Girl X had her first slumber party this weekend. It was.... um... anyway.
I thought I was dreaming when she asked me if she could have one. She's a pretty smart kid. She waited until very early in the morning and whispered while I was sleeping. I remember saying yes.
And she held me to it.
I think it might have been different if the 3 girls invited hadn't been sisters. But they were. And sisters? Internet, listen because this is important.
Sisters fight. A lot.
And I know this. I have a sister. We fight all the time. Not a week goes by that I don't thank Florida for being on the other side of the country and for keeping her.
But yeah. Sisters. All her friends, really cute girls.
I spent the first 3 hours that they were there mediating fights.
"She threatened me!"
"She didn't threaten you. She just asked you to please stop hitting her in the head with your shoe."
"It wasn't my shoe it was her shoe."
"Right. Stop hitting each other."
"She won't share."
"I'll share my shoe."
"No one is sharing any footwear of any kind."
Mr X came home and I took the opportunity to go get dinner for the kids.
Yeah. That's right. I left my dear sweet husband alone with a raging toddler, 4 girls (3 of whom are sisters), several pairs of shoes and absolutely no idea what he was doing. And I laughed.
When I came home the house was quiet. I peeked in on the girls to see them crawling around Girl X's room, whispering.
When I came upstairs Mr X made me swear that I would never ever leave again.
He became desperate and told them there was a frog under her bed and if they were quiet they might find it.
It must have been pretty bad to make him resort to lying.
After dinner we got them settled into a movie and it was the quietest 20 minutes I had all day. for the other hour and 40 minutes they argued over whether Stitch was going to live or die.
Girl X ended it with "It's a Disney movie. Kids and animals always get happy endings."
Bedtime. Oh how that word sounded so sweet. I was so wrong. Because bedtime became a whole 'nother issue.
"She keeps kicking me."
"She has the better pillow."
"She said she was going to flush my bear!"
"She won't be quiet."
"She farted."
And so it went for the next hour and a half until I promised that the next person who spoke, moved or farted was going to sleep upstairs alone.
What happened to slumber parties where you stayed up and giggled and told stupid stories?
The next day they were at it again.
The last time they came to me with their fighting, I had to refrain from using my Discipline for Children book to smack them upside the back of the head. Instead I told them that if one more fight happened, everyone was going to time out. I didn't care who started it or what it was about, everyone was going to a corner.
They shut up for the rest of the day.
When it was time to go home they hugged and declared it the best time they had ever had.
I can picture it in my head. The way I looked right then. I've watched enough cartoons in my adult, er, childhood to know what I looked like when my jaw hit the floor.
"But.... but.... but....."
Mr X closed my mouth for me and said we'd love to do it again sometime soon.
His side still hurts from where I pinched him.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Monday, April 10, 2006
Good Night MMMMM............
To say Hurricane likes to eat is an understatement. You'd never know it by looking at him, but that kid can pack away some serious food.
Ex: Breakfast to lunch today, he had 2 pancakes, half a pear, 2 cereal bars, a handful of crackers, small bowl of chicken noodle soup, a banana, milk, cheese, a cookie and some cereal.
We can be in the middle of playing and he will lift his head and 'mmmm'? His cue that he's ready to eat.
He is ready to eat all. the. time.
So it should have been no surprise to me that reading Good Night Moon before bed would have led to this.
"Look Hurricane! A rabbit. In the great green room..... Oh ok. We can skip that page. And that one. Ok. A comb a brush and a bowl full of mush..."
"MMMMMM!!!!"
"What? Mush?"
"MMMMMM!!!"
He jabbed his little fingers into the book. I turned the page.
" Goodnight nobody, Goodnight mush...."
"MMMMM!!!"
There was a picture of this mush (and what is mush anyway? Because it really doesn't look appetizing!) in a bowl in black and white.
He stuck his finger into the book forcefully. I think he was trying to get some of the mush onto his finger for a little sample.
When that didn't work, he scooted off my lap and into the kitchen to Mr X.
"Daddy. MMMMMMM!!!!"
So now I guess I have to censor his bedtime stories for food.
Ex: Breakfast to lunch today, he had 2 pancakes, half a pear, 2 cereal bars, a handful of crackers, small bowl of chicken noodle soup, a banana, milk, cheese, a cookie and some cereal.
We can be in the middle of playing and he will lift his head and 'mmmm'? His cue that he's ready to eat.
He is ready to eat all. the. time.
So it should have been no surprise to me that reading Good Night Moon before bed would have led to this.
"Look Hurricane! A rabbit. In the great green room..... Oh ok. We can skip that page. And that one. Ok. A comb a brush and a bowl full of mush..."
"MMMMMM!!!!"
"What? Mush?"
"MMMMMM!!!"
He jabbed his little fingers into the book. I turned the page.
" Goodnight nobody, Goodnight mush...."
"MMMMM!!!"
There was a picture of this mush (and what is mush anyway? Because it really doesn't look appetizing!) in a bowl in black and white.
He stuck his finger into the book forcefully. I think he was trying to get some of the mush onto his finger for a little sample.
When that didn't work, he scooted off my lap and into the kitchen to Mr X.
"Daddy. MMMMMMM!!!!"
So now I guess I have to censor his bedtime stories for food.
Sunday, April 09, 2006
Site Business
I've been deleting spam comments and only spam comments. If I wanted to advertise for someone's business/scam/whatever, I'd sell ad space.
Tales from Girl X's slumber party (what the hell was I thinking?) tomorrow. Right now I'm still too damned tired.
Tales from Girl X's slumber party (what the hell was I thinking?) tomorrow. Right now I'm still too damned tired.
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Weighing In
Yesterday I inadvertently stepped on some toes when I relayed something I had witnessed at McDonald's earlier.
I had taken the kids in for some ice cream and to just get out of the house. While there I noticed another baby boy. He was adorable, little blond curls and bright blue eyes. His mom was talking to her friend about the obesity problem in America and especially with children.
The irony in this for me was that while having this conversation, she was feeding her baby a double cheeseburger, french fries and soda. Not sharing hers, it was his own.
I heard her mention to her friend how tiny Hurricane was and (after cringing because I cannot tell you how many times I've heard that) turned to talk to her.
Her son was 11 months old and weighed 30 lbs. I looked at Hurricane.
Before he got sick he weighed in at 25 lbs fully clothes. He's 16 months.
I know that there are many reasons for a kid to be heavy, off those stupid little charts the Doctor follows at our visits.
Still, I think that double cheeseburgers, french fries and soda could play a part here (is my sarcasm showing?).
When I relayed all of this on those toes yesterday, I didn't really think much of it.
I didn't think about how it was really a judgment on this person. I didn't give a whole lot of thought to the fact that I don't know what goes on in their lives everyday. I just saw a baby eating a meal that would make most adults full and took off from there.
I get it in reverse.
Hurricane has always been a bit smaller than every other baby. A bit slower in his development. His adjusted age isn't that much but what a difference it makes.
I get asked if we ever feed him. I usually laugh it off because really? I never thought they could be so stupid as to be serious.
I occasionally hear someone talking about the 'sad skinny baby'.
I roll my eyes.
For all of the food issues this kid has, it's not lack of calories (vegetables sure, but everything else?). He likes the occasional cheeseburger and a couple of fries. I can't tell you how many times I've hidden shredded carrots in his pizza. He loves tacos and will actually eat the tomatoes in them. And in what makes me question how he could possibly be mine, he likes black olives (*shiver*).
I wonder if he'll always be underweight. Sometimes I worry about him, especially when he's sick and losing weight.
I try not to make a big deal of food in general. When Girl X is around I am extra careful. I fear the day she will stand in front of the mirror sucking in her flat tummy and crying about how fat she thinks she is.
But I did the same thing to that woman. Right?
I looked at her baby and what she was feeding him and decided she was feeding him to obesity.
But what if she's not.
There are medical conditions that can cause a child to gain extra weight. And what about heredity?
And more importantly, what business is it of mine?
Maybe that's the problem. We all worry so much about what everyone else is doing when we just need to butt out.
I know I have enough to worry about without taking on something that has nothing to do with me.
I had taken the kids in for some ice cream and to just get out of the house. While there I noticed another baby boy. He was adorable, little blond curls and bright blue eyes. His mom was talking to her friend about the obesity problem in America and especially with children.
The irony in this for me was that while having this conversation, she was feeding her baby a double cheeseburger, french fries and soda. Not sharing hers, it was his own.
I heard her mention to her friend how tiny Hurricane was and (after cringing because I cannot tell you how many times I've heard that) turned to talk to her.
Her son was 11 months old and weighed 30 lbs. I looked at Hurricane.
Before he got sick he weighed in at 25 lbs fully clothes. He's 16 months.
I know that there are many reasons for a kid to be heavy, off those stupid little charts the Doctor follows at our visits.
Still, I think that double cheeseburgers, french fries and soda could play a part here (is my sarcasm showing?).
When I relayed all of this on those toes yesterday, I didn't really think much of it.
I didn't think about how it was really a judgment on this person. I didn't give a whole lot of thought to the fact that I don't know what goes on in their lives everyday. I just saw a baby eating a meal that would make most adults full and took off from there.
I get it in reverse.
Hurricane has always been a bit smaller than every other baby. A bit slower in his development. His adjusted age isn't that much but what a difference it makes.
I get asked if we ever feed him. I usually laugh it off because really? I never thought they could be so stupid as to be serious.
I occasionally hear someone talking about the 'sad skinny baby'.
I roll my eyes.
For all of the food issues this kid has, it's not lack of calories (vegetables sure, but everything else?). He likes the occasional cheeseburger and a couple of fries. I can't tell you how many times I've hidden shredded carrots in his pizza. He loves tacos and will actually eat the tomatoes in them. And in what makes me question how he could possibly be mine, he likes black olives (*shiver*).
I wonder if he'll always be underweight. Sometimes I worry about him, especially when he's sick and losing weight.
I try not to make a big deal of food in general. When Girl X is around I am extra careful. I fear the day she will stand in front of the mirror sucking in her flat tummy and crying about how fat she thinks she is.
But I did the same thing to that woman. Right?
I looked at her baby and what she was feeding him and decided she was feeding him to obesity.
But what if she's not.
There are medical conditions that can cause a child to gain extra weight. And what about heredity?
And more importantly, what business is it of mine?
Maybe that's the problem. We all worry so much about what everyone else is doing when we just need to butt out.
I know I have enough to worry about without taking on something that has nothing to do with me.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
20 Shades of Red
Girl X has spring break this week (how unfair is that? We never had spring break as kids. If I wanted a whole week off of school I had to cover myself in little red spots (thank you crayola) and stick the thermometer up to the lightbulb like every other normal kid.) and has been home demanding to be entertained.
I almost had her convinced that dusting and folding laundry was fun, but then she heard me tell Mr X that I had her cleaning the house and it was over.
Since I was getting a little stir crazy and Hurricane still refuses to nap (dammit), we went to the library.
We will not be going to the library again for as long as I can stand it, or until I'm convinced that the librarians have very short memories.
It was fine at first- isn't it always? Girl X found a book and tucked down into a quiet corner near where her brother was happily playing with this block set.
I walked 5 feet away, kids still in sight, to look at the non-fiction section for some books I've been waiting to check out.
I was reading the backcover of one when I felt it.
It being the sharp teeth of one very small barracuda.
I yelped- it so COULD NOT be helped- and jumped back, knocking Hurricane to the ground and thus causing him to scream.
I carried him out of the library with my eyes half closed so as to avoid the angry shushing of the librarian. He calmed down instantly and 'ooed' at the pretty flowers nearby.
We snuck back in and he went straight for his sister, who shrugged and started to read to him.
I went back to my book hunt.
Then I heard this familiar noise.
Whenever we're in the living room, Hurricane has this compulsion where he must pull off every single DVD on the shelves because Gah! If I don't mom the whole world will end! Those things belong on the floor!
I turned around and saw that Hurricane feels the same way about books as he does DVD's. Girl X just rolled her eyes and went back to reading.
I put the books back on the shelf in as close to order as I could as quickly as I could and redirected my little monster to the toys.
I started checking out Girl X's books and mine when Hurricane decided that it was his turn to push the buttons on the computer and the kid who was on it had better just deal with it.
My toddler made a 4 year old cry.
I picked him up and told him 'no'.
He smiled at me, stuck his finger up my nose and said 'no'.
I pulled his finger out of my nose and said 'no'.
He has been weaned for 4 months now. He has shown no signs of missing it or even remembering what the boobs were once for. Therefore I can only assume that he chose to do this because of something his father told him.
He grabbed my shirt, pulled down the front and yelled 'MMMMMM' (which he only does when he's going to eat).
Yes. A roomful of kids, librarians and parents got to see the goods.
We aren't leaving the house for the rest of the week.
Spring break be damned.
I almost had her convinced that dusting and folding laundry was fun, but then she heard me tell Mr X that I had her cleaning the house and it was over.
Since I was getting a little stir crazy and Hurricane still refuses to nap (dammit), we went to the library.
We will not be going to the library again for as long as I can stand it, or until I'm convinced that the librarians have very short memories.
It was fine at first- isn't it always? Girl X found a book and tucked down into a quiet corner near where her brother was happily playing with this block set.
I walked 5 feet away, kids still in sight, to look at the non-fiction section for some books I've been waiting to check out.
I was reading the backcover of one when I felt it.
It being the sharp teeth of one very small barracuda.
I yelped- it so COULD NOT be helped- and jumped back, knocking Hurricane to the ground and thus causing him to scream.
I carried him out of the library with my eyes half closed so as to avoid the angry shushing of the librarian. He calmed down instantly and 'ooed' at the pretty flowers nearby.
We snuck back in and he went straight for his sister, who shrugged and started to read to him.
I went back to my book hunt.
Then I heard this familiar noise.
Whenever we're in the living room, Hurricane has this compulsion where he must pull off every single DVD on the shelves because Gah! If I don't mom the whole world will end! Those things belong on the floor!
I turned around and saw that Hurricane feels the same way about books as he does DVD's. Girl X just rolled her eyes and went back to reading.
I put the books back on the shelf in as close to order as I could as quickly as I could and redirected my little monster to the toys.
I started checking out Girl X's books and mine when Hurricane decided that it was his turn to push the buttons on the computer and the kid who was on it had better just deal with it.
My toddler made a 4 year old cry.
I picked him up and told him 'no'.
He smiled at me, stuck his finger up my nose and said 'no'.
I pulled his finger out of my nose and said 'no'.
He has been weaned for 4 months now. He has shown no signs of missing it or even remembering what the boobs were once for. Therefore I can only assume that he chose to do this because of something his father told him.
He grabbed my shirt, pulled down the front and yelled 'MMMMMM' (which he only does when he's going to eat).
Yes. A roomful of kids, librarians and parents got to see the goods.
We aren't leaving the house for the rest of the week.
Spring break be damned.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Mommy Needs A Nap
When Girl X was about 18 months old she gave up naps. There was no warning, no compromise. She simply decided that naps were beneath her and that was that.
Hurricane, always in a hurry to outdo his older sibling, has decided that 16 months is the right time to give up naps.
I pleaded with him. I swore that Lent was over and he could nap, it was totally ok with G-d if he slept. He looked at me as though I had lost my mind.
I laid down with him.
He poked me in the eye and said 'ball!'
I pretended to be asleep.
He took the opportunity to pull his diaper off and pee on my pillow.
I tried to wear him down by letting him run free through the yard, which in retrospect was really stupid since I found out this morning that we have moles. At least, that's what I'm assuming it means when you find giant piles of dirt randomly appearing in your yard. Sometimes right in front of your eyes.
Hurricane thought this was fun. A perfect place to sit and roll around.
If those moles had any sense at all they would quiver in fear at the mere hint of odor being emitted from those diapers as he is still full of gas from being sick last week. Who needs poison? We can get noxious gas for free.
I brought him back into the house and changed his clothes. I carefully washed his face and hands as he chattered non-stop.
Suddenly I miss last week when all he wanted was to curl up in my arms and sleep all day.
He ate. And ate.
And ate.
How a body so tiny can stash so much food is beyond me. Pizza, pancakes, veggie puffs, crackers, cheese, pb & J, pears, the ice cream Mr X gave him because he thought it was funny that Hurricane kept loudly 'MMMMM'ing at him. And then more because Hurricane wouldn't stop making the sign for 'more' and bumping him. And of course by bumping I mean slamming all 22 lbs of lean sleepless boy.
Recently he has taken to hitting his head on whatever solid object is handy in answer to being told 'no' or simply not getting his way. The walls are a favorite way to accomplish this. He now has a lovely eggplant bruise on his head.
His sister shakes her head and rolls her eyes until I tell her that she used to do the same thing.
To top it all off, he has decided that he no longer needs to sleep through the night. Sleep is his issue, for Girl X it was food.
First it was getting him to sleep in his own bed. This meant putting him in while he was awake. Putting him in while asleep meant he would wake up within 20 minutes and freak right the hell out.
It also meant *gasp* letting him cry. I know this is a touchy subject for many people, but it worked for us. I feel like you have to do whatever works for your family and that's that. If we all spent a little less time worrying about what everyone else was doing and a little more caring for our own, I would have a lot fewer headaches. And ok, so the world would probably be a better place too.
By 10 months of age I was still getting up with him once a night until he finally decided that it was boring to play with mommy at 2 am because she just kind of sat there and stared at him with squinty eyes.
Then we decided to see if we could get him to sleep not only through the night but also until 7:30.
It worked until he got sick.
I am trying to convince myself that it's just a fluke. Surely he'll start napping again tomorrow. Right?
Come on internet, lie to me!
Hurricane, always in a hurry to outdo his older sibling, has decided that 16 months is the right time to give up naps.
I pleaded with him. I swore that Lent was over and he could nap, it was totally ok with G-d if he slept. He looked at me as though I had lost my mind.
I laid down with him.
He poked me in the eye and said 'ball!'
I pretended to be asleep.
He took the opportunity to pull his diaper off and pee on my pillow.
I tried to wear him down by letting him run free through the yard, which in retrospect was really stupid since I found out this morning that we have moles. At least, that's what I'm assuming it means when you find giant piles of dirt randomly appearing in your yard. Sometimes right in front of your eyes.
Hurricane thought this was fun. A perfect place to sit and roll around.
If those moles had any sense at all they would quiver in fear at the mere hint of odor being emitted from those diapers as he is still full of gas from being sick last week. Who needs poison? We can get noxious gas for free.
I brought him back into the house and changed his clothes. I carefully washed his face and hands as he chattered non-stop.
Suddenly I miss last week when all he wanted was to curl up in my arms and sleep all day.
He ate. And ate.
And ate.
How a body so tiny can stash so much food is beyond me. Pizza, pancakes, veggie puffs, crackers, cheese, pb & J, pears, the ice cream Mr X gave him because he thought it was funny that Hurricane kept loudly 'MMMMM'ing at him. And then more because Hurricane wouldn't stop making the sign for 'more' and bumping him. And of course by bumping I mean slamming all 22 lbs of lean sleepless boy.
Recently he has taken to hitting his head on whatever solid object is handy in answer to being told 'no' or simply not getting his way. The walls are a favorite way to accomplish this. He now has a lovely eggplant bruise on his head.
His sister shakes her head and rolls her eyes until I tell her that she used to do the same thing.
To top it all off, he has decided that he no longer needs to sleep through the night. Sleep is his issue, for Girl X it was food.
First it was getting him to sleep in his own bed. This meant putting him in while he was awake. Putting him in while asleep meant he would wake up within 20 minutes and freak right the hell out.
It also meant *gasp* letting him cry. I know this is a touchy subject for many people, but it worked for us. I feel like you have to do whatever works for your family and that's that. If we all spent a little less time worrying about what everyone else was doing and a little more caring for our own, I would have a lot fewer headaches. And ok, so the world would probably be a better place too.
By 10 months of age I was still getting up with him once a night until he finally decided that it was boring to play with mommy at 2 am because she just kind of sat there and stared at him with squinty eyes.
Then we decided to see if we could get him to sleep not only through the night but also until 7:30.
It worked until he got sick.
I am trying to convince myself that it's just a fluke. Surely he'll start napping again tomorrow. Right?
Come on internet, lie to me!
Monday, April 03, 2006
Happy Birthday To Me And Then Some
Sunday was my 29th birthday.
Yippee!!
Birthdays aren't really a big deal to me anymore. Aging doesn't bother me (says the a girl with no wrinkles, gray hairs or errant signs of aging). I never feel any different.
Which makes me think of my 16th birthday, and I'm wondering if I'm the only one, but I remember going to sleep the night before absolutely certain that I would feel different the next day. Surely my 16 year old self would be more mature, more lean, far superior in all ways to my infantile 15 year old self.
I was sadly disappointed the next day to look in the mirror and see that 16 year olds could still have bad hair days.
We spent the day doing very little. We took the kids to McDonald's so we could unleash them upon the germland of slides and plastic boxes. After about an hour of screaming and french fries and one spilled milkshake, we decided to go to the toy store. The kids spent the rest of their Christmas gift cards and we found a train table for Hurricane.
I broke my own personal rules against store bought cakes and got a small one from Dairy Queen after Girl X pleaded for several days.
They surprised me with gifts. A handprint kit from Hurricane, a Ray Charles CD I'd been hinting at since Christmas (to which Mr X laughs hysterically because I am as subtle as a sledgehammer) and Marley & Me- a book I am already halfway through and completely engrossed in.
It was quiet and sweet. Perfect.
A far cry from the way I used to celebrate birthdays. Once upon a time I would have ended the night extremely drunk and singing (Poor patrons of my old favorite dive bar!) along with the jukebox.
Then there was the early birthday celebration I shared with another friend before I moved out here. Girl X was at my parents for the night and my friend decided to introduce me to the fine art of jello shots.
I ate half a tray and started drinking whatever was handed to me.
I ended the night making snow angels in 3 feet of snow wearing a t-shirt and jeans. Someone thought it would be funny to take pictures and I have one tucked away in a box along with the day after pictures where I look like Joan Rivers after the last stitch holding her face in place snaps.
Sometimes I'd like to go back and slap me and other times all I can do is laugh at some of the things I pulled (all while hoping my own kids don't ever do the same things).
In an act of solidarity, I gave up drinking. Mr X can never have another drop of alcohol. His illness prevents him from ever taking the chance. It's not like he was a big drinker before anyway. He had been in his early 20's but by the time I met him it was a rare occasion.
Still, I know sometimes he misses being able to just go to a bar and shoot pool and have a beer. I miss it too. But I can't imagine sitting there and drinking a beer in front of him. I imagine it's like taking an diabetic to a candy factory.
And I did not mean for this to turn into this!
New subject!
We put together Hurricane's bedroom furniture this weekend. He was not even remotely impressed with all the tools and wood and instructions. We got through it with only a few strange swear words (flatulent cow!) and missing pieces. Mr X managed to give himself a staph infection because you know, furniture building requires wounds and staph.
Hurricane remained entirely uninterested in the whole process until Mr X put the canopy over his bed and we climbed in.
He pointed his little finger over his head to the blue star-strewn canopy and breathily uttered his one-word approval, "wow".
He then ran into his closet and hid, leaping out from the corners to yell 'GAR!!' and scare us every time we passed by.
He has not slept in there yet. He is not ready (translation: I am not ready to be reduced to a weeping little puddle of tears at the sight of that little body sleeping in that giant (twin) bed). He is still recovering from being sick last week. I don't know that I'm up for another round of sleep training right now either.
Talk to me in another 3 months when he finds a new way to climb out of his crib. We moved his crib away from the wall because I caught him using the wall to propel himself up and over his crib. My little acrobat.
Girl X was so much easier. She climbed out of her crib and never looked back. She slept through the night by 2 months and once she was asleep there was no waking her up. When she was 7 months old, I took her to the local park to watch the fireworks.
She fell asleep 5 minutes into it.
Aside from the 2 years of sleep walking and sleep talking, she's been easy to get to sleep.
Hurricane won't go to sleep unless he wants to no matter how tired he is.
I am not really looking forward to the 'big boy' bed. I will no longer be able to contain him in his bed, thereby making his efforts to elude sleep futile.
It's moments like this that I wish I still drank.
Yippee!!
Birthdays aren't really a big deal to me anymore. Aging doesn't bother me (says the a girl with no wrinkles, gray hairs or errant signs of aging). I never feel any different.
Which makes me think of my 16th birthday, and I'm wondering if I'm the only one, but I remember going to sleep the night before absolutely certain that I would feel different the next day. Surely my 16 year old self would be more mature, more lean, far superior in all ways to my infantile 15 year old self.
I was sadly disappointed the next day to look in the mirror and see that 16 year olds could still have bad hair days.
We spent the day doing very little. We took the kids to McDonald's so we could unleash them upon the germland of slides and plastic boxes. After about an hour of screaming and french fries and one spilled milkshake, we decided to go to the toy store. The kids spent the rest of their Christmas gift cards and we found a train table for Hurricane.
I broke my own personal rules against store bought cakes and got a small one from Dairy Queen after Girl X pleaded for several days.
They surprised me with gifts. A handprint kit from Hurricane, a Ray Charles CD I'd been hinting at since Christmas (to which Mr X laughs hysterically because I am as subtle as a sledgehammer) and Marley & Me- a book I am already halfway through and completely engrossed in.
It was quiet and sweet. Perfect.
A far cry from the way I used to celebrate birthdays. Once upon a time I would have ended the night extremely drunk and singing (Poor patrons of my old favorite dive bar!) along with the jukebox.
Then there was the early birthday celebration I shared with another friend before I moved out here. Girl X was at my parents for the night and my friend decided to introduce me to the fine art of jello shots.
I ate half a tray and started drinking whatever was handed to me.
I ended the night making snow angels in 3 feet of snow wearing a t-shirt and jeans. Someone thought it would be funny to take pictures and I have one tucked away in a box along with the day after pictures where I look like Joan Rivers after the last stitch holding her face in place snaps.
Sometimes I'd like to go back and slap me and other times all I can do is laugh at some of the things I pulled (all while hoping my own kids don't ever do the same things).
In an act of solidarity, I gave up drinking. Mr X can never have another drop of alcohol. His illness prevents him from ever taking the chance. It's not like he was a big drinker before anyway. He had been in his early 20's but by the time I met him it was a rare occasion.
Still, I know sometimes he misses being able to just go to a bar and shoot pool and have a beer. I miss it too. But I can't imagine sitting there and drinking a beer in front of him. I imagine it's like taking an diabetic to a candy factory.
And I did not mean for this to turn into this!
New subject!
We put together Hurricane's bedroom furniture this weekend. He was not even remotely impressed with all the tools and wood and instructions. We got through it with only a few strange swear words (flatulent cow!) and missing pieces. Mr X managed to give himself a staph infection because you know, furniture building requires wounds and staph.
Hurricane remained entirely uninterested in the whole process until Mr X put the canopy over his bed and we climbed in.
He pointed his little finger over his head to the blue star-strewn canopy and breathily uttered his one-word approval, "wow".
He then ran into his closet and hid, leaping out from the corners to yell 'GAR!!' and scare us every time we passed by.
He has not slept in there yet. He is not ready (translation: I am not ready to be reduced to a weeping little puddle of tears at the sight of that little body sleeping in that giant (twin) bed). He is still recovering from being sick last week. I don't know that I'm up for another round of sleep training right now either.
Talk to me in another 3 months when he finds a new way to climb out of his crib. We moved his crib away from the wall because I caught him using the wall to propel himself up and over his crib. My little acrobat.
Girl X was so much easier. She climbed out of her crib and never looked back. She slept through the night by 2 months and once she was asleep there was no waking her up. When she was 7 months old, I took her to the local park to watch the fireworks.
She fell asleep 5 minutes into it.
Aside from the 2 years of sleep walking and sleep talking, she's been easy to get to sleep.
Hurricane won't go to sleep unless he wants to no matter how tired he is.
I am not really looking forward to the 'big boy' bed. I will no longer be able to contain him in his bed, thereby making his efforts to elude sleep futile.
It's moments like this that I wish I still drank.
Sunday, April 02, 2006
Yet They Still Love Me
I anticipate April Fool's Day the way my Girl X does Christmas. I plot out little tricks and giggle as I imagine the reaction. I research online for new tricks. I execute them quietly and quickly.
Yes. I am an overgrown child with entirely too much time on her hands. And my family is totally ok with that.
Mr X typically bears the brunt of my jokes and thankfully thinks it's funny too. Girl X did not take the one and only prank I played on her this year very well. She is laughing at it now though.
First, I wanted to cheese his deodorant. For those unaware, You cut off the top chunk of a person's deodorant and mold cream cheese in it's place. Use a string to make little hair lines and voila... instant ick. Sadly, Mr X uses clear deodorant so this wasn't going to work. I was going to use clear jello but that has some problems I have yet to work out. (**If you fill a toilet with clear jello, let it set and then run a think layer of water over the top it makes for a great and potentially messy prank.**)
I did have gel thought. Result: Sticky pits.
Yes. I am an overgrown child with entirely too much time on her hands. And my family is totally ok with that.
Mr X typically bears the brunt of my jokes and thankfully thinks it's funny too. Girl X did not take the one and only prank I played on her this year very well. She is laughing at it now though.
First, I wanted to cheese his deodorant. For those unaware, You cut off the top chunk of a person's deodorant and mold cream cheese in it's place. Use a string to make little hair lines and voila... instant ick. Sadly, Mr X uses clear deodorant so this wasn't going to work. I was going to use clear jello but that has some problems I have yet to work out. (**If you fill a toilet with clear jello, let it set and then run a think layer of water over the top it makes for a great and potentially messy prank.**)
I did have gel thought. Result: Sticky pits.For Girl X's prank, I took a pair of her sweat pants and sewed them up at the knee. I also did this with a pair of Mr X's boxers.
Girl X had a virtual meltdown over it and we had to make a rule that you could not play pranks on people unless you could also take them.
Mr X.... it was the end of the night. He was not expecting anything at this point. He was tired and didn't even notice that I was grinning maniacally. He tried a couple of times and said something about his 'legs not working tonight'. I? I am laughing my ass off. Even more because it just didn't dawn on him that I had done anything.
This should have been an excellent prank. And would have been if I had known that Mr X had decided to use a new kind of toothpaste because he didn't like the aquafresh.
First, I glued toilet paper in the top to plug it up. Then, I used a box cutter to cut open the sides along the seam.
He thought it was pretty funny though and squeezed the tube anyway.
This was simple, but very effective. I simply stuck his toothbrush under water and then poured salt over it.
As he started brushing his teeth, he got an odd look on his face. He picked up the tube of toothpaste (one he'd never tried before) and began reading the ingredients. He was convinced it was the peroxide.
Thursday, March 30, 2006
An Ordinary Life
My sister and I are at this weird point in our relationship where we're talking, but always careful to avoid any mention of what she did to burn me. I'm trying to just accept that this is how it will always be.
We were recently talking about feminism. Which? No. Not going there today. I could go on for miles but I can sum it up really quickly with this:
Feminism is about choice and being a stay at home mom is my choice. And no, my being one does not set back feminism 100 years.
Her main question?
"When you were young didn't you imagine more than this?"
"Well yeah. When I was a kid I had my heart set on being Rainbow Brite."
"I mean, didn't you want more than just an ordinary life?"
The honest answer is no. There were many things I wanted when I was a kid. An ordinary life was right at the top of that list. Although, at the time I don't think I realized that it was 'ordinary'.
I wanted a husband who loved me and kids, Lots of kids. In fact, before I learned where they come out of, I wanted 12. After I learned where they come out of, I wanted my future husband to be the first pregnant man in history. I wanted a house and a dog. I wanted my kids to be involved in sports and love to read. I wanted to live near my dad and stepmom so they could have a huge part of my kids lives. I wanted to live far away from my mom so she couldn't. I wanted in-laws I adored. Weekend trips to the beach, museums, mini-golf and bowling. I wanted a family. Happy and healthy. Hallmark perfect family.
For the most part I have that.
Except that my parents live far enough away that we only get to see them maybe once a year and my in-laws? Well. Yeah. There is that. My mom died before my husband and I even met. We're happy, but health.........
I think now the only thing I could really ask for is health.
So my life is, mostly, ordinary.
When my sister says it, it sounds like a disease.
"I'm sorry Sister X. You have Ordinaryoma. I'm afraid you only have 45 years left with your kids and husband and good health."
And what is so damn wrong with ordinary? What is so wrong about not wanting to be famous or insanely wealthy?
What is so bad about being happy just being who you are?
We were recently talking about feminism. Which? No. Not going there today. I could go on for miles but I can sum it up really quickly with this:
Feminism is about choice and being a stay at home mom is my choice. And no, my being one does not set back feminism 100 years.
Her main question?
"When you were young didn't you imagine more than this?"
"Well yeah. When I was a kid I had my heart set on being Rainbow Brite."
"I mean, didn't you want more than just an ordinary life?"
The honest answer is no. There were many things I wanted when I was a kid. An ordinary life was right at the top of that list. Although, at the time I don't think I realized that it was 'ordinary'.
I wanted a husband who loved me and kids, Lots of kids. In fact, before I learned where they come out of, I wanted 12. After I learned where they come out of, I wanted my future husband to be the first pregnant man in history. I wanted a house and a dog. I wanted my kids to be involved in sports and love to read. I wanted to live near my dad and stepmom so they could have a huge part of my kids lives. I wanted to live far away from my mom so she couldn't. I wanted in-laws I adored. Weekend trips to the beach, museums, mini-golf and bowling. I wanted a family. Happy and healthy. Hallmark perfect family.
For the most part I have that.
Except that my parents live far enough away that we only get to see them maybe once a year and my in-laws? Well. Yeah. There is that. My mom died before my husband and I even met. We're happy, but health.........
I think now the only thing I could really ask for is health.
So my life is, mostly, ordinary.
When my sister says it, it sounds like a disease.
"I'm sorry Sister X. You have Ordinaryoma. I'm afraid you only have 45 years left with your kids and husband and good health."
And what is so damn wrong with ordinary? What is so wrong about not wanting to be famous or insanely wealthy?
What is so bad about being happy just being who you are?
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
I Thought We Had An Understanding.
In between all the puking and diaper blow-outs (which? Can I tell you how much not fun it was to be at the Dr's office when his first blow-out of the day happened only to discover that Mr X had not restocked the diaper bag after he took the kids out on Sunday while I shampooed the carpet? Right. I'm sitting in the middle of the waiting room and the receptionist is 10 feet away asking what that smell is and there are no damn diapers in the bag! Also? What happened to his spare pants? He wasn't wearing them when he came home on Sunday. They aren't in the wash. So... the hell? Please? And to add to my level of stress, he lost a little more than 3 lbs in a week with all this puking. He's still well hydrated but the weight thing bothers me). Hurricane has learned a new trick.
He has learned how to freak mommy right the fuck out. Because there is nothing more thrilling after a grand total of 3 choppy hours of sleep than being woken up by a toddler standing at your door screaming. Especially when he's supposed to be in his crib.
Apparently he can fly. Or that tele-transportation thing is advancing. Whatever it was, I was not ready for this.
He's not ready for this.
He's not ready for his big boy bed. He can't sleep in the same spot for more than 5 minutes. He rolls and flips and grunts his way through the night much like his sister did.
I'm not ready for the battle of getting him to actually stay on his mattress to go to sleep when there are no bars to keep him there.
You weren't moving fast enough for me woman.
And now I can't keep his little feet on the ground. He climbs on the couch, the chairs, the bookcase the gate above the stairs, the dog, his toy shelf. I'm going to end up on Supernanny with those little no no stickers.
I'll be easily recognizable by the bald patches where my hair has been pulled out during one of his climbs. I'm hoping by then that I'll at least not be covered in puke. But I make no promises.
Listen kid, we had a deal. You were supposed to keep being the easy-going kid you were during your first year, meaning no monkey-business, and I was going to keep sneaking you cookies when Daddy wasn't looking. What happened?
He has learned how to freak mommy right the fuck out. Because there is nothing more thrilling after a grand total of 3 choppy hours of sleep than being woken up by a toddler standing at your door screaming. Especially when he's supposed to be in his crib.
Apparently he can fly. Or that tele-transportation thing is advancing. Whatever it was, I was not ready for this.
He's not ready for this.
He's not ready for his big boy bed. He can't sleep in the same spot for more than 5 minutes. He rolls and flips and grunts his way through the night much like his sister did.
I'm not ready for the battle of getting him to actually stay on his mattress to go to sleep when there are no bars to keep him there.
You weren't moving fast enough for me woman.
And now I can't keep his little feet on the ground. He climbs on the couch, the chairs, the bookcase the gate above the stairs, the dog, his toy shelf. I'm going to end up on Supernanny with those little no no stickers.
I'll be easily recognizable by the bald patches where my hair has been pulled out during one of his climbs. I'm hoping by then that I'll at least not be covered in puke. But I make no promises.
Listen kid, we had a deal. You were supposed to keep being the easy-going kid you were during your first year, meaning no monkey-business, and I was going to keep sneaking you cookies when Daddy wasn't looking. What happened?
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
An Entry Which I Will Later Deny Ever Writing.
Today is a day for bad bodily functions. The kind of day you tell your parents about and they laugh at you because ha! Didn't they tell you about the time you puked on them in the middle of Disneyworld's Space Mountain? After they had fed you cotton candy, ice cream, and popcorn? No, the ride so soon after you had gorged your little tummy on crap had nothing to do with it. Ha! You got puked on!
Yeah. Thanks dad.
So far I've been puked on 3 times, had pedialyte dumped in my lap once, been surprised by toiletus eruptus twice, gone through 5 outfit changes for me and 4 for Hurricane, 3 showers (mine) 2 baths (his), one load of laundry containing only puked on clothing, and 4 attempted naps (no sleep actually involved).
Hurricane saves all his puking for me. Mr X can be holding him, but then he reaches for me so I take him. And then he pukes on me. Isn't that thoughtful? He saves it all for the parent who can't even pick up a cat turd without 2 pairs of disposable gloves, a roll of paper towels, 409 and a gas mask.
Girl X flooded the toilet. I don't know why I was surprised. It happens at least once a week. And I just realized I'm going to have to set up a separate account for her therapy.
Also? Blogging while insanely sleep-deprived? Not smart.
Do you know what happens when you blog while insanely sleep-deprived?
You give people an entry dedicated to vomit and potty overflow. And typos. Lots of typos. Which I fixed. I think it's the least I can do if you are actually going to read an entry involving me getting puked on.
Yeah. Thanks dad.
So far I've been puked on 3 times, had pedialyte dumped in my lap once, been surprised by toiletus eruptus twice, gone through 5 outfit changes for me and 4 for Hurricane, 3 showers (mine) 2 baths (his), one load of laundry containing only puked on clothing, and 4 attempted naps (no sleep actually involved).
Hurricane saves all his puking for me. Mr X can be holding him, but then he reaches for me so I take him. And then he pukes on me. Isn't that thoughtful? He saves it all for the parent who can't even pick up a cat turd without 2 pairs of disposable gloves, a roll of paper towels, 409 and a gas mask.
Girl X flooded the toilet. I don't know why I was surprised. It happens at least once a week. And I just realized I'm going to have to set up a separate account for her therapy.
Also? Blogging while insanely sleep-deprived? Not smart.
Do you know what happens when you blog while insanely sleep-deprived?
You give people an entry dedicated to vomit and potty overflow. And typos. Lots of typos. Which I fixed. I think it's the least I can do if you are actually going to read an entry involving me getting puked on.
Monday, March 27, 2006
Whose Child Is This?
Once upon a time, when I was really stupid (I mean even more so than now. Shut up.) I thought having a daughter would be easy.
I thought being a girl would make it easier to raise one of my own. In my naive little mind, I imagined a girl with pigtails and a sunny smile who didn't know the meaning of 'argue' and we would have much in common.
Like I said, when I was really stupid.
She looks like me. A prettier version, I think. Same big green eyes, crooked grin, thick hair, and smooth, fair skin. She has more of an athletic build than I ever did. Her hair is lighter. Her lips slightly less full. We both have a weakness for mint chocolate chip ice cream and small furry creatures.
But that's where our similarities end.
I was always a bookworm as a kid. She's an excellent reader, but she feels her time is better spent hanging upside down from the monkey bars. She loves sports. Baseball is her 'thing'. We go to Mariner's games mostly because it's something she loves. Her most prized possession is the bat and ball signed by Kenji Johjima. She loves to watch the game on TV with her dad. I try, but I get fidgety and this seems to annoy her (I can only assume that's what it means when she jabs me with her elbow and admonishes me to sit still). She's a cheerleader. I go to her practices and games and love to watch her but it's always with this strange fascination. I wonder where she came from.
I was an introvert as a kid. The quiet one with her nose in a book.
Girl X is a social butterfly. She's friends with everyone in her grade and several others. She knows their moms and siblings.
It amazes me that she remembers their names but she always forgets to tie her shoes or turn in her homework.
She loves skirts and dresses, shoes, hair ties, bracelets and necklaces. All the girly things that sometimes freak me out.
I love shoes, but I can't wear anything with a heel. Unless of course I feel like falling flat on my face. Which I can actually do in flats too, but heels make it happen faster. I'm ok with picking out clothes for her, but when it comes to mine I'm at a loss. It's probably why Mr X has banned me from buying anymore sweatshirts.
Hair? I hope she has a nice friend who takes pity on her and teaches her how to do her hair because I'm still trying to figure out mine. Everytime I think I've got it, it falls. Most of the time I'm happy if it's brushed. And while we're on the subject of hair, I hope she finds someone with a nice mom who can teach her how to pluck eyebrows because I am at a loss. Wax is my friend. Not because I like it (I'm not a masochist!) but because I don't want to be the one-browed she wonder.
What I'm realizing now, all these years later, is that Girl X got the short end of the mother stick. I'm winging it as much as I can but I'm afraid I'm falling short and someday she's going to look back and ask me what the hell I was thinking.
Kind of like I'm doing now with my mom. I feel like there are all these secrets to being a woman that I should know, but I so don't. I wonder how my sister managed to get them out of her.
I can picture Girl X and I when she's a teenager getting ready for her first date. We'll be sitting on her bed and she has her clothes laid out between us.
"See, simple jeans, vintage tee, scarf for a belt, boots. Simple, pretty, young. Get it now mom?"
And I will nod my head and pretend I understand.
I thought being a girl would make it easier to raise one of my own. In my naive little mind, I imagined a girl with pigtails and a sunny smile who didn't know the meaning of 'argue' and we would have much in common.
Like I said, when I was really stupid.
She looks like me. A prettier version, I think. Same big green eyes, crooked grin, thick hair, and smooth, fair skin. She has more of an athletic build than I ever did. Her hair is lighter. Her lips slightly less full. We both have a weakness for mint chocolate chip ice cream and small furry creatures.
But that's where our similarities end.
I was always a bookworm as a kid. She's an excellent reader, but she feels her time is better spent hanging upside down from the monkey bars. She loves sports. Baseball is her 'thing'. We go to Mariner's games mostly because it's something she loves. Her most prized possession is the bat and ball signed by Kenji Johjima. She loves to watch the game on TV with her dad. I try, but I get fidgety and this seems to annoy her (I can only assume that's what it means when she jabs me with her elbow and admonishes me to sit still). She's a cheerleader. I go to her practices and games and love to watch her but it's always with this strange fascination. I wonder where she came from.
I was an introvert as a kid. The quiet one with her nose in a book.
Girl X is a social butterfly. She's friends with everyone in her grade and several others. She knows their moms and siblings.
It amazes me that she remembers their names but she always forgets to tie her shoes or turn in her homework.
She loves skirts and dresses, shoes, hair ties, bracelets and necklaces. All the girly things that sometimes freak me out.
I love shoes, but I can't wear anything with a heel. Unless of course I feel like falling flat on my face. Which I can actually do in flats too, but heels make it happen faster. I'm ok with picking out clothes for her, but when it comes to mine I'm at a loss. It's probably why Mr X has banned me from buying anymore sweatshirts.
Hair? I hope she has a nice friend who takes pity on her and teaches her how to do her hair because I'm still trying to figure out mine. Everytime I think I've got it, it falls. Most of the time I'm happy if it's brushed. And while we're on the subject of hair, I hope she finds someone with a nice mom who can teach her how to pluck eyebrows because I am at a loss. Wax is my friend. Not because I like it (I'm not a masochist!) but because I don't want to be the one-browed she wonder.
What I'm realizing now, all these years later, is that Girl X got the short end of the mother stick. I'm winging it as much as I can but I'm afraid I'm falling short and someday she's going to look back and ask me what the hell I was thinking.
Kind of like I'm doing now with my mom. I feel like there are all these secrets to being a woman that I should know, but I so don't. I wonder how my sister managed to get them out of her.
I can picture Girl X and I when she's a teenager getting ready for her first date. We'll be sitting on her bed and she has her clothes laid out between us.
"See, simple jeans, vintage tee, scarf for a belt, boots. Simple, pretty, young. Get it now mom?"
And I will nod my head and pretend I understand.
Sunday, March 26, 2006
And My Stomach Heaves In Protest
I realize I am a bit biased but, Mr X is an attractive man. Thick dark hair, big brown eyes, full mouth, easy laugh, big (but not Ew Gross! Must-be-steroids kind of big) muscles. He's charming, easy going, always willing to lend a hand (Good Grief! It sounds like I'm describing a dog we want to give away....) great dad.
All this, but if you ask him what his most endearing quality is? He'll tell you it's his iron cast stomach.
"I can eat anything that doesn't eat me first!"
I think he got that saying when he was growing up but no, we will not further discuss my Mother in Law's cleaning and cooking habits. At least not today. Tomorrow?
Tomorrow she is fair game.
What was I saying?
Oh yes. My husband's iron stomach.
He'll eat pretty much anything ( but not bologna, not anything that even remotely sounds like bologna. Not anything with bologna in the name even if it's not bologna because why would you call something bologna if it isn't bologna? What the hell kind of sense does that make? If it's not bologna than they shouldn't call it that. Yes. We actually had an argument about what constitutes bologna and whether or not it was completely moronic that he would eat hot dogs but not bologna. I once tried to make him a sandwich with this lunch meat that looked vaguely like bologna but was actually turkey ham (and what the hell is up with turkey ham anyway? Wasn't it good enough just being turkey or ham? Why and combine? And I know that they would mix that together at the lunchmeat making plant, but every time I see turkey ham, I imagine some poor turkey getting pregnant by a pig and then what would their baby look like? I think it would not be pretty.) and he refused to eat it because he thought I was trying to sneak some bologna in on him. Like I would be that obvious! No. When I'm trying to sneak in some over-processed pig snout I shred it and hide it on his pizza thank you very much. And if he asks? It's ham.)
I must stop going off like that. I keep forgetting what I was talking about. Do you know how annoying it is to be talking to someone when they suddenly go off the whole story and on to something else and then they forget what they were talking about?
I do it all the time. A friend once told me that now she knows what it would be like to be friends with someone with Alzheimer's.
Anyway, Mr X also hates throwing food away (gee, I wonder where he gets that from. But we aren't talking about her today so....). I once watched him eat a week's worth of leftovers (there wasn't enough individually to make a meal and why we had to save all the little bits I'll never understand. We have a dog. Dog would have loved a little chicken parm and tacos) for dinner. It was positively disgusting. I watched with this morbid fascination. It was like watching a bird eat roadkill. So gross that you desperately want to look away, yet you can't.
When he wasn't feeling so well the next day I asked if he thought it might have anything to do with the E.Coli he ingested the night before.
"No way. That stuff was still good. Must have been the cereal."
Right. Because a week's worth of leftover's? No problem. Fresh bag of cocoa puffs? Certain death.
But tonight I drew the line.
He eats this carb control yogurt. It's nasty stuff. I don't really like yogurt to begin with, but this is vile. Tonight he found some way in the back of the fridge behind all the jars of pickles and olives (I hide them in the back so I don't have to see them staring at me).
"How old is this?"
Any time you dig something out of the back of the fridge and have to ask how old it is? Not a good sign.
It expired in the beginning of February.
"You are NOT eating that!"
I had visions of me emptying puke buckets over the next several days as he insisted on finishing all 4 containers of the most vile yogurt ever created.
"Yes I am. It's still good."
"No you are not and no it is NOT!"
"It's fine!"
"Open it."
"Fine, then you will see it's still good and be gone!"
He peeled back the label and I could see this watery ooze swilling around the top.
"It's... it... well. I'll do the sniff test."
And before I could stop him (because I could smell it from 3 feet away) he breathed in and then turned a few shades of green.
I plucked the container from his hands and chucked the yogurt in the trash.
I will never understand what compels a man to eat things that have gone past their prime. Is it a show of their manhood? Or insanity?
All this, but if you ask him what his most endearing quality is? He'll tell you it's his iron cast stomach.
"I can eat anything that doesn't eat me first!"
I think he got that saying when he was growing up but no, we will not further discuss my Mother in Law's cleaning and cooking habits. At least not today. Tomorrow?
Tomorrow she is fair game.
What was I saying?
Oh yes. My husband's iron stomach.
He'll eat pretty much anything ( but not bologna, not anything that even remotely sounds like bologna. Not anything with bologna in the name even if it's not bologna because why would you call something bologna if it isn't bologna? What the hell kind of sense does that make? If it's not bologna than they shouldn't call it that. Yes. We actually had an argument about what constitutes bologna and whether or not it was completely moronic that he would eat hot dogs but not bologna. I once tried to make him a sandwich with this lunch meat that looked vaguely like bologna but was actually turkey ham (and what the hell is up with turkey ham anyway? Wasn't it good enough just being turkey or ham? Why and combine? And I know that they would mix that together at the lunchmeat making plant, but every time I see turkey ham, I imagine some poor turkey getting pregnant by a pig and then what would their baby look like? I think it would not be pretty.) and he refused to eat it because he thought I was trying to sneak some bologna in on him. Like I would be that obvious! No. When I'm trying to sneak in some over-processed pig snout I shred it and hide it on his pizza thank you very much. And if he asks? It's ham.)
I must stop going off like that. I keep forgetting what I was talking about. Do you know how annoying it is to be talking to someone when they suddenly go off the whole story and on to something else and then they forget what they were talking about?
I do it all the time. A friend once told me that now she knows what it would be like to be friends with someone with Alzheimer's.
Anyway, Mr X also hates throwing food away (gee, I wonder where he gets that from. But we aren't talking about her today so....). I once watched him eat a week's worth of leftovers (there wasn't enough individually to make a meal and why we had to save all the little bits I'll never understand. We have a dog. Dog would have loved a little chicken parm and tacos) for dinner. It was positively disgusting. I watched with this morbid fascination. It was like watching a bird eat roadkill. So gross that you desperately want to look away, yet you can't.
When he wasn't feeling so well the next day I asked if he thought it might have anything to do with the E.Coli he ingested the night before.
"No way. That stuff was still good. Must have been the cereal."
Right. Because a week's worth of leftover's? No problem. Fresh bag of cocoa puffs? Certain death.
But tonight I drew the line.
He eats this carb control yogurt. It's nasty stuff. I don't really like yogurt to begin with, but this is vile. Tonight he found some way in the back of the fridge behind all the jars of pickles and olives (I hide them in the back so I don't have to see them staring at me).
"How old is this?"
Any time you dig something out of the back of the fridge and have to ask how old it is? Not a good sign.
It expired in the beginning of February.
"You are NOT eating that!"
I had visions of me emptying puke buckets over the next several days as he insisted on finishing all 4 containers of the most vile yogurt ever created.
"Yes I am. It's still good."
"No you are not and no it is NOT!"
"It's fine!"
"Open it."
"Fine, then you will see it's still good and be gone!"
He peeled back the label and I could see this watery ooze swilling around the top.
"It's... it... well. I'll do the sniff test."
And before I could stop him (because I could smell it from 3 feet away) he breathed in and then turned a few shades of green.
I plucked the container from his hands and chucked the yogurt in the trash.
I will never understand what compels a man to eat things that have gone past their prime. Is it a show of their manhood? Or insanity?
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Random Bits
Damn Blogger. Damn Computer. I had this post almost all typed out and ready to go and then it vanished. This is actually my third attempt at a post tonight since I had typed out this long whiny post but then deleted it because who needs another whiny post from me when you can get a never-ending sentence? Pshaw!
*Parent/Teacher conferences were today. Girl X needs a math tutor. Correction, Girl X needed a math tutor last year. I had found this summer program for her but Mr X balked at the idea of summer school. So here we are again and I can't help thinking that if we had just done this last year, we'd be home free. And of course, the responsibility of finding a good center falls to me. Yipee. Because I'm just so damn good at research.
*Hurricane is going to like blue. If he ever decides that he hates blue, I will cry. No, first I will tell him he is wrong, then I will go crazy, then I will cry.
I am never painting that damn room again. I had to cut the painter's tape from the wall because to rip it off was to take all the paint with it. Dammit.
I can't say it enough. I hate painting. LOATH it.
*Hurricane managed to get melted chocolate chip cookie in my hair. I t was the moment I was trying to crumble it out (chocolate in the hair sucks) that I admitted defeat in regards to ever styling my hair again.
*A little piece of my soul died this morning when I was waiting for the school bus. One of Girl X's school friends (she's 10) was wearing 3 inch heeled boots. Without falling. Without even stumbling a little.
I can't walk up my driveway in sneakers without a guard rail. Shit.
*French Market Lemonade tastes like watered down lemon juice and alka seltzer. Not pleasant.
*My parent's are coming to visit this summer and YAY!!!! The last time they were here they spent several hours at the fish market spotting Bill Gates and that 'Frasier fellow'. I didn't have the heart to tell them that Bill Gates was neither asian, nor a drag queen and that the 'Frasier fellow' didn't actually live in Seattle.
*In the category of Things That Make Me Twitch and Swear A Lot..... A friend got me hooked into this http://home.planet.nl/~Qwyzzle/ Click on the bolero hat. There is a section (I think it's the bird) that has hints. You can hate on me later for it.
*Parent/Teacher conferences were today. Girl X needs a math tutor. Correction, Girl X needed a math tutor last year. I had found this summer program for her but Mr X balked at the idea of summer school. So here we are again and I can't help thinking that if we had just done this last year, we'd be home free. And of course, the responsibility of finding a good center falls to me. Yipee. Because I'm just so damn good at research.
*Hurricane is going to like blue. If he ever decides that he hates blue, I will cry. No, first I will tell him he is wrong, then I will go crazy, then I will cry.
I am never painting that damn room again. I had to cut the painter's tape from the wall because to rip it off was to take all the paint with it. Dammit.
I can't say it enough. I hate painting. LOATH it.
*Hurricane managed to get melted chocolate chip cookie in my hair. I t was the moment I was trying to crumble it out (chocolate in the hair sucks) that I admitted defeat in regards to ever styling my hair again.
*A little piece of my soul died this morning when I was waiting for the school bus. One of Girl X's school friends (she's 10) was wearing 3 inch heeled boots. Without falling. Without even stumbling a little.
I can't walk up my driveway in sneakers without a guard rail. Shit.
*French Market Lemonade tastes like watered down lemon juice and alka seltzer. Not pleasant.
*My parent's are coming to visit this summer and YAY!!!! The last time they were here they spent several hours at the fish market spotting Bill Gates and that 'Frasier fellow'. I didn't have the heart to tell them that Bill Gates was neither asian, nor a drag queen and that the 'Frasier fellow' didn't actually live in Seattle.
*In the category of Things That Make Me Twitch and Swear A Lot..... A friend got me hooked into this http://home.planet.nl/~Qwyzzle/ Click on the bolero hat. There is a section (I think it's the bird) that has hints. You can hate on me later for it.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
And He Will Never Ask Again
Normally when Mr X asks me what I did that day I answer with a simple 'not much.'
Today was not one of those days. Sadly for him, he asked on a day that involved me painting my elbow blue and getting thrown up on. Twice.
So I did something I never do. I detailed our day for him.
6:50 am- Realize that the screaming is not my imagination and that the tin foil over the window did not work (I am not giving up hope on this one and I don't care if the neighbors think we're crazy because they already think too much about us anyway).
6:55 am- change first diaper of the day. Applaud when I actually have enough brain function to remember to put on a new diaper.
7:00 am- Fall back to sleep with Hurricane on my head.
7:30 am- Get woken up when Girl X pokes me in the cheek. Briefly remember a time when I could sleep until 8 am without anyone poking me in the cheek. Girl X smiles and says she knew I was only pretending to be asleep.
7:35 am- Get Girl X's breakfast. Give Hurricane free rein to destroy the living room. Begin cleaning up from Mr X's mad breakfast rush.
8:00 am- Stand in Girl X's room beggingher to just for the love of all that is good please pick out something to wear because it all looks cute dammit!
8:07 am- Pull Hurricane out of Cat's food bowl. Offer him breakfast which he does not want.
8: 15 am- Tell Girl X if she doesn't get dressed RIGHT. NOW. I am going to pick her clothes for her and she does not want THAT.
8:23 am- Remind Girl X that green teeth aren't pretty and it would be so nice if she would just brush them.
8: 31 am- Ask Girl X to play with Hurricane so that I can make a mad dash to get 'ready' for the day. Ignore the eye-rolling because that would take precious minutes I need to use to brush my teeth.
8:32 am- Throw on the first pair of pants and shirt I find that is clean and dammit I hope that stain isn't too noticeable. Brush teeth and hair at same time. Wash face while picking up dirty clothes Mr X left beside the hamper because putting it in the hamper is, obviously, against his religion. Get mascara on one eye before Hurricane comes in and attaches himself to leg.
8:43 am- Give up trying to pry Hurricane off leg and tell Girl X to get her shoes on.
8:45 am- Go back to bathroom as soon as Iremember that I still only have mascara on one eye.
8:48 am- Start first load of laundry for the day.
8:53 am- Catch Hurricane before he can tip over the trash can. Get him dressed- which includes the 2nd diaper change of the day. Put his shoes on as he is running down the hall.
9:03 am- Throw Girl X's lunch in her bag and race outside to meet the bus.
9: 13 am- Wave bye-bye to bus long after bus has disappeared. Leave toosoon and Hurricane will go into meltdown mode. Must avoid meltdown mode.
9:17 am- Realize that it is now you and Hurricane alone. All alone. Hurricane also realizes this. He smiles his sweet I-am-going-to-paint-the-walls-today smile. Realize that you are at war. With a 16 month old.
9:18 am- Hurricane has decided that he must eat breakfast right this second or he will IMPLODE. FEED ME NOW!! Breakfast is the easiest meal of the day, in that he will eat any breakfast related item. But, you have to be quick.
9:20 am- quickly cut up 2 pancakes as Hurricane clings to both legs, sobbing.
9:23 am- Hobble, Hurricane still attached to your legs, to the table with pancakes and milk.
9:47 am- Breakfast ends with one syrupy plate on the floor.
9:49 am- Briefly remember breakfast that did not involve a carpet full of syrup (or Cat now stuck in that syrup), Elmo plates or the airplane trick. For every single bite.
9:53 am- Scrub syrup off Cat and floor.
10 am- Yay! Sesame street! That all too brief hour in the day when Hurricane is vaguely distracted by Big Bird and Elmo. Realize that you know all the words to the theme song for Sesame Street. Remember a time when the only lyrics you memorized were that of your favorite band.
10:05 am- Start next load of laundry while Elmo pokes fun at Zoe's pet rock. Realize that I am having an argument in my head about why Elmo should not be poking fun at Zoe just because she thinks her pet rock has feelings. Make mental note to get out for the house and talk to some adults for the sake of my mental health.
10:11 am- Fold laundry with 'help' from Hurricane.
10:17 am- Refold laundry Hurricane 'helped' with before getting distracted by Grover.
10:23 am- Begin emptying dishwasher.
10:25 am- Pull Hurricane out of dishwasher. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.
10:30 am- Finish dishes while hurricane is completely hypnotized by Elmo.
10:35 am- Begin search for Box to mail gift to friend.
11:00 am- Sesame street is over and it's snack time. Box still not found.
11:28 am- Finally find suitable box. Must now convince Hurricane it's not a toy.
11:37 am- Make it to the post office in time for Hurricane to reach meltdown mode.
11:45 am- Return home and lay Hurricane down because he finally fell asleep.
11:48 am- Next load of laundry.
11:55 am- Skip folding the rest of the laundry because I just realized that I have not eaten yet and that noise I keep hearing is my stomach.
12:10 pm- Eat and catch up with internet, e-mail.
12:30 pm- Pick up trail of toys and junk left behind by Girl X and Mr X.
12:45 pm- Give up and jump on treadmill.
1:00 pm- Begin to feel guilty about the state of the house and why I'm wasting valuable minutes on this thing.
1:15 pm-Girl X is home from school. Damn early dismissal.
1:17 pm- Help Girl X make her bed and clean up her room.
1:33 pm- Hurricane is awake. Time for more laundry, snacks, and dusting.
And another diaper change. This may not seem like a big deal, except he's mobile and has this hatred for sitting still.
2:15 pm- Pull Hurricane out from under the table where he has cornered Cat in a game of who can slobber on the other more. Hurricane won.
2:40 pm- Videotape hurricane 'dancing'. Laugh when I realize he has his father's 'moves'.
3:00 pm- Ask Hurricane to kindly remove his head from my ass because no matter how hard he tries, and despite the fact that it is rather large, his head simply won't fit up there.
3:02 pm- Pull Hurricane away from ass and change another diaper.
3:07 pm- Send Girl X off to play and make bed.
3:11 pm- Give up and lay down with Hurricane.
3:24 pm- Mr X is home and in act that makes me want to bake him cookies, takes Hurricane so I can nap.
4:32 pm- Get poked in the cheek by Girl X. Bury face when Girl X says she can't believe I was sleeping.
4: 37 pm- Give up and splash cold water on face in vain attempt to wake up.
4:44 pm- Mr X disappears for the next hour and 20 minutes to work out. Take back earlier statement about cookies. Play with Hurricane and the Weebles.
5:00 pm- Make dinner.
5:27 pm- Send Girl X to shower since she's done with dinner.
5:39 pm- Tell Girl X to get out of shower already.
5:46 pm- Hurricane begins coughing hard. His face turns blood red. Pick him up.
5:47 pm- Hurricane throws up on me for the first time that evening.
5:49 pm- Get out of pukey sweater and change Hurricane. Skip the diaper.
5: 56 pm- Hurricane pukes up the rest of his dinner when I pick him up from the changing table.
5:57 pm- Gag.
5:58 pm- Scrub floors and try to keep pukey hair out of face.
6:03 pm- Watch Hurricane, diaperless, walk over to Cat and pee on him.
6:04 pm- Get look of death from Cat.
6:07 pm- Gather things for shower.
6:11 pm- Stop Hurricane from stabbing Cat in the butt with his fingers. Laugh when I realize that my son nearly Kanchoed the Cat.
6:15 pm- Wash pukey hair while Hurricane plays with his butt.
6:17 pm- Tell Girl X snacks can wait until after I'm out of the shower and no I will not get out right now.
6:19 pm- Girl X returns to ask how long I will be in the shower. Make mental note to start locking that door.
6:21 pm- Wash pukey baby who promptly falls asleep on my shoulder.
6:25 pm- Feel guilty for waking up sleepy baby and wish again that I had invested in some earplugs because that kid has some lungs.
By 7 pm, I was making my dinner, feeding Hurricane some toast and cleaning up the dining room. Mr X asked what I did today and I think that will be the last time.
But sometimes, I don't think he gets it.
It's not like my day ended there. I mean, it's almost 11:30 and I'm still up. I had another, please G-d let it be the last, coat of paint to slap on. The kids needed to be put to bed, dinner dishes cleaned up, Girl X's lunch for school needed to be made and laundry still not finished (the laundry is never done here). Plus, cleaning up the toys from Hurricane's mission to destroy.
I wonder how he would do if he had to switch places with me for a day.
Sometimes I get the feeling that he thinks my day goes more like this:
8:30 am- Wake up. Kid's eat. Girl X to school.
9:30- 12:00- Play with Hurricane.
12:00- 3:00- While Hurricane sleeps, eat lunch, play on internet, sleep. Maybe do laundry. What time does Springer come on?
3:30- Husband home. Sleep.
5:00- Make dinner while Husband works out.
6:45- Kid's bathtime
7:30 and 8:00- Kid's bedtime
8:00- whenever- TV time.
I hope he doesn't think that anymore.
Today was not one of those days. Sadly for him, he asked on a day that involved me painting my elbow blue and getting thrown up on. Twice.
So I did something I never do. I detailed our day for him.
6:50 am- Realize that the screaming is not my imagination and that the tin foil over the window did not work (I am not giving up hope on this one and I don't care if the neighbors think we're crazy because they already think too much about us anyway).
6:55 am- change first diaper of the day. Applaud when I actually have enough brain function to remember to put on a new diaper.
7:00 am- Fall back to sleep with Hurricane on my head.
7:30 am- Get woken up when Girl X pokes me in the cheek. Briefly remember a time when I could sleep until 8 am without anyone poking me in the cheek. Girl X smiles and says she knew I was only pretending to be asleep.
7:35 am- Get Girl X's breakfast. Give Hurricane free rein to destroy the living room. Begin cleaning up from Mr X's mad breakfast rush.
8:00 am- Stand in Girl X's room beggingher to just for the love of all that is good please pick out something to wear because it all looks cute dammit!
8:07 am- Pull Hurricane out of Cat's food bowl. Offer him breakfast which he does not want.
8: 15 am- Tell Girl X if she doesn't get dressed RIGHT. NOW. I am going to pick her clothes for her and she does not want THAT.
8:23 am- Remind Girl X that green teeth aren't pretty and it would be so nice if she would just brush them.
8: 31 am- Ask Girl X to play with Hurricane so that I can make a mad dash to get 'ready' for the day. Ignore the eye-rolling because that would take precious minutes I need to use to brush my teeth.
8:32 am- Throw on the first pair of pants and shirt I find that is clean and dammit I hope that stain isn't too noticeable. Brush teeth and hair at same time. Wash face while picking up dirty clothes Mr X left beside the hamper because putting it in the hamper is, obviously, against his religion. Get mascara on one eye before Hurricane comes in and attaches himself to leg.
8:43 am- Give up trying to pry Hurricane off leg and tell Girl X to get her shoes on.
8:45 am- Go back to bathroom as soon as Iremember that I still only have mascara on one eye.
8:48 am- Start first load of laundry for the day.
8:53 am- Catch Hurricane before he can tip over the trash can. Get him dressed- which includes the 2nd diaper change of the day. Put his shoes on as he is running down the hall.
9:03 am- Throw Girl X's lunch in her bag and race outside to meet the bus.
9: 13 am- Wave bye-bye to bus long after bus has disappeared. Leave toosoon and Hurricane will go into meltdown mode. Must avoid meltdown mode.
9:17 am- Realize that it is now you and Hurricane alone. All alone. Hurricane also realizes this. He smiles his sweet I-am-going-to-paint-the-walls-today smile. Realize that you are at war. With a 16 month old.
9:18 am- Hurricane has decided that he must eat breakfast right this second or he will IMPLODE. FEED ME NOW!! Breakfast is the easiest meal of the day, in that he will eat any breakfast related item. But, you have to be quick.
9:20 am- quickly cut up 2 pancakes as Hurricane clings to both legs, sobbing.
9:23 am- Hobble, Hurricane still attached to your legs, to the table with pancakes and milk.
9:47 am- Breakfast ends with one syrupy plate on the floor.
9:49 am- Briefly remember breakfast that did not involve a carpet full of syrup (or Cat now stuck in that syrup), Elmo plates or the airplane trick. For every single bite.
9:53 am- Scrub syrup off Cat and floor.
10 am- Yay! Sesame street! That all too brief hour in the day when Hurricane is vaguely distracted by Big Bird and Elmo. Realize that you know all the words to the theme song for Sesame Street. Remember a time when the only lyrics you memorized were that of your favorite band.
10:05 am- Start next load of laundry while Elmo pokes fun at Zoe's pet rock. Realize that I am having an argument in my head about why Elmo should not be poking fun at Zoe just because she thinks her pet rock has feelings. Make mental note to get out for the house and talk to some adults for the sake of my mental health.
10:11 am- Fold laundry with 'help' from Hurricane.
10:17 am- Refold laundry Hurricane 'helped' with before getting distracted by Grover.
10:23 am- Begin emptying dishwasher.
10:25 am- Pull Hurricane out of dishwasher. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.
10:30 am- Finish dishes while hurricane is completely hypnotized by Elmo.
10:35 am- Begin search for Box to mail gift to friend.
11:00 am- Sesame street is over and it's snack time. Box still not found.
11:28 am- Finally find suitable box. Must now convince Hurricane it's not a toy.
11:37 am- Make it to the post office in time for Hurricane to reach meltdown mode.
11:45 am- Return home and lay Hurricane down because he finally fell asleep.
11:48 am- Next load of laundry.
11:55 am- Skip folding the rest of the laundry because I just realized that I have not eaten yet and that noise I keep hearing is my stomach.
12:10 pm- Eat and catch up with internet, e-mail.
12:30 pm- Pick up trail of toys and junk left behind by Girl X and Mr X.
12:45 pm- Give up and jump on treadmill.
1:00 pm- Begin to feel guilty about the state of the house and why I'm wasting valuable minutes on this thing.
1:15 pm-Girl X is home from school. Damn early dismissal.
1:17 pm- Help Girl X make her bed and clean up her room.
1:33 pm- Hurricane is awake. Time for more laundry, snacks, and dusting.
And another diaper change. This may not seem like a big deal, except he's mobile and has this hatred for sitting still.
2:15 pm- Pull Hurricane out from under the table where he has cornered Cat in a game of who can slobber on the other more. Hurricane won.
2:40 pm- Videotape hurricane 'dancing'. Laugh when I realize he has his father's 'moves'.
3:00 pm- Ask Hurricane to kindly remove his head from my ass because no matter how hard he tries, and despite the fact that it is rather large, his head simply won't fit up there.
3:02 pm- Pull Hurricane away from ass and change another diaper.
3:07 pm- Send Girl X off to play and make bed.
3:11 pm- Give up and lay down with Hurricane.
3:24 pm- Mr X is home and in act that makes me want to bake him cookies, takes Hurricane so I can nap.
4:32 pm- Get poked in the cheek by Girl X. Bury face when Girl X says she can't believe I was sleeping.
4: 37 pm- Give up and splash cold water on face in vain attempt to wake up.
4:44 pm- Mr X disappears for the next hour and 20 minutes to work out. Take back earlier statement about cookies. Play with Hurricane and the Weebles.
5:00 pm- Make dinner.
5:27 pm- Send Girl X to shower since she's done with dinner.
5:39 pm- Tell Girl X to get out of shower already.
5:46 pm- Hurricane begins coughing hard. His face turns blood red. Pick him up.
5:47 pm- Hurricane throws up on me for the first time that evening.
5:49 pm- Get out of pukey sweater and change Hurricane. Skip the diaper.
5: 56 pm- Hurricane pukes up the rest of his dinner when I pick him up from the changing table.
5:57 pm- Gag.
5:58 pm- Scrub floors and try to keep pukey hair out of face.
6:03 pm- Watch Hurricane, diaperless, walk over to Cat and pee on him.
6:04 pm- Get look of death from Cat.
6:07 pm- Gather things for shower.
6:11 pm- Stop Hurricane from stabbing Cat in the butt with his fingers. Laugh when I realize that my son nearly Kanchoed the Cat.
6:15 pm- Wash pukey hair while Hurricane plays with his butt.
6:17 pm- Tell Girl X snacks can wait until after I'm out of the shower and no I will not get out right now.
6:19 pm- Girl X returns to ask how long I will be in the shower. Make mental note to start locking that door.
6:21 pm- Wash pukey baby who promptly falls asleep on my shoulder.
6:25 pm- Feel guilty for waking up sleepy baby and wish again that I had invested in some earplugs because that kid has some lungs.
By 7 pm, I was making my dinner, feeding Hurricane some toast and cleaning up the dining room. Mr X asked what I did today and I think that will be the last time.
But sometimes, I don't think he gets it.
It's not like my day ended there. I mean, it's almost 11:30 and I'm still up. I had another, please G-d let it be the last, coat of paint to slap on. The kids needed to be put to bed, dinner dishes cleaned up, Girl X's lunch for school needed to be made and laundry still not finished (the laundry is never done here). Plus, cleaning up the toys from Hurricane's mission to destroy.
I wonder how he would do if he had to switch places with me for a day.
Sometimes I get the feeling that he thinks my day goes more like this:
8:30 am- Wake up. Kid's eat. Girl X to school.
9:30- 12:00- Play with Hurricane.
12:00- 3:00- While Hurricane sleeps, eat lunch, play on internet, sleep. Maybe do laundry. What time does Springer come on?
3:30- Husband home. Sleep.
5:00- Make dinner while Husband works out.
6:45- Kid's bathtime
7:30 and 8:00- Kid's bedtime
8:00- whenever- TV time.
I hope he doesn't think that anymore.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
An Adoption Tale
Geez. How long ago was it that I said I would do this? Shut up. I forgot ok? And I'm doing it now.
Mr X and I met when Girl X was 2. It was at my sister's wedding. She was marrying his brother. Go ahead and insert your own joke here. It's even funnier when you consider that we don't get along very well.
Girl X distrusted men. She like my dad and my brother but every other male who dared to so much as look at her? They got an earful. And if they got to close, maybe a little fist in the eye.
Mr X spent the entire night with Girl X. She followed him everywhere. He sat on the floor and they played with an ice bucket. She had no interest in me or the pretty flowers I was holding for her.
It took me by surprise. That moment, that one brief moment where she was a normal 2 year old, playing on the floor.
Her own father had more interest in his drugs than his child and I had left him, long overdue, several months earlier. I suppose I was a bit mistrustful of men too. I had little patience or respect for the majority of the ones I had met during my brief solitude. Mostly, I was too busy to take the time to deal with it all.
I wasn't expecting this. I really wasn't expecting him to return since he lived on the other side of the country. But he did. I moved to be with him and we became a family. Something Girl X hadn't really experienced first hand.
She started preschool and we settled into a routine. Her biological father called nearly a year later but never asked for her. I ignored him.
One day, Girl X began calling Mr X 'Daddy'. We began talking about him adopting her someday. I knew it would be a fight because for as little as her biological father had to do with her, he would not like what that meant for his reputation.
We were married and immediately after returning home contacted an attorney who, for a $1000 retainer, did nothing for 3 months.
We hired an attorney Mr X had known for years and began what would turn out to be a 2 year ordeal.
Step one was contacting her biological father to see if he would be willing to terminate his parental rights so that Mr X could adopt her. By this time, I had only heard from him 3 times in 2 years. He never paid child support, wrote her letters or asked about her. Still, I knew he would refuse.
One day, our lawyer called and said he had found my ex-husband and that he wanted to speak to me. When I called, from a payphone, he cursed me out and then demanded that Mr X call him and then he would consider it.
Mr X called him 8 times, all times my ex had suggested, but Ex refused to answer. I suppose he thought if he ignored us we would give up.
I was determined to have this done. All I could think about was what would happen to her if I were to die unexpectedly.
She would be taken from the only father she had ever known after losing her mother, and be placed with a man who would promptly forget her. Taken away from the man who one night turned to me and said, "I keep forgetting that I wasn't in the delivery room. I don't know what else to say but that she is my daughter." And he meant it. He still does. He knows every detail of the day she was born because I've told him. He knows the first two years of her life because I gave them to him. And he has taken them as his. What is more real than that?
At a grocery store once, a clerk looked at her blond curls and our dark hair and said that she didn't look like she belonged. I was pissed but Mr X put her arms around Girl X and said she fit just fine.
Our next step was to take him to court. Which meant that we had to serve him with court papers.
If he faced us in court, I would have to testify. We would have to prove that the benefits of having his rights terminated would by far outweigh the biological father's rights. This is not nearly as easy as one might think.
This was pointless to worry about though until we could find him. Because while his phone number was simple to track down, his actual address was not.
Plus, we had to do all of this from the other side of the country. Everytime I thought we had him, it all went to hell. With the aid of my father, a constable (similar duties to what a sheriff has), we found out that my ex was homeless. He was living in his semi at work.
I guess I wasn't really that surprised. It's not like he was terribly responsible when we were together. I think I was more relieved. Now, even if he fought us, what judge would give him visitation rights with no where to go? And maybe that seems heartless, but my only concern was Girl X. I couldn't fake enough concern over his living arrangements.
Since Ex did not live in the same state as us, he did not have to show up in court. He only had to have a lawyer there. A lawyer he could have for free simply by calling the numbers provided to him on the court papers. In bold letters.
We legally had to give him 20 days to respond. We gave him 40.
The day of the hearing, I was almost 7 months pregnant and ready to throw up. We were both nervous. I was worried he would show. I slipped my hand into Mr X's and we waited for our names to be called.
He didn't show.
It was over in 5 minutes.
Parental rights terminated.
We left the courtroom and immediately started crying. Relief.
The hardest part was over.
We had 2 months until the adoption hearing. Before we could get there, we had to meet with a social worker.
She would do a background search on Mr X and a family history (boy there's a can of worms that should never be opened!) and have a meeting with us.
He had to fill out a 10 page document about himself including his past personal history; what was your childhood like? (Earthworms?) What were you like after high school? (Oh shit!) Why do you want to be this child's father? He also had to get 2 personal references and one from work. These people would have to write at least 3 paragraphs about the type of person/worker Mr X was. We sent some pictures and talked about the things we liked to do as a family.
Mr X and I took Girl X to meet her. He had to inform her of his health which meant owning up to the Thing We Are Not Discussing but we lucked out that she understood. She met with me and I was so nervous. She asked a few questions about my childhood and I was as honest as I could be without turning it into a therapy session.
She met with all of us together and talked to Girl X, mostly asking her what she liked to do and how she felt about the adoption. Girl X was just a few months shy of her 7th birthday by then. Her reply was to look blankly at the social worker and ask if she had any cookies.
Oops.
In all the nervousness and stress of the adoption, we hadn't sat down and really explained it to her. We talked about it, but obviously not enough. Now we had no choice.
I wasn't looking forward to this one. To sitting down and telling Girl X about this other person. I had to be careful about what I said about him. I didn't want Girl X to think negatively of herself simply because of this jackass.
She took it better than I had hoped, wrapping her arms around Mr X and declaring that he was her daddy and nothing else mattered.
And she was right.
November 1, 2004.
It was quiet. The judge asked only a few questions, read the social worker's recommendation, and smiled. Girl X was asked to come up to the judge's chair and bang the gavel. We took pictures. The judge ordered that we go out for ice cream.
And we did.
2 years of legal work;$7,000; 2 lawyers and a social worker. That's what it took.
November 1, 2004 was the day Girl X legally became Mr X's daughter, the name change, a new birth certificate, all the security in knowing she would never be taken away. But in reality? She had been his the day he sat on the floor for 2 hours playing in an ice bucket at his brother's wedding.
Mr X and I met when Girl X was 2. It was at my sister's wedding. She was marrying his brother. Go ahead and insert your own joke here. It's even funnier when you consider that we don't get along very well.
Girl X distrusted men. She like my dad and my brother but every other male who dared to so much as look at her? They got an earful. And if they got to close, maybe a little fist in the eye.
Mr X spent the entire night with Girl X. She followed him everywhere. He sat on the floor and they played with an ice bucket. She had no interest in me or the pretty flowers I was holding for her.
It took me by surprise. That moment, that one brief moment where she was a normal 2 year old, playing on the floor.
Her own father had more interest in his drugs than his child and I had left him, long overdue, several months earlier. I suppose I was a bit mistrustful of men too. I had little patience or respect for the majority of the ones I had met during my brief solitude. Mostly, I was too busy to take the time to deal with it all.
I wasn't expecting this. I really wasn't expecting him to return since he lived on the other side of the country. But he did. I moved to be with him and we became a family. Something Girl X hadn't really experienced first hand.
She started preschool and we settled into a routine. Her biological father called nearly a year later but never asked for her. I ignored him.
One day, Girl X began calling Mr X 'Daddy'. We began talking about him adopting her someday. I knew it would be a fight because for as little as her biological father had to do with her, he would not like what that meant for his reputation.
We were married and immediately after returning home contacted an attorney who, for a $1000 retainer, did nothing for 3 months.
We hired an attorney Mr X had known for years and began what would turn out to be a 2 year ordeal.
Step one was contacting her biological father to see if he would be willing to terminate his parental rights so that Mr X could adopt her. By this time, I had only heard from him 3 times in 2 years. He never paid child support, wrote her letters or asked about her. Still, I knew he would refuse.
One day, our lawyer called and said he had found my ex-husband and that he wanted to speak to me. When I called, from a payphone, he cursed me out and then demanded that Mr X call him and then he would consider it.
Mr X called him 8 times, all times my ex had suggested, but Ex refused to answer. I suppose he thought if he ignored us we would give up.
I was determined to have this done. All I could think about was what would happen to her if I were to die unexpectedly.
She would be taken from the only father she had ever known after losing her mother, and be placed with a man who would promptly forget her. Taken away from the man who one night turned to me and said, "I keep forgetting that I wasn't in the delivery room. I don't know what else to say but that she is my daughter." And he meant it. He still does. He knows every detail of the day she was born because I've told him. He knows the first two years of her life because I gave them to him. And he has taken them as his. What is more real than that?
At a grocery store once, a clerk looked at her blond curls and our dark hair and said that she didn't look like she belonged. I was pissed but Mr X put her arms around Girl X and said she fit just fine.
Our next step was to take him to court. Which meant that we had to serve him with court papers.
If he faced us in court, I would have to testify. We would have to prove that the benefits of having his rights terminated would by far outweigh the biological father's rights. This is not nearly as easy as one might think.
This was pointless to worry about though until we could find him. Because while his phone number was simple to track down, his actual address was not.
Plus, we had to do all of this from the other side of the country. Everytime I thought we had him, it all went to hell. With the aid of my father, a constable (similar duties to what a sheriff has), we found out that my ex was homeless. He was living in his semi at work.
I guess I wasn't really that surprised. It's not like he was terribly responsible when we were together. I think I was more relieved. Now, even if he fought us, what judge would give him visitation rights with no where to go? And maybe that seems heartless, but my only concern was Girl X. I couldn't fake enough concern over his living arrangements.
Since Ex did not live in the same state as us, he did not have to show up in court. He only had to have a lawyer there. A lawyer he could have for free simply by calling the numbers provided to him on the court papers. In bold letters.
We legally had to give him 20 days to respond. We gave him 40.
The day of the hearing, I was almost 7 months pregnant and ready to throw up. We were both nervous. I was worried he would show. I slipped my hand into Mr X's and we waited for our names to be called.
He didn't show.
It was over in 5 minutes.
Parental rights terminated.
We left the courtroom and immediately started crying. Relief.
The hardest part was over.
We had 2 months until the adoption hearing. Before we could get there, we had to meet with a social worker.
She would do a background search on Mr X and a family history (boy there's a can of worms that should never be opened!) and have a meeting with us.
He had to fill out a 10 page document about himself including his past personal history; what was your childhood like? (Earthworms?) What were you like after high school? (Oh shit!) Why do you want to be this child's father? He also had to get 2 personal references and one from work. These people would have to write at least 3 paragraphs about the type of person/worker Mr X was. We sent some pictures and talked about the things we liked to do as a family.
Mr X and I took Girl X to meet her. He had to inform her of his health which meant owning up to the Thing We Are Not Discussing but we lucked out that she understood. She met with me and I was so nervous. She asked a few questions about my childhood and I was as honest as I could be without turning it into a therapy session.
She met with all of us together and talked to Girl X, mostly asking her what she liked to do and how she felt about the adoption. Girl X was just a few months shy of her 7th birthday by then. Her reply was to look blankly at the social worker and ask if she had any cookies.
Oops.
In all the nervousness and stress of the adoption, we hadn't sat down and really explained it to her. We talked about it, but obviously not enough. Now we had no choice.
I wasn't looking forward to this one. To sitting down and telling Girl X about this other person. I had to be careful about what I said about him. I didn't want Girl X to think negatively of herself simply because of this jackass.
She took it better than I had hoped, wrapping her arms around Mr X and declaring that he was her daddy and nothing else mattered.
And she was right.
November 1, 2004.
It was quiet. The judge asked only a few questions, read the social worker's recommendation, and smiled. Girl X was asked to come up to the judge's chair and bang the gavel. We took pictures. The judge ordered that we go out for ice cream.
And we did.
2 years of legal work;$7,000; 2 lawyers and a social worker. That's what it took.
November 1, 2004 was the day Girl X legally became Mr X's daughter, the name change, a new birth certificate, all the security in knowing she would never be taken away. But in reality? She had been his the day he sat on the floor for 2 hours playing in an ice bucket at his brother's wedding.
Sunday, March 19, 2006
House Pains
Alright everyone. I need those of you who are considering painting any portion of your house a dark shade of blue to raise your right arm. Now bend it at the elbow so that your hand is behind your head. Got it? Good, now smack yourself as hard as you can. You'll thank me later.
I was working on the rest of Hurricane's room this weekend. The top half is painted and, for the most part, ready. I was busy with the lower, darker blue, half. After a tinted primer and 3 coats, I have to return to Home Depot for another gallon. I'm thinking it will need at least one, probably two, more coats.
This has been entertaining for Mr X. Less so for me.
I did learn why Mr X covered every inch of our carpet with that paper tarp thing and the window with plastic. I think he probably should have covered the closet doors too. Which reminds me, I need to add white paint to my list. And I hope that when I tell the nice Home Depot paint person that I need closet door white she'll know just what the hell I'm talking about.
I always paint with my socks off so that if, um, make that when, I step in paint, I'll be able to feel it. Although, I don't think it mattered this time because there is no way I would not have felt this.
I had the radio on and I was 'dancing' (ha!) around like a fool, having a grand old time. Then IT happened.
What was IT you ask?
IT was when I managed to step in the paint tray. The deep end of the paint tray. You know, where all the paint sits waiting for a roller. Instead, it got my foot. It stood there for a moment, my foot in 3 inches of Sorcerer's Hat blue paint. And then it hit me. MY FOOT, (do you remember how I have that thing about feet? Specifically my feet? Because this is where I remembered. And this is where it got ugly.) IS IN PAINT AND OMG MY FOOT!!!!
I lost all reason and freaked out, roller full of paint in my hand and one foot caked in blue paint.
I alternated between hopping and stamping, swinging my arms and yelling 'AAUGGHHHH!!!' which brought Mr X running.
He took one look at the room and closed the door. I could hear him laughing all the way downstairs.
I was never so grateful that I had remembered to put the camera away. The last thing I needed was a picture to remember my little freakout.
When it was over there was paint on the closet doors, the plastic over the windows, parts of the upper wall that I will now have to repaint (dammit!) and my little blue footprints all over the paper floor.
I am just thankful that our neighbors didn't witness this little sideshow.
I was working on the rest of Hurricane's room this weekend. The top half is painted and, for the most part, ready. I was busy with the lower, darker blue, half. After a tinted primer and 3 coats, I have to return to Home Depot for another gallon. I'm thinking it will need at least one, probably two, more coats.
This has been entertaining for Mr X. Less so for me.
I did learn why Mr X covered every inch of our carpet with that paper tarp thing and the window with plastic. I think he probably should have covered the closet doors too. Which reminds me, I need to add white paint to my list. And I hope that when I tell the nice Home Depot paint person that I need closet door white she'll know just what the hell I'm talking about.
I always paint with my socks off so that if, um, make that when, I step in paint, I'll be able to feel it. Although, I don't think it mattered this time because there is no way I would not have felt this.
I had the radio on and I was 'dancing' (ha!) around like a fool, having a grand old time. Then IT happened.
What was IT you ask?
IT was when I managed to step in the paint tray. The deep end of the paint tray. You know, where all the paint sits waiting for a roller. Instead, it got my foot. It stood there for a moment, my foot in 3 inches of Sorcerer's Hat blue paint. And then it hit me. MY FOOT, (do you remember how I have that thing about feet? Specifically my feet? Because this is where I remembered. And this is where it got ugly.) IS IN PAINT AND OMG MY FOOT!!!!
I lost all reason and freaked out, roller full of paint in my hand and one foot caked in blue paint.
I alternated between hopping and stamping, swinging my arms and yelling 'AAUGGHHHH!!!' which brought Mr X running.
He took one look at the room and closed the door. I could hear him laughing all the way downstairs.
I was never so grateful that I had remembered to put the camera away. The last thing I needed was a picture to remember my little freakout.
When it was over there was paint on the closet doors, the plastic over the windows, parts of the upper wall that I will now have to repaint (dammit!) and my little blue footprints all over the paper floor.
I am just thankful that our neighbors didn't witness this little sideshow.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
9 hours 23 minutes
That is the time between purchasing my son's first Aquadoodle travel desk to when I began writing dirty messages to my husband. It would have been sooner but I thought maybe some good parenting would involve me waiting until the kids were in bed.
My parents would be so proud.
My parents would be so proud.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
I Must Get "Y'all" Out of My System. Like Now.
Tonight we thought it would be fun to go out in public and unleash our special brand of crazy on the world. Or at least the dinner crowd at an upscale pizza place (seriously? How upscale can a pizza place be?) and have dinner with some friends.
Yay! More chances to broadcast my social awkwardness!
This was the first time I'd ever met B and T in person (they live in Texas), but I've known M (in 'real' life) for a few years. At least she had some clue how this was going to go. If she didn't, she was quickly reminded when our drinks came and I had 2 straws. I told Girl X is was so that I could stick one up each nostril and just suck it in.
I managed to refrain from giggling everytime B said "y'all" (and I've realized how stupid I sound when I say it because you should really only say that if you're from the south).
Once seated (in the loft area where we could look over and see everyone else. This is important to remember in a moment). I tried to amuse Hurricane. First, he threw his crayons across the floor. Then the book.
I thought that if anything was going to work, it would be the Weebles. The very same Weebles he beat his sister for touching.
I handed it to him.
He looked at me.
He threw it in my general direction but missed.
I watched, in frozen horror, as it went over the balcony. I heard a crash and some excited voices.
I was so ready to climb under the table and never come out but Mr X wouldn't let me.
Thankfully, the Weeble didn't hit anyone. Also? Hurricane didn't cause the crash. In what can only be described as excellent comedic timing, his Weeble landed just as her son through his plate on the floor.
I put the Weeble away.
Girl X smiled and went back to coloring.
We only had to curb our conversation once because I didn't think it would be cool if Girl X went to school and started telling everyone how her mom's friend's coochie had crabs.
Now might be the time to mention that Coochie is a cat and it's a stuffed crab. Just so you don't think we have completely inappropriate conversations with small children at the table. We save those for after they go to bed.
We had ordered breadsticks for Hurricane's dinner which he nibbled. Mr X had planned on sharing his dinner with him. In all, he ate a breadstick, a slice of pepperoni pizza, a chunk of calzone, half a container of mini M&M's and he drank all of his milk.
This was all after the discussion we had about how he picks at food at night.
We also learned that M is an alcoholic glutton. When the bill came, hers totaled $200, including 2 pitchers of beer (which she never shared!). And she is just going to love that I shared that.
I suppose I could explain.
Nah.
I just gotta' dance, y'all!
Blame my brother!
I didn't throw nuttin'. Give me cookies.
Yay! More chances to broadcast my social awkwardness!
This was the first time I'd ever met B and T in person (they live in Texas), but I've known M (in 'real' life) for a few years. At least she had some clue how this was going to go. If she didn't, she was quickly reminded when our drinks came and I had 2 straws. I told Girl X is was so that I could stick one up each nostril and just suck it in.
I managed to refrain from giggling everytime B said "y'all" (and I've realized how stupid I sound when I say it because you should really only say that if you're from the south).
Once seated (in the loft area where we could look over and see everyone else. This is important to remember in a moment). I tried to amuse Hurricane. First, he threw his crayons across the floor. Then the book.
I thought that if anything was going to work, it would be the Weebles. The very same Weebles he beat his sister for touching.
I handed it to him.
He looked at me.
He threw it in my general direction but missed.
I watched, in frozen horror, as it went over the balcony. I heard a crash and some excited voices.
I was so ready to climb under the table and never come out but Mr X wouldn't let me.
Thankfully, the Weeble didn't hit anyone. Also? Hurricane didn't cause the crash. In what can only be described as excellent comedic timing, his Weeble landed just as her son through his plate on the floor.
I put the Weeble away.
Girl X smiled and went back to coloring.
We only had to curb our conversation once because I didn't think it would be cool if Girl X went to school and started telling everyone how her mom's friend's coochie had crabs.
Now might be the time to mention that Coochie is a cat and it's a stuffed crab. Just so you don't think we have completely inappropriate conversations with small children at the table. We save those for after they go to bed.
We had ordered breadsticks for Hurricane's dinner which he nibbled. Mr X had planned on sharing his dinner with him. In all, he ate a breadstick, a slice of pepperoni pizza, a chunk of calzone, half a container of mini M&M's and he drank all of his milk.
This was all after the discussion we had about how he picks at food at night.
We also learned that M is an alcoholic glutton. When the bill came, hers totaled $200, including 2 pitchers of beer (which she never shared!). And she is just going to love that I shared that.
I suppose I could explain.
Nah.
I just gotta' dance, y'all!
Blame my brother!
I didn't throw nuttin'. Give me cookies.Ok, M. I think most people can totally figure out that you got the wrong bill. :)
Because All the Crazy People Are There
We went to my niece's birthday party this weekend. I hate going over there. I love my niece's, but my sister-in-law and her family are just plain crazy.
Last year, her mom cornered my while I was nursing Hurricane and started rubbing my belly. I have no idea what the hell that was about. I see her maybe twice a year and she's rubbing my belly? I don't even let Mr X do that and I married him. Once she started asking me questions about my sex life I knew I had to get out of there. I muttered something about nuns and ran. My socially awkward self was not ready for that.
I had fully expected this to be just as strange since my MIL would be there and my favorite SIL planned to introduce her new boyfriend then. It was to be my job to run interference. In exchange, she would make sure crazy toucher would stay away from me.
MIL pretty much ignored new boyfriend. She relayed all of her questions through SIL even though he was sitting right next to her and for once, she was speaking English. But this is 'normal'. I was fully prepared to direct new boyfriend to the pretty punchbowl the minute she started talking about big boobs. I think I was a little disappointed that she didn't. Or maybe she saved that for after we left.
Crazy Toucher stayed away from me and just as I was beginning to fell relief, Cake Man came along. My sister-in-law's dad. Usually unnoticeable in the shadow of Crazy Toucher, he is extremely loud and annoying. When he came at me with a plate of cake, all I could do was sigh.
"Have some cake." Notice it isn't a question. He was all up in my personal space yelling, and spit talking.
"No thanks."
"Have some cake." The hell??
"No thank you, I don't like cake."
"Have some cake."
Right. I know he's not deaf. I'm not scary skinny and in need of food so again.... The hell?
"I don't want any but MIL does."
"Have some cake."
"Great cake! Thanks, just what I wanted!"
Well, what the hell was I supposed to do? It was take it, or risk the attention of crazy toucher.
I dumped the cake on some very happy kid.
From then on every time I saw Cake man he'd ask me if the cake was good.
"Oh, yeah. Best cake ever!" In my best I'm-pretending-I-was-a-cheerleader voice.
On the way home I asked Mr X why we go to these things.
"Because all the crazy people are there and they all like talking to you. What could be more fun than watching that?"
Last year, her mom cornered my while I was nursing Hurricane and started rubbing my belly. I have no idea what the hell that was about. I see her maybe twice a year and she's rubbing my belly? I don't even let Mr X do that and I married him. Once she started asking me questions about my sex life I knew I had to get out of there. I muttered something about nuns and ran. My socially awkward self was not ready for that.
I had fully expected this to be just as strange since my MIL would be there and my favorite SIL planned to introduce her new boyfriend then. It was to be my job to run interference. In exchange, she would make sure crazy toucher would stay away from me.
MIL pretty much ignored new boyfriend. She relayed all of her questions through SIL even though he was sitting right next to her and for once, she was speaking English. But this is 'normal'. I was fully prepared to direct new boyfriend to the pretty punchbowl the minute she started talking about big boobs. I think I was a little disappointed that she didn't. Or maybe she saved that for after we left.
Crazy Toucher stayed away from me and just as I was beginning to fell relief, Cake Man came along. My sister-in-law's dad. Usually unnoticeable in the shadow of Crazy Toucher, he is extremely loud and annoying. When he came at me with a plate of cake, all I could do was sigh.
"Have some cake." Notice it isn't a question. He was all up in my personal space yelling, and spit talking.
"No thanks."
"Have some cake." The hell??
"No thank you, I don't like cake."
"Have some cake."
Right. I know he's not deaf. I'm not scary skinny and in need of food so again.... The hell?
"I don't want any but MIL does."
"Have some cake."
"Great cake! Thanks, just what I wanted!"
Well, what the hell was I supposed to do? It was take it, or risk the attention of crazy toucher.
I dumped the cake on some very happy kid.
From then on every time I saw Cake man he'd ask me if the cake was good.
"Oh, yeah. Best cake ever!" In my best I'm-pretending-I-was-a-cheerleader voice.
On the way home I asked Mr X why we go to these things.
"Because all the crazy people are there and they all like talking to you. What could be more fun than watching that?"
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