foooor?"

But not that pleased.

One night as we read together he put his hand to my mouth.
"I go nigh-nigh?"

I was shocked! Normally he regards his bedtime as a joke his father and I play on ourselves. As if he would actually go to sleep when there are so many far interesting things to do and climb.

As he still had 5 minutes before we commenced his normal, and laughable, bedtime routine, I gently told him not yet.

That is the precise moment my child was possessed.
He lowered his sweet face, stuck out his lower lip, raised his eyes and in his most growly voice to date replied,
"I GO NIGH-NIGH!"

He was in bed within 2 minutes.

Today, again, I was given the opportunity to question the wisdom in teaching him to speak.
We were waiting as the mechanic finished up the oil change on our van.
He spotted a pretty woman in the corner and smiled.
"Hi."

She smiled and returned his wave.

Feeling brave, he moved closer.
Before I could fully realize what he was after, he had begun to lift her shirt.
"Boobies!"

The woman laughed and managed to keep her shirt down but my face is still red.

Number Pain

I have always had trouble with math. I took Pre-algebra twice in high school and again during my brief stint in college. I just didn't get it. English, History, Science, lunch? No problem.
Math? Bah!
It possibly didn't help that I found it much more interesting to explore the inner recesses of Tommy Milford's* mouth than to solve for y, but not the point.
I took the kids to the library yesterday and as I scanned the stacks pretending that it was not my toddler singing Elmo's World at the top of his lungs, I found it.
The Complete Idiot's Guide to Algebra.

I thought that applied rather aptly to me. Yes. A book written just for me. It even had my name on it (see: idiot).
How hard could it be?

I read the whole first chapter, happily making notes in the notebook I bought just for this. Girl sat next to me and shook her head for I am lame.
I did the chapter problems and checked my answers so certain that I had it all right.

I missed one of the possibly categories in the first question and got number 4 completely wrong. I still don't know what I did wrong on number 4.
I thought maybe I read it wrong but....
When you see this 6+2(5+8) you would add 6+2, 5+8 and then multiply the answers. Right?
Good grief. I can't believe I'm asking the internet to help me with math. And I'm almost 30 (*whimper*).

I took the book outside with Mishka, our overly hyper Husky puppy. As I was walking back into the house I caught my hip on the railing off of our deck. My hip swelled and there is a giant, hideous purple and black bruise. I couldn't even sleep on that side which meant, of course, that that was the only way I wanted to sleep.

As I sniffled and applied ice, I googled my 9th grade Pre-Algebra teacher.

Dear Mr Pocket-Protector,

You lied. Math is painful. Enclosed, please find picture of my very tender hip, injured while studying algebra.

Yours,
That Girl Who Was Always Attached to
Tommy Milford's Face


*Name has been slightly changed to protect, um... me.

One Step Forward

I am so ignoring my illiterate little troll and moving on. After, of course, a round of thank yous for the comments and e-mails.
Mostly it just made me roll my eyes and curse the writer for not paying attention in school.

Sunday I took Girl to see The Barnyard. It was just what a kid's movie was supposed to be and it felt good to sit there with her in the quiet theater and laugh. Just the two of us.
I threw popcorn at her and she knocked my elbow off our shared armrest.
She rested her head against my arm and I smiled. She didn't pull away when I kissed her head.
When the movie was over I asked her what her favorite part was.
We both agreed it had to be Wild Mike. She said it reminded her of her brother. She envied his 'no-fear' approach to everything.
His 'no-fear' approach terrifies me.
We laughed and talked on the drive home.
I sighed when we pulled into our driveway as she ran off to play with her friends.
She yelled 'Thanks mom!' over her shoulder.

For the first time in months I feel like we can do this.

I'm not saying that everything is ok, that I no longer worry about who she is and how we can relate.
Just that hope isn't lost.

Bite Me Very Much

I read my posts about girl and my problems with her twice. Carefully. I pored over every word just to be sure and now that I am I have to tell you (hateful e-mailer) to kindly kiss my ass. I'll even mark off which acre is all yours.

Not once did I say that I didn't want her or that I hated her.

I admit that I may have read your e-mail wrong as I speak English and by the looks of your e-mail you don't. What else could possibly explain what this 'an u d evn no cuz u d car 2 no is ur fawl' is?

Quite simply, I love my daughter. Yes we're having some problems right now. I'm finding connecting with her a challenge while she changes. But we're working on it.

And if all else fails I'll just leave her at the zoo.

You Win

http://www.google.co.uk/search?hl=en&q=I+fear+that+the+stapler+has+mated+with+the+paper+towels.++&meta=


I just.... I.... Gawd! Really?

The Day I Became "Lame"

Yeah, ok. I know I already was but at least my kids thought I was cool. Or maybe just pretended too. But now Girl has crossed that invisible line between "My mommy rocks" to "Who me? I'm an orphan."
I know I've made a little stink about this whole coaching thing (I am so going to end up kicking myself in the ass and possibly breaking my foot) but I was also kind of excited about it (aside from having to deal with Annoying Woman). I thought that maybe if I was involved in the things that she was interested in it would help with some of the problems we have been having. And also during those teen years when she really hates me and starts saying how I don't care I can say "Ha! Don't you remember when I was your coach and I ended up in traction? This limp isn't for nothing kid!"
We arrived at practice a little early. I was nervous but ready. Girl ran off to play until practice started. All the other coaches and some of the parents were standing around talking. I noticed Girl's coach from last year and we talked for a minute. It almost seemed normal.
Girl came over to get a drink and she looked at me kind of funny. Her ex-coach asked her if she was excited to start the year and she nodded a little.
I smiled and ruffled her hair.
"She has been asking for weeks now when we start."

And then it happened. You could feel the shift and the other moms looked over at us because it was that palpable.

"Oh My Gosh mom! You are so lame!"

And with that she was off to play and my jaw sat on the pavement.
The other moms quickly turned their heads to ward off of my errant 'lame-mom' germs.

Later on the way home I let her know that talking to me that way was never going to be ok. She apologized (while rolling her eyes) and I sighed.

I don't know that I'll ever get a grip with her. I don't know how to transition from the relationship we had to one that we can both live with. I worry. This is certainly not what I imagined motherhood to be like.

I look at her and I see the girl in pigtails who wouldn't take an oatmeal bath when she had the chicken pox because the water was 'dirty'. I see the girl who would touch her cheek to mine and sigh. I see the girl who would fall asleep in my lap while watching movies.

But that isn't who she is anymore.

I think our children's independence is harder on us as parents.

Does letting her grow really mean letting her go? Do I really have to give up a good bond with her in order to maintain authority? I'm still trying to figure that one out.

As I tucked her into bed tonight (one of the few things she still lets me do), she smiled, a little.
"I'm glad you're my coach mom."

I kissed her forehead, turned off the lights, went into the kitchen and cried.

More Proof of My Stupidity

It has been several months so I have been able to block out that horribly stupid thing I did. But now it's come back to bite me in the ass.

Tonight is the first practice for cheerleading. Practice for which I am supposed to teach them things like cheers. And I'm thinking that teaching them dirty cheers will be um, frowned upon? Yes?
Right.

To make this season just fabulous, I've learned that the town's most annoying woman had her daughter placed on my team.
Anything you can do, she can do 20 times better. She knows everything and will happily tell you just how wonderful she is. It is going to take every last bit of restraint to not stick my coach's handbook up her right nostril.

And Now For Another Round of "Oh Holy Hell People!"

Oh Lord. Really. I know I've mentioned before about the surprising number of people who have found me while searching for "she had worms in her" (damn TLC and google) but enough already!
13. 1. 3. Recently. 13 people searching for worms or earthworms.

This I could maybe shake off as whatever but the next one on my list, I just... I.... *bangs head on desk and dies a little*.
"Mother in law accidentally saw penis." "What to do?"

And now I'm left wondering just what happened to bring this about. And why it had to be brought about to my blog. What did I write that put me at #11 for this search request?
Seriously? #11? I'm not going to be satisfied until that one reaches number one.

Ingenuity

When Girl was a toddler, she preferred her two feet to be firmly planted on the ground. She found destruction at her eye level to be most enjoyable and much more of a surprise for me.
So it was incredibly disconcerting to me to watch Hurricane master his climbing skills on the beds, the table, my bar stools (which should be too high for him but whatever), and the Ikea corner shelving unit that seemed so useful at Ikea but we so don't have a corner to stick it in.
Still, none of that prepared me for this weekend. Saturday to be specific. Saturday I walked into his room knowing he had woken from his nap, fully prepared for a rousing game of Chase-Mommy-Around-the-Kitchen and Pinch-the-Nipples-Watch-Mommy-Cry! I was, instead, treated to the sight of the apple of my eye sitting in his dresser drawer. Pardon, his top dresser drawer. Yes. Well.
I tried my best not to faint (ha!) and instead removed his sturdy self from said drawer and firmly said 'No. Naughty.' Too which, he crumbled. And then naturally, so did I. He was so proud of his monkey-like ability and certainly I should find this skill useful! Perhaps when I throw my car keys on the rooftop in an effort to dislodge a Frisbee (give me a break. I was so wiped out and really, was it so much to ask the 5 year old neighbor boy to get his own damn Frisbee and while you're at it, I think Mr X perhaps left his hat up there and oh don't cry!). Surely then his shimmying up the rain spout would be a life saver. No?
Truly, it was the manner in which my would-be Everest toppler that had me proclaiming his genius status to the entire neighborhood (Please, they all think I'm crazy anyway so what difference could one more bout of insanity make?).
First, he had pulled out his bottom right drawer. Then his middle left, from there it was a simple matter to climb to the top.
Yes. Genius. Or more aptly, enfant terrible.
Since then he has happily displayed his ability to ascend every standing piece in the house.
His current favorite? The kitchen drawers. Even with the child safety locks (ha! They don't even slow him down. I'm the one who ends up pinching her fingers) it is a matter of mere seconds before his on top of the counter, merrily searching for cookies. Or french fries. Or whatever other assortment of goodies I seem to hide up there on those glorious counters he could never explore before.
I may not survive his childhood. He, no doubt, will be fine. But I think my heart will not handle so many of these ever increasing surprises.

Sunny Day, Chasing The Clouds Away....

My siblings and I were unholy terrors as children. We set the oven on fire the first time they left us alone, we conducted scientific experiments involving condiment packets in the kitchen (note: Mayo doesn't travel far, mustard and ketchup are the stains that keep on giving and relish smells really bad after 3 days), we fed the dog baked beans for the sheer joy of hearing my parents gag at 3 am, we made balcony jumping an art form and shoved beans in our ears (when bugs bunny did it, it fell out the other side. When we did it... it... did not really fall out so much as required a Dr to dig it out. Hee!). We were the Malcom in the Middle of our neighborhood.
My parents never knew what to expect from us, or which neighbor would be calling to ask if they knew what we had done in their yard that day.
But there was one hour a day that they knew where we would be. One hour a day that they didn't have to wonder what we had gotten ourselves into.

Sesame street was on and nothing short of Evel Knievel himself asking us to perform stunts with him was going to tear us away from the overstuffed couch in our living room.
Back then Big Bird was the only one who knew about Snuffleupagus. Every one else just thought he was Big Bird's imaginary friend. I would yell at the screen every time they missed him. Snuffy has a baby sister named Alice and wears 65 GGG shoes (how's that for useless trivia?).
There was Oscar, my favorite muppet, with his seemingly sour disposition but I knew better. Look how sweet he was with Slimey, his pet worm! Did you know that in the first season Oscar's fur was orange?
Cookie Monster, whose first name is actually Sid, taught me letters while The Count taught me to not be afraid of vampires. Oh, and how to count of course.
Grover, with his distinctive speech patterns and many talents fascinated me.
Bert and Ernie felt like family to us. We knew all the words to Rubber Ducky.
(From Wikipedia:)
Bert: "Hey, you've got a banana in your ear!"
Ernie: "What?"
Bert: "I said, YOU'VE GOT A BANANA IN YOUR EAR!"
Ernie: "What? I can't hear you; I've got a banana in my ear!"
Comic genious!
I remember when Mr Hooper died as it was the first time I ever experienced loss.
I remember Maria and Gordon as adults who could be trusted.
My parents took us to Sesame Place one year and it felt like Christmas. I had always wanted to live on Sesame Street and this was the next best thing. In my jewelry box on my dresser is the Big Bird pin my dad had bought for me that day. I smile every time I see it.
My parents took us to the drive-in to see Sesame Street: Follow that Bird. I cried when Big Bird ran away, afraid he'd never find his way home. But he did.
Time went on. I went to school. Summer break rolled around and suddenly I was too old and too cool to be watching Sesame Street anymore. My siblings had long since given it up.
But for those few (all too brief, according to my parents) years, my siblings and I were bonded over our love for furry muppets.

When I was pregnant with my daughter I smiled knowing that it wouldn't be long before I could introduce her to the great love of my childhood. And again, when I was pregnant with my son.
Now there are some new muppets on screen.
This season we will get to meet Abby Caddaby ( her name alone is reason to love her).
But it was Elmo, who always refers to himself in the 3rd person, who captured the heart of my son. He can spot him from 3 aisles away in a store and happily calls out for "la-la", his name for Elmo taken from his theme song. Elmo, who gave me moments like this which will make me smile when I'm old and gray. Elmo was the reason I ended up repeating his Number 5 rap in front of my son's playgroup.
Certainly there are moments where just the thought of one more minute of that high-pitched laugh will make me go bananas, but then I see my son laugh and dance.
I see him clap his hands and call out for more "Ma Noonle!", and how can I complain about his pure happiness?
(From Wikipedia:)
Elmo is the only Muppet to ever testify before the U.S. Congress. At the request and with the assistance of Rep. Duke Cunningham, he testified before the House Appropriations Subcommittee on Labor, Health and Human Services and Education in April 2002, urging support for increased funding in music education.
Elmo is meant to be a pre-schooler. He has a pet goldfish, Dorothy, and a natural curiosity that has taken hold over my son.
It tickles me endlessly when I hear him trying to sing along or counting. I love when he chooses a book at the library, knowing it will be one from Sesame Street. I love seeing him sleeping at night, his stuff Elmo tucked under one arm.
More, I live for the moments like I witnessed this week. My 8 year old daughter helping her brother put a band-aid on his Telly beanie baby because Telly got hit on the head on the show. I see compassion.
I am in awe that on Monday, they will be kicking off their 37th season. 37 years of providing educational entertainment to children. I hope they'll be around for my grandchildren so I can share it with them too.
Sesame Street is the one hour each day that I don't have to worry about what he is getting into. It's the one hour a day I know where he will be.


***
I wrote this piece as part of The Lovely Mrs Davis' celebration. I hope you will click on over to her blog on Monday to get a chance at reading other's posts. And better still, write one yourself.

The Puppy That Ate Seattle

Mishka has been with us now for a little over a week. In that brief time I have had to pry the following things out of her mouth:

1)dirt
2) grass
3)leaves
4) sticks
5) a dirty diaper
6) Hurricane's socks
7) Hurricane's pajama bottoms (and only the bottoms but she has gone after them many times)
8) The Cat
9) a chair
10) the recliner
11) the highchair
12) her bed
13) a flip flop
14) the carpet
15) the pantry door
16) her leash
17)the sliding glass door's blinds
18) a stair
19) a DVD (Nanny Mcphee, I'm not sure if this is a comment on the movie or she just really likes the taste of DVD's)
20) several slugs
21) flowers
22) stones
23)my bed
24) the pillows
25) my abdomenizer stretchy workout thing (Yay! Go dog!)
26) my husband's lunchbox

And each time I've caught her with one of these things in her mouth, she looks up at me with those ridiculous raised eyebrows and waits to see what I will do. Occasionally, if the forbidden treat is especially good (as those slugs must be given the way she would lock her jaw), she will run.
Prying slobbery dead slugs from this dog's mouth is most definitely not on my list of favorite things.

Desperate

At some point in the last 2 years, my daughter has become a new person. Someone I don't really recognize. I hate admitting that I am finding it increasingly difficult to maintain some sort of connection with her.
Before Hurricane she was my sole focus.
Sure she had friends she played with and I had things that had to be done each day and hobbies outside of being her mom. But there was no one else to take the attention away from her.
We still spend time together, just the two of us. But it isn't as often and it's certainly not the same.
I don't think it's a direct result of having her brother. Naturally there is a bit less time to focus on playing with her dolls or letting her 'braid' my hair. It can be exhausting keeping up with both of them. Spending quality time with each alone and making sure things around the house are taken care of and no one loses an eye has harried us a bit.
Still. It seems to me that somewhere between the ages of 6 and 8, she became someone else. Someone more.
Someone separate from me.
She is beginning to push her limits, making more and more of her own decisions. Who she plays with, what she wears, what she plays. She no longer seeks my opinion and has taken to rolling her eyes if I make a suggestion.
I know it's something that I have to learn to adapt to, her as her own person. But I can't help being a little bit sad for the little girl being left behind, and a little bit afraid of this new person rolling her eyes at me.
It wasn't that long ago that I was admiring her for being braver than I was as a kid. Now I'm longing for the days when she was content to let me help her with her dresses.
I know it sounds so stupid but when she was a baby I never thought about the fact that someday she would grow up and ask me to be her a tube top (which was met with a "over my dead body").
I have no idea what the rules are here, only that I have to set them and give her enough room to learn who she is, yet stay close enough to help her when she gets hurt. It's a tedious balancing act and I am sucking at it.
Not a day has gone by this summer that she hasn't back-talked and I haven't wanted to run screaming from the house. I could run to the left and be in Canada in 3 hours.
I love her. Period.
I just miss being able to connect with her the way we used to. And it's terrifying to think that it could always be like this.

I Learned A Lesson Here (But I Probably Won't Remember It)

I finally get up enough energy to post one giant recap and be done with it and the stupid picture thingy isn't working. So. Damn it.
Instead I will tell you the very stupid thing I did today for I am so very damn stupid.

Today I thought it would be fun to walk half a block to get the mail. With Hurricane. And a puppy.
A puppy who does not understand this whole 'walking on a leash' thing. A toddler who thinks is perfectly acceptable to help himself to neighbor's garages.
It started off well enough. Hurricane held my hand and smiled, chattering mindlessly about what I am certain involved quantum physics and why that means he is owed exactly 4.6 cookies to date. I half dragged Mishka in the other hand while carrying a plastic bag (for poop. ew. except that yes, because I am naively hoping that a certain neighbor will see me cleaning up puppy poop and realize that it sucks to have her dog poop in my driveway everytime he gets loose) and mailbox key.
2 houses away, Mishka realized that we were away from the house and there were lots of interesting new smells to sniff and flies to eat (and ohmygod can we discuss this eating thing in a bit? Because seriously! Damn!) and she ran in between my legs knocking me on my ass (1).
Hurricane laughed (and that's why you're not getting those 4.6 cookies you little bugger) and I pretended I had some dignity as I pried my ass off the sidewalk.
I gave Mishka my best withering sneer.
She panted and wagged her tail.
Bitch.
We continued.
Mishka did not.
I tugged on the leash and she simply stared at me.
I started to walk towards her and she took off running. So now I have one arm stretched out in front (who knew a puppy could be so strong?) to the point that I think I may have gained an inch and I'm leaning over on the other side a bit so I can hold onto Hurricane. Great. I look like a fucking hobbit.
Mishka decided to change course and ran full circle behind me, cutting Hurricane off at the knees so that he fell flat on his diapered butt (2).
I now owe him 4.6 cookies.
We finally made it to the mailbox where I realized that I am even stupider (it's a word now, shut up) than I originally thought. I had to let go of Hurricane to get the mail out. I also had to figure out how to carry the mail, the keys, the bag of poop, the leash and Hurricane back to the house without dropping anything or ending up on my ass, on the bag of poop.
So I thought I'd just let Hurricane walk with me without holding my hand.
He took this to mean that it would be perfectly fine to run into a stranger's garage and fondle their riding mower.
Prying him off of that thing while begging Mishka to please not eat through the bag of poop was not exactly the way I had imagined meeting these people, but I really should not have been surprised.
I tucked the mail under my arm and prayed that it wouldn't end up all over the street, slid the loop of the poop bag over my wrist (please don't let me fall on it!), shoved the leash and the collar in one hand and continued hobbit walking home with Hurricane in the other hand.
I made back to my side of the street and 5 feet away before Mishka took another pass at my legs. I freaked about the poop bag and threw my arm out thereby scattering my mail all over the street before landing on my ass (3). Again.
I told all of this to a friend who asked me why I didn't also take Auggie, wonder-mutt extraordinaire. Yes, because nothing could have made this excursion better like taking my pissed off cone-wearing snob of a dog.
We are no longer friends.

Warmed Honey

Yes, recap still owed. I know. Still, this is far more important. No really, it is.
Because, although it took 24 years, I finally got to see BB King in concert on Saturday and it was amazing!
BB King has this incredible spirit that just takes over the moment he steps on stage. He has a fantastic sense of humor and we laughed through much of the evening.
He is 80 and had to sit in a chair as he played but it didn't matter. That man can move.
Maybe it helps that he loves music, loves touring.
When we left that night my husband, my reluctant date, said the three little words every woman wants to hear.

"You were right."

He's never been to a concert before, he's not a music lover in the same vein as I am. But he loved Saturday and has converted to at least being a fan of BB's.

Note To Self

As you have been told many times in the past 4 years, you have developed an allergy to latex. It eats your skin. It is painful. It takes many weeks to fully heal.
Most band-aids contain latex. Remember? This is how you found out about this whole 'eating of the skin' thing?

So why the hell do you keep forgetting?



This is 2 weeks later.

Dumbass.






Also? ow.

Bastards!

Baxter, poor tortured Cat, has decided that we are simply evil Cat-haters who live only to torment him.
In the past 20 months he has lost his space in our bed, been peed on, jumped at, had his tail chewed on by one teething baby, his eyes have been poked, ears yanked and chased around the house on a daily basis.
Then we bring in new dog. Just when he got used to Auggie and found a way to torment Auggie without being eaten, we bring in Mishka who does not care about boundaries.
Too add insult to injury.........




...... we allowed him to be shaved. Yes, he is sporting last season's lion cut.






My stomach still hurts from laughing.

Day One: Zoo

Ok so not exactly day one because really day one was when they got there and then day 2 we went grocery shopping and what is there to say about comparing cheeses in the market?
Right.
So technically day 3: Zoo.
Still boring.
I thought it would be great to spend the day walking about staring mindlessly at animals and maybe making some animal noises and such.

Sadly for us we went on the day that all the animals decided to have a napping contest.
Except the hippos and some of the monkeys.
All the rest? Nothing. Not even a sniffle. The orangutans took one look at us and put a burlap bag over their heads. I am fairly certain that given the option they would have preferred the bags on our heads.
And just to make sure that I understood how much this was a bad idea, the day decided to be much colder than it was supposed to be and I had to buy the kids overpriced sweatshirts. My credit card hates me. Deeply hates me.

From the petting zoo where there were no animals to be pet so we had to settle for petting a fly that wouldn't go away.

The hippos which actually are hippos and not plastic things stuck in the water in a lame attempt to fool us that we were looking at real hippos as I had always assumed because they have never moved before. (Your welcome for the endless sentence).

Even the butterflies took the day off.
As we walked the trails in search of some non-snoring type animals, we kept hearing this 'whoop'. Loud and obnoxious.

Then suddenly very fast.

And all too familiar.

Much like the noise I used to pretend I wasn't hearing as my parent's room shared a wall with mine.

Pointing this out to parents proved to be too much and I spent the rest of the trip trying to forget that my parents ever had sex. Ew.

The whooping turned out to be the monkeys. Monkeys which fell asleep just as soon as came over to see them.

Bastards.

I thought we could maybe salvage the day by taking the kids over to the zoo's new playland. Except that it was closed for the day. I guess playlands need their sleep too.

To make the day just perfect, Girl decided to show off her newly honed snarky skills.

I'm still amazed that she didn't somehow end up becoming part of an exhibit.

Control

I am truly in no mood for recaps and pictures which will surely take several posts in order to truly capture the events of my parents visit. All culminating in our fully understanding what it means when our heating vent is directly connected to our daughter's room. Because that is where my parents slept. And sound travels.
Ew.
I am feeling particularly sour as I have also begun to fully understand that the next several years are going to leave me in breathless anticipation of the Girl's moving out. Perhaps even more so now that she has informed me of her intention to move as far as she possibly can from wherever I stand.
She is 8. She has hit the 'tween' years. She has found out that I have buttons and oh how she loves to push them.
This morning was a fairly typical sampling of an average day with her.
I wouldn't let her wear her brand new skirt to play outside with Mishka. So instead of simply throwing on some shorts and having fun, she marched around the house in her underwear yelling at everyone to not look at her.
I directed her to her room where she upended the clothing her grandmother had generously folded for her.
Reason does not exist when she gets like this.
Instead, it is much more satisfying to throw a book at me. So she did. And I threw it in the trash (and in the trash it shall remain!).
My natural instinct to throttle her is always overtaken by reason and I walk away. But I cannot deny that innate urge to slap that snotty smug grin.
No, I won't cross that line. Instead I sigh. Count to a bajillion and ground her happy little ass.
The cherry on top of my pie tonight was when she turned to me and said "I guess you're happy now that you've ruined my life!"
Damn skippy, kid. I consider it my privilege and my grandest achievement to ruin your life on a daily basis.

Certifiable

I know I owe a better post than this but vacation isn't technically over until tomorrow. So instead I bring you more proof that we are insane.
How else can I explain the fact that within 6 hours of learning of her existence, we became the very confused owners of Mishka, a 6 week old purebred Alaskan Husky.
Mishka, with the softest gray eyes and the sweetest temperament I have ever seen in a puppy.
When the breeder set her down at our feet she bolted under my legs and hid there, shaken from the car ride that brought her into our lives. She spent the ride to our house with her nose in my armpit, occasionally stealing glances from under my shirt with those lovely gray eyes.
Auggie, the original Dog wonder has taken a fatherly attitude to her.
Baxter, the much-beleaguered Cat, has given up any hope that he may have a peaceful space in this house. He took one look at Mishka and glared at me. Granted, it has been a rather unpleasant weekend for him. My sil shaved him. I believe she called it the 'lion' cut. I took one look at him and nearly peed my pants laughing.
Hurricane's happy squeals and rapid-fire cries for "meeka!" have been greeted with small wet kisses.
Girl melted at Mishka's feet and was treated to gentle nibbles.
Mr X sighed that very defeated sigh. He never wanted a female dog. He had his heart set on one that would maybe not shed so much.
Still, once he knew he'd been defeated, he demanded only the very best in puppy food for her.
He is currently curled up with her. Snoring together.

And I?

I love puppy breath.

And her absolutely ridiculous eyebrows.

We Now Interrupt Your Regularly Scheduled Vacation Because OMG! Fuckers!

So what is a really good way to completely fuck up a vacation?

Um. Have your husband 'lose' his wallet at Chucky Cheese On Crack only to find it 6 hours later after someone has taken all of your credit cards, cash and ATM card.

Fuckers.

I hope they use it. Because we cancelled the cards and filed a report with the police and it's a felony and I want them to get arrested and dammitalltheydeservelifeinprison!

And I had a rainbow colada to make me feel better. And another because it was really good. And since I drink exactly never you get semi-drunk blogging and lots of swearing and it's taken me exactically 43 minutes to type this because I have to keep going back or you'll see something more like thiskdf andhi if t dont harfly ,mmmmmmakeee sdenbhse. And I keep forgetting that you are there and I am typiing and OMG I had to cancel all of our fucking credit cards because Fuckers!!

I heart Rainbow Coladas.

That is all.



*Except for OMG poor spell check. I think I maybe broke it. Maybe I should buy it some Coladas too. Mmmmm Captain Morgan's Rum........

**And also except for OMG! What the holy hell people? I have had 8 people find me in the last 2 months by tyoing in "I have worms in me".
Jeebus! Stop putting worms in yourself! I recommend trying alcohol instead.

Vacation

In less than 3 days my parents will be here for 10 days.
10 days of spoiling the kids rotten.
10 days in which to cram what would normally be 6 months worth of activities.
Hopefully by the end I'll still be somewhat sane. Or at least as intact as I am now.

One thing is for certain, they will provide ample fodder for when I return in August.

Mother, Revisited

I had what must seem like the most hideous thoughts the other day. Some women I know were discussing their mothers' hospice care and subsequent deaths. They talked about the things they missed.
Actually, it's a feeling I've had before. I overhear someone discussing how wonderful their mother was. All the things that they did together, all the things that they learned from them.
And I feel envious.
It's something I will never have, those happy memories and lessons learned at my mother's hand that I can then pass on to my own children.
It has been more than 6 years since my mother died and I waver in how I feel about it all.
I can go weeks without even thinking of her.
We looked vastly different. I often heard people ask if she had adopted me, not quite believing that my beautiful blonde, petite and gentle-voiced mother could have possibly birthed a lumbering loud mouth brunette like me.
I don't see her when I look in the mirror.
I don't see her features in the faces of my children.
We shared little in the way of common interests.
Except for my fascination with her when I was young. During that period I loved her nearly as much as she loved herself.
I will walk into a department store and smell her perfume on another woman. It takes me back to her home. When I would be invited to visit, which until I had my daughter was rarely, her entire house would smell of her perfume. And it should have been overwhelming and stifling, instead it was sweet and light.
I catch a glimpse of a woman as she walks confidently through the mall and for a moment my heart catches. Then she turns and I'm left with the feeling that I have missed out on something grand.
When I was a child I had convinced myself that my mother was really Cher. That when she would need to perform she would simply slip into that long black wig. Their features were similar enough to enable my young mind to believe it, to use this as the reason for why she didn't have time for me.
There were many years where we didn't speak to each other at all. During those times she would lavish extravagant gifts on my siblings with the explanation that they had been such very good children. And I was the bad seed.
She used to tell her therapist that I just got 'lost in the shuffle'.
She wasn't all bad. We did have days where just to sit next to her was like Christmas morning.
But the older I got, the less use she really had for me.
It became apparent that I would never be her, never be what she wanted me to be. I would always be too tall, too brunette, too loud, too much my father's child.
I had hoped things would change once my daughter was born. Briefly I was able to convince myself that it had. That her constant invitations and the things she bought for us were because she loved me.
It wasn't until later that I came to understand that she had hoped my small, nearly blonde daughter would be like her. And a part of me is grateful that she is gone, because it means that that transformation will never come to pass.
My general rule of parenting is to imagine what my mother would do and then do the opposite.
Because her death was so sudden, so unexpected, there was never time to say good-bye. I don't know if that would have made a difference or not.
Some days I think I've forgiven her for who she was. That sounds so arrogant doesn't it? I don't mean it to be.
Sometimes I hate her. Sometimes I miss her. I feel guilty and angry. It is an imbalance and an uncomfortable feeling.
I laugh to think of what she would say now, if she knew how I felt.

Often I think that I will never be able to just let it all go.

The thing that keeps me up at night?

Imagining my daughter feeling the same way about me.

May They Disappear While I Am Sleeping

I realized today that there are far worse fashion offenses than Clogs.
There are those that crush your soul until all you can do is choke and claim that the wearer is no one you know.




No where in our marriage vows did it say anything out holy socks worn with sandals. I checked.

If It's The Thought That Counts, I'm Afraid Of What This Might Mean

I think that most of the time when I describe my mother-in-law the listener is possibly thinking that I'm exaggerating her craziness, the strange things she says and does. Or, as in this case, gives.

So, this time I took pictures.
I thought I had gotten rid of Scary-Ass Clown when it was given to Hurricane for his birthday. I would have sworn that he had burned in an accidental fire that spontaneously sprung from our backyard.
But no. As I gathered things for our yard sale this weekend, Scary-Ass Clown made an appearance. He eyed me with suspicion as I warily applied a 'Free' sticker to his head. I would happily have paid to have him removed from the house.
In what should be no surprise to anyone, no one wanted him. This morning I took a chance that my MIL would not go to a goodwill 20 miles from her house and buy him again (because she has done this sort of thing before) and left him there.

First, I would like you to note his many pockets. Most would assume that these are for shoes. Hurricane and I came to the same conclusion. Those pockets are to hold spare body parts that Scary-Ass Clown could not consume on the spot.
Hurricane took one look at that creepy grin and started crying, burrowing his head into my neck please don't let that thing eat me!
I also feel the need to point out the eyebrows. Those very furry eyebrows. It feels like real hair. Possibly animal. Certainly not her own as it's the wrong color but I wouldn't have been surprised if it was.

After the bejewelled bird barrette that I buried in the backyard and the lighted moving picture of baby Jesus, now Scary-Ass Clown? I find myself more and more wary of opening her 'gifts'. I have a feeling the next one might actually bite.

I will kill you in your sleep!
Be hypnotized by my overly hair eyebrows!

Welcome Little One.........

Congratulations NK, and welcome to your very sweet little girl!

Yard Sale Angst

So we decided to sell a bunch of the crap, er, our stuff that we longer need/want/use. I've been getting stuff together and pricing it all for Saturday. Mr X came in and leaned over my shoulder, frowning.
"Don't you think you're pricing that a bit high? Who's going to buy it at that price?"

"Buy it? This is what I'm willing to pay them to take it away."

Seriously. My grandmother was a yard sale queen. It was physically impossible for her to pass one of those signs and not stop. Most of the things she would buy were things that no human being on the planet would ever want or need. Some things that no one recognized as anything other than a hunk or metal or plastic. And she never paid full price. She once argued with a lady for 10 minutes over something priced at a dime. In the time that it took her to aggravate the lady so much that she gave it to my grandmother for free, my brother had decided to see if a car's cigarette lighter would really scar his skin. It does. But hey, my grandma got a thimble from Ohio for free.

My main worry is that no one will show up.

"Gah! No one is going to come and look at this crap! I'm going to be sitting in our driveway surrounded by crap and our neighbors will really think I'm batty and ohmygoshwhatamIdoingthisfor??? ARRRGGHHH!"

"Seriously? Chill out. If no one shows, we'll just call my mom."

Personally? I don't think this was funny.

His sister once tried to get rid of some clothes that she no longer needed since she lost a lot of weight. Her mom came over and took the clothes. She insisted that they could be tailored to fit her daughter again. Currently they are collecting dust amid the other piles of Only-God-Knows-What-That-Is-Oh-Crap-It-Just-Moved! in their garage.

If his mom comes over, we'll never be able to get rid of this stuff. It will just sit in my house and collect dust until the dust magically comes to life and takes over my brain and I become her and oh my gosh no wonder I can't sleep anymore somebody make it stop!!!

So, yes. We're having a yard sale this weekend. Just please for the love of chocolate, don't tell my mother-in-law.

Dear Girl,

Many times you have discussed your future with me. Occasionally you have even understood that this future involves you living in your own house apart from me. Other times the thought of not being under my roof seems to frighten you and you insist that you will always want to live here, with us.

There are times you seem uncertain about what your role in life will be. Is it your duty to be a mother and wife? Or are you supposed to go to college and find work? Is there a hard and defined rule to what you are meant for?

When asked at school what you want to be when you grow up, your answers have varied from swim teacher, to lawyer, police officer, amusement park employee or mother.

I want you to know that those things do not have to be exclusive of eachother.

There is no hard and defined rule for you.

No one can tell you what you are meant for my dear girl. Only you.

If there is one thing you get from me, one thing you can hold true, let it be this.

Your fate, your future, cannot be controlled by anyone else. My daughter, your fate is in your hands.


May they always be full.

Sleepless In Seattle

Hello Insomnia, my old friend. It's been almost 6 months since I've seen you. I almost fooled myself into thinking that I was in the clear.
Moron.
At different points in my life I've dealt with bouts of insomnia. As a teen and non-parenty type, it wasn't a big deal.
But once I had kid #1? The insomnia thing sucks.
It's hard to function as a decent parent when you are running on 2 hours of sleep to no sleep for several days in a row.
I just can't get my mind to shut up it's running commentary.
I've been writing this blog for a year now. (Holy shit!) I thought maybe, just maybe, it would help if I had some way to release the stupid things that run through my head all day.
But here I am again. Sitting up in bed, staring out the window as the neighbor's cat chases air around our yard.
Figures. I finally get kid #2 to sleep through the night and I can't.

Bonding.

I'm sitting on my deck sipping my iced tea on a warm and quiet late morning. I'm watching the kids as they play .
Hurricane runs after Girl as she races after the ball he just kicked. They are both laughing. She grabs for the ball and turns, leaning over.
"Here buddy, kick it!"

He reaches up and grabs her hand to steady himself and kicks the ball.

Again, he follows as she runs for the ball. They play for an hour before it's time to come in for lunch.

He sits in his highchair, she at the table by his side.
He squeals merrily as she contorts lips and eyes into goofy poses for his amusement.
She leans over and whispers something in his ear.
He smiles and touches her nose.

Later, after his nap, they are once again in the backyard. This time in the kiddie pool.
He is waving his arms like a maniac, spraying sheets of water in all directions. She laughs and shows him how to load the plastic fish to squirt.
They play until they are wrinkled a bit chilled.

It is evening now. Dinner is over. The light outside is slowly dimming, the air, cooler. I am cleaning up the kitchen, preparing for the next day.
The kids are bathed, ready for bed. Hair damp and brushed. Pajamas soft and sweet smelling.
He sits in her lap as she reads to him, pointing out the animals in the book, cheering him on as he names a few on his own.
He claps his hands. She smiles.
He leans over and kisses her. She pulls him in for a kiss.

I tuck them both into bed.

Despite those days where I think they'll simply never get along, never accept the other's place in this house, I see it now. What they have is what I had always wanted with my own siblings. I hope it will remain. I wish I could bottle it and feed it to them on Those Days.
Girl had spent so much time talking about how she wanted a sibling, specifically a brother, that I don't think she fully realized what it would mean. She spent 7 years as a one and only. Then one day she had to share it all and it was unsettling.
I remember in the hospital as we handed him to her and she smiled, said 'hi little bro'. I also remember how many times she asked me to just put him away so that we could play again. 19 months later and there are still days I wonder. And then there are these moments that take my breath away.

Watching them now, my heart is full but light. And it's good.

Betrayal

As usual, my very best intentions have been thwarted by a furry red muppet bastard and his number one fan's sensitive nature.
It seemed like a wonderful idea. A sprinkler made just for babies and toddlers in the shape of Elmo. It sprayed a very fine mist in a rather non-threatening (and thankfully not giggling) manner.
But much like his first encounter with the giggling (and yes. I just now, months later, discovered that those Elmo heads giggle when squeezed. So great, now Hurricane can listen to Elmo giggle maniacally while the muppet gobbles up his toes. Fabulous.) slippers, it did not go as expected.



LaLa my dear friend! It's raining! Come inside with me and
we'll eat cookies and plot to destroy Cat!


Wait! Lala? NO! Say it ain't so!


What the hell mom? What did you
do to my friend?

Ugh. He wanted no part of this thing that spit at him. He sat on the side walk and cried La La Nooooo.......

And in case I didn't already understand just how very strange a boy he was, he decided to reveal his fear of the alphabet.

It started simply enough. I began the afternoon, after he wakes from his nap cheerful and angelic (shut up), as I always do. With a cheerful, if a bit (shut up) off key rendition of the ABC's.

He whimpered when I reached C.

Whined at F.

Rubbed his eyes and threw himself into a heap of warm angst in my lap at H.

Covered my mouth and pleaded for me to stop at M.

Began to cry at P.

R made him yell 'NONONONO!' as he covered his head.

By W he was red-faced and tear streaked, gasping in agony.

Z.

HATE.

I couldn't believe that it was the song that had caused him to react that way.

I tried to sing it again but didn't make it beyond B.

I thought maybe he was turning into Simon Cowell thanks to his father's secret addiction to American Idol.

So I sang Twinkle Twinkle Little Star (it has the same tune as ABC), and he clapped and smiled.

I waited until Mr X got him.

"Watch this."

I made it to D before his little body burst into flames and the letters simply smothered him.

"Whoa."

Mr X tried to sing it for him.

He was immediately tackled and bludgeoned with a Weeble.

I am not sure what sort of falling out my son has had with the alphabet. Only that it was so severe as to have caused their banishment.

Sesame Street has never been so sad.

She'll Have What He's Having

Once upon a time, not terribly long ago, I dreaded the 4th of July. The fireworks lit by idiot neighbors hell bent on setting our house on fire, the fireworks lit by certain unnamed individuals who very nearly blew themselves up as they stood over fireworks lit by other certain unnamed individuals (and for once it wasn't me!), the loud booming, the smoke, the residue that thickly coated everything on our street.
No, that hasn't changed. There are still people on our street who think fireworks safety involves pointing the roman candle up in the air and holding it IN THEIR HANDS as they light it. Our street is littered with casings and only a few body parts. Ash has coated my van in fine gray film.

What has changed is that I now have my very own drug dealer. Someone I hold very dear for they have made it possible to actually leave my house on 4th of July and enjoy the neighbors injuries in person without worrying that our overgrown lap dog has hurled himself through a window in an effort to rescue us from the Smoke! and the Noise! and My G-d Don't These Humans Know They Are In DANGER????

Yes, our lovable brute of Dog has one true fear. Fireworks.
He paces and cries. He buries his head under the bed and whines. He hides in the bathtub and howls. And should we dare to attempt to leave the house and put ourselves in such close proximity to the danger, well. He feels morally obligated to protect us from ourselves.
We realized this the year we left a window open and he jumped through the screen to 'save' us.
So now we happily sedate him. And because of where we live, we must do this for several days. He spends about 4 to 5 days happily wandering through the house in a daze. I imagine it to be like taking care of a very stoned old man. He stumbles and pants. His eyes go from being ridiculously wide open to all squinty and bloodshot. If he is not quite where you left him, simply follow the trail of drool to the kitchen where you will find him looking rather forlornly at the pantry where all the good trash is. Also? Cookies. Human cookies. Also? The staring. At nothing. Yesterday I found him in the hallway staring at the nightlight. I snapped my fingers, called his name, waved food in his general direction but he didn't budge. Just drooled.

Yesterday we spent a large portion of our time laughing at our inebriated dog (as he was sadly the only inebriated one in our house) and trying to confine Hurricane to his own body.

Yesterday was also the day I realized just how different my two children will be.
My dear Girl. She and Dog have much in common. We had to physically carry her off the porch. She wouldn't go near the sparklers much less actually hold one.
In fact, I think her exact words were Are you insane? I'm not touching that and you can't make me lunatic!
I suggested that she go inside and watch from under the bed as Dog often did but she did finally, albeit reluctantly, join us.
She cried. A lot. At first anyway.
By the end though, she actually held a sparkler. Granted it had already been lit for awhile and it only had a few seconds left. Also, she held t as far away from her body as possible and looked as though she may drop it and run at any second. But she did it. And I was proud of her.

Hurricane. Geez. That kid went ape shit. He didn't know whether to sit, stand, or dance. So he did all three. All night.
He pointed and his body shook.
Whoa!!!! OOOOOOOO!!!! WOWWOWWOW!
We had to hold onto him at one point to keep him from running into the street and grabbing the fountain of fireworks our neighbor had set off. He wanted so desperately to hold the pretty lights.
He turned and twisted, craning his neck to see everything being set off. He was in awe.
By the end of our night he was in arms, his head resting against mine. The people who live behind us set off their grand finale and as we watched the sky light up in purple, red, blue and green, Hurricane whispered wow, so softly. I think that summed it all up for him perfectly.

Today as we left the house he lifted his face to the sky in search of those pretty lights he loved so much. When there was no grand show, he hunched his shoulders, raised his arms palms up, bent at the elbows and simply asked where the boo?

Girl simply breathed. Relief. She has 364 days before she will once again be wishing she was Dog.

Please Tell Me She Snores.

The Girl had her martial arts thing today. Hurricane and I sat off to the side, half watching. Mostly he tried to run out there and join her.

Finally I gave up trying to hold him back and strapped him to his high chair. For my effort I was treated to the Glare and Growl. I say growl but really? It's funny. Unless you've seen The Grudge, Then not so much. Because you know the part where the wet misshapen Asian girl opens her mouth and makes that guttural noise? Hurricane does an excellent impression that sends ice water down my spine.

In an effort to distract him I ran my fingers up and down his back through the fabric of the umbrella stroller. He is so very ticklish and his back is one of the worst spots.

He squealed and his eyes got wide.

I did it again.

He jumped and laughed. I started laughing too and then it happened.

I snorted.

Yes. I sometimes snort when I laugh. In fact, if I'm really laughing, there's going to be a snort in there somewhere.

Most of the time I can disguise it. Or it's soft enough that no one notices.

This was not one of those times. This was one of those times that one of those 'perfect' moms had to be nearby and of course heard me. And laughed and of course told her equally perfect husband who looked at me and smirked.

She was lean, platinum blonde, perfect teeth, manicured nails and impeccably dressed.

The type that makes me feel as though I've been playing in my mother's makeup.

And I snort when I laugh. Dork.

Things My Mother Never Told Me

Boy is that ever a loaded title. I think it would be a shorter post to simply put down the things she did tell me. Hmm. Maybe the things she told me that were useful. Yes. That would be a very brief post.

Perhaps a more appropriate title would have been "Things Other Mothers Probably Didn't Tell Their Daughters About Parenthood That Maybe Would Have Been Helpful. Or Not. But We'll Never Know Because They Didn't Tell Us."
But I don't think that title would have fit so well. You get the point. (shut up dumbass!- Says me. To me.)

*It will soon seem perfectly normal to have a child climbing into your lap as attempt to pee.

*Boys need to be pointed south.

*If you do not point them south, you will get very wet very quickly.

*An 8 year old can demolish a bathroom in 3 minutes flat given the proper motivation and the aid of a toddler armed with a rubber ducky and a love of toilets and flushing.

*Rubber duckies do not fit down the toilet. But they can get stuck just enough to cause a flood.

*Silence is scary. It means the children have found something interesting (Read: destructive) to do. Sometimes the screaming is a good thing.

*Cats don't like oatmeal. Not even if it's blue and made in one of your kitchen drawers by one very bored child.

*Children repeat the one word you wish they hadn't heard. Often at the most unfortunate moment. Like at your grandparent's anniversary dinner when she (3 at the time) asks your grandmother to pass the fucking rice. Be grateful grandma can't hear well.

*Children have the uncanny ability to physically harm you when you least expect it. Like the head butting thing I mentioned before? The one where you think it's entirely possible that your toddler just broke your nose? Or when they actually do break your glasses? (Yes. He did.)

*When it comes to food, kids can be damn picky. They will not eat simply because you told them too. Yes, mixed vegetable have to be separated before this one will eat them. That one won't eat anything on the plate if there is even a hint of vegetable in there. This one won't eat things that are red. That one will only eat things that can be made into finger food.

*Kids can also be extremely possessive of said food. Like when the girl stabbed her grandpa in the hand with her fork when he tried to take a bite of her pancake. Or when version 2.0 took a bite out of girl for taking a bite out of his ice cream.

*Kids know what the ice cream truck is on instinct. It doesn't matter how many times you tell them that music is for the vegetable truck, they know.

*Children like sticking stuff in holes. Cover your nose or you'll get woken up when one of them decides to shove one of your tampons (which they really loved unwrapping and dipping into the toilet first) up your nostril. Nothing like a little toilet water in your nose to start your day.

*A child who can memorize 3 Shel Silverstein poems in 2 days for a theater camp production will not remember to flush a toilet even though you have been begging her for 2 years to please for pete's sake flush!

*Toothpaste to child is as paint to Picasso. (Also, according to Sarcastic Journalist, poop. Thank you dear Lord for sparing me on this one.)

*Pen does not easily come out of most flooring.

*You will, on occasion, lose your shit.

*Kids like to bang their heads on things. Hard. It's loud and will freak you out but will not cause any brain damage. I hope. (and I also kind of hope that it isn't just my kids who do this because otherwise. Shit.)

*It doesn't matter where you hide that really loud annoying toy. They will find it. Even if you wrap it up in plastic bags and bury it in the garbage bag under the 'leftovers' from your MIL's house.

The Dark Side

My kids look sweet and, most of the time, are so very well-mannered in public.

Internet?

It is a giant hideous lie!

I can leave them in the living room happily playing together and step 5 feet into the kitchen only to be treated to screaming and the sounds of hell opening up at their feet the moment I am out of their range of vision.

Sure there are moments of peace. Most often between the hours of 8 pm and 7 am. But even occasionally while they are awake and *gasp* together!

It is during these rare moments that they are plotting to destroy whatever grasp on my sanity I may have left.

Today was an especially bad day.

*Hurricane decided to bite himself for once. I can only hope that he has finally learned that biting hurts and he's not going to do it to other people anymore. In the meantime, he has a lovely imprint of his top and bottom teeth on his arm. I asked him what he did and he pointed directly at his sister who imploded on the spot. But since I know her to have a rather big mouth and this was a little bite, I knew he was simply doing what siblings have been doing since the beginning of time, looking to get the other one in trouble for nothing.

*I sent them into the backyard to play because I couldn't take the screaming anymore and thought it would be nice to share it with the neighborhood. There is a mound of rocks back there that Mr X is supposed to be using to line the garden boxes but instead it has become the kids domain. I was working in the kitchen where I could keep on eye on things. It had been quiet for awhile so I figured that Girl X must have buried Hurricane under the mound.
I looked up in time to see Hurricane throw a rock at his sister's head.
Girl X responded by telling him she was going to feed him to his Elmo slippers.

*I thought maybe they needed some time apart. That lasted all of 5 minutes before Girl X was begging to play with her brother again.

5 minutes later she was trying to steal his car from him so he chucked it at her head.

He has really good aim.

*As I was making dinner, they started again. Hurricane was content to sit at the table and play with his car. Girl X decided she liked his seat better so she simply sat down and slid him off the chair.
He screamed and threw a car at her head. Again.

Once she started screaming at him and he started screaming back, I lost it.

I started slamming the frying pan down on the stove and just screaming over them.

They both stopped and just looked at me.

"STOPITSTOPITSTOPITSTOPITSTOPIT!"
I had to leave the room. I was crying and on the verge of just snapping at them both and I didn't want to do that.

I had to lock myself in the bathroom and when Girl X came to tell me she was "hungry and what's for dinner hurricane hit me are you coming out what are you doing mom are youinthereareyouokcanIhaveacookiewhen
isdaddygettinghomemoooommmmm????"

"Mom is on a time out. Go away."

I love my kids. Most of the time I even love being a mom. I'm usually pretty laid back. But every now and then, my mother gets into my head and starts speaking through my mouth and she will not shut up.

That's my biggest fear. That I will be her and my kids will hate me.