Site Blather

No, I haven't forgotten my plans to change things up. I've just gotten,um... busy.
I thought maybe after football was over and I didn't have cheer anymore I'd have some time but no. It's November. It's crazy season.
There's the regular weekday hoopla but with the added bonus of every weekend being filled with something.
Tonight was the football teams' party (which I will tell you about later. Like when my arm is a little less bruised from the beating I took), tomorrow a friend's child's birthday party. Sunday I have an all-day crop to go to.
Next Saturday is Girl's party. Sunday is her actual birthday so we'll do something she wants that day (most likely toy store and dinner out).
Family coming to visit that week for Thanksgiving (which I have to make and so not going to bitch about that now because there will be plenty of time for that later). Saturday is another friend's birthday. Sunday we have plans with family (Not rolling my eyes right now. Really. OK, I'm trying not to roll my eyes right now).
The following weekend is Hurricane's 2nd birthday (sob!) and my stepmom's. The weekend after that we are going to Warm Beach (totally deceptive name) for their Christmas lights show. The weekend after that my sister and BIL are coming in to visit and we are leaving the following Thursday for Pennsylvania (I hate flying. I'm already in a panic thinking about it).
I know it probably doesn't sound like much but considering I prefer to spend my weekends here doing nothing but messing with the kid's minds, it's a lot.
Really though, I love it. It helps me get through winter and those long nights. I always get a little depressed during winter. I love fall and the changing leaves. I love the snow and the holiday season. But that long stretch between January and when it's finally time to put in the air conditioning.
I try not to let it get to me too much, and I have gotten a little better since the kids are here but....
I can't wait for those months to pass.

The One Where I Went Splat.

Did you know that wet leaves are slippery? As in, ass-meet-driveway slippery?
Well. Yes. Of course, my ass is incredibly familiar with the driveway. They are on a first name basis and I believe there was a bit of a kerfuffle and the words sexual harassment was bandied about and lawyers were called, but they are friends again. Although, the ass end of this friendship is a bit bruised.
I have tried to end this friendship as I am not comfortable with their familiarity. Sadly, my feet heartily approves of this relationship.
Naturally, no meeting of ass and driveway would be complete without witnesses and since school is out today, there were plenty of little eyes to watch.
Coaching cheerleading I can do. Walking I cannot.

Why Bother?

Hurricane has made it his mission in life to prove that the human body does not require food in order to live. In fact, the less food eaten, the more destructive one can be.
Today he ate exactly 3 goldfish and was insulted when I suggested that maybe, just perhaps, his little body would like to eat something else. Anything else.
Food Offered / Hurricane's response
____________________________
Pancakes / *poke, poke* squish!
Cereal / "Bleh!"
Bananas / "RARRGGHHH!!" Smash!
Grilled Cheese / Down right insulted and possibly a little disgusted
Toast / "All done" Need I mention that he didn't actually take a
/ bite
M&M's / *sigh*

What kind of kid refuses M&M's for dinner?

The thing that has convinced me that this is all a plot by my toddler to make me crazy, is that every night he pushes me in to the kitchen and asks "dinner?"

By the end of the night he will have eaten exactly nothing. He will, however, have spent two hours screaming and running up and down the hall, occasionally in circles. He will have pulled down the Ikea stand in the living room, scattering his books around the living room. He will have gotten into my craft desk several times.
I will have had to hide his Weebles in order to save his sister from being brained. I will have made several different meals which he will have refused to eat.
So why do I bother? Why, night after night after night, do I continue making meals I know he won't eat?

Because someday he will. Someday, he'll pick up that fork and actually put it in his mouth instead of throwing it at me.


Right?

Cursed

One day long, long ago my grandmother (maternal) thought it would be fun to race stock cars. She was terribly young and had 5 children. A little excitement seemed just the ticket.
Her first time around the track, she had an accident and became paralyzed from her waist down. Living in a small town at the time there was, naturally, an article in the local paper about it. When we were kids we used to steal her wheelchair every morning to have races.
One day long, long ago my grandfather (maternal) went hunting in the mountains of Idaho. His friends went back to camp and he decided to go over one more hill. They never found him or any trace of him.
One day, a little less long ago, my mother's cousin and her children disappeared. They were featured on Hard Copy (does anyone remember that show?) when her husband stopped paying the bill on his storage unit several years later.
One day, even less long ago, another cousin died in a plane crash (Have I ever mentioned how much I hate flying?) during a lesson. She had always wanted to be a pilot.
One day, still less long ago, my mother died in a freak accident that could not possibly happen again even if the situation was repeated a hundred times.

I know that breast cancer runs in my family. I know I have to watch my cholesterol.

But truthfully?

I'm more afraid of the piano that is bound to fall on my head and kill me.

Prematurity Awareness Month

Bonus time! Except since I'm tired this will still be crap. But good crap! Because March of Dimes! They are good! So are exclamation points! And sleep!!

Right. Sorry. Back to my point because I think I have one.

Take note of the banner to the right (pleasepleaseplease let my lack of computer knowledge not work against me right now!).
Even if you can't afford to donate right now, please click their link. Read the information. Post a banner to your own site if you have one.
I've lost count of how many people I know who have bands on the March of Dimes site. It's heartbreaking, but please know that there is something you can do.

Thank you!

The One Where My Words Come Back to Haunt Me

Remember when I was sort of bragging about how well Hurricane was sleeping? How after months of crying (mostly mine) and little sleep he had finally started going to bed on his own?
If I could go back in time I would go back to that moment and kick my own ass.
It would be so nice if he could just pick one maddening habit. Not eating (apparently you can subsist on half a pop tart and 3 goldfish crackers) or not sleeping.
And just to make sure I know who is absolutely in charge, he has stopped napping. I was not ready for this.
In fact, I had it in our pre-birth agreement that he would be napping until the day he started first grade.
Of course, we also agreed that he would eat vegetables and not eat crayons. I agreed to sing him songs and share my M&M's. He promised to potty train himself and never get sick.

I think our pre-birth agreement is null and void.

I think I need to sleep more before I make posts. Because not sleeping means you get crap like this.

The Crazy

It never fails to amaze me how easily my MIL can adapt.
Recently, she has been calling and 'asking' us to come over for a visit. This basically amounts to her calling, leaving messages about all the food she has and how she misses the kids and have we gone to church lately? She will then call back 5 minutes later to see what time we are coming. Never mind that we never even answered the phone much less agreed to go.
When we don't show, she calls back crying about how we 'stood her up'.
She left this message last weekend:
(And I would try to set it up so you could hear it but I've learned that it takes at least 3 years before you can even begin to understand what she is saying and once she really gets going? Forget it. Even Joe can't understand it.)
"You no have to come over this weekend. I know you very busy with your family and you don't have time for mom. I'm fine. Don't bother worry about me. I pray for you 3 time every day. You pray for me. I'm OK. I miss kids. Is Hurricane liking his school? (OK, this is a totally ridiculous and less then subtle hint that she hasn't seen him in ages. She knows he's not even 2 yet.) No one have time for mom anymore. You have own family and don't love me anymore. I'm OK. Love you, bye-bye. You come for dinner soon?"

Click.

It's crazy. Still, it's not nearly as bad as the messages where you can only understand half of what she says.

But the thing that always gets me, the thing that just leaves me slack-jawed, is how she can erase reality.

If you tell her something she doesn't want to hear, she will forget that she ever even spoke to you. I'm not saying she pretends to forget. I mean, she really forgets. If she doesn't like it, it never happened.

Which is why she thinks we haven't spoken in months. Joe keeps telling her we won't come over until the house is clean (I miss my little bottle of 409) but it's not something she wants to hear. So, she doesn't.

It's why arguing with her is pointless. She never remembers what she says or what you say so nothing ever changes.

Whatever. She's totally going to live with my sister and her son when the time comes.

Limiting My Career Options

I had almost forgotten how positively disgusting fondant can be. Seriously? If you don't add something to it (I prefer vanilla) it tastes like play-dough.
That said, I had fun working with it. Although, I think this proves I will never have a career as a baker.
When I do make her cake, I plan on adding the vanilla and color to the animals. Animals always taste better when first soaked in vanilla. Or lemon.

The elephant turned out alright. I think the head needs to be a little bit bigger but not too bad for a first attempt.
OK, so the tusks are a little lopsided.

Yes, distorted monkey. Well, didn't I tell you it would be? But look! I made up for it by giving him a banana.

Snake. Like that was terribly difficult.

The frog. I'm not sure what I think of it yet. That's a little dragonfly he's trying to eat in case you were wondering.

The bird. The bird needs work. The bird looks like a lump of fondant.

I hate the bird but I feel like I need to add something else.

Any ideas?

Day 4: Fondant.

Girl's birthday is coming up in a few short weeks which can mean only one thing...........

Birthday party!!

When I was a kid I always wanted to have a birthday party but we just didn't do that. Don't get me wrong, my birthday was always great. My parents were awesome about making us each feel special every day and certainly for birthdays. They also did something amazing for us for our 13th and 16th birthdays.
But little kid parties were just not happening.
So, I tend to make a big deal about the kid's parties.
Especially since it means I get to bake. And not only bake, but decorate.
I love to decorate cakes.
Girl's cake last year was too easy. She had a Nightmare Before Christmas themed party so I just made one of Jack and one of Sally. (Sorry, you'll have to wait for pictures. Maybe later.)
The year before it was Alice in Wonderland. I made a Mad Hatter Hat cake. A 4 tiered monstrosity that tilted at the top just so.
This year, she wants a jungle themed party.
The cake had me stumped for awhile. Snakes are easy to make. The crocodile isn't much of a challenge.
So, I'm working on something special. Sketch to come later. Maybe. It depends on whether I can make the sketch actually look like a cake and not a big blob of nothing.
I'm thinking of a square base layer with 2 round tiers on top. Coat it in green butter cream icing and wrap a simple icing snake around from the bottom to the top. The anaconda of icing snakes.
The tricky part will be the animals (elephant, monkey, whatever else I can come up with) and the trees.
Because for the first time ever, I'm going to work with fondant.
I've always avoided it because of the taste. It's not unpleasant, just boring. And the texture is a little.... eh. Not my favorite.
But I want to do something different and surprising. I bought some fondant today to start working on it. Just for practice since this stuff won't be good by the time her birthday rolls around. It's softer than I realized. But I think it will work. We'll see.
I'll take pictures and you can laugh at my gimpy elephant and mildly distorted monkeys.

Day 3!

Woo-hoo!! I made it through the season without breaking anything really important! OK, so they have one more game that I didn't find out about until Tuesday but whatever. My ass is still intact and the girls looked passable.

Still Wating

I'm late. Wait..... where's my calendar?
OK, so that's one week, then there was, oh.... OK..... yeah, so that makes it.... 34 days? Hmmm....
I'm late. Yay! I'm late! I have been nauseous. Nah. Can't be. This is just my brain taking revenge for refusing to eat that snickers.
Still..... 4 days late.
I'm not testing.
Nope. Not gonna' do it.
OK, but not until tomorrow morning. Yes, tomorrow morning because then I can spend the rest of today going back and forth about possibilities and...
- dammit, I know I'm not. Maybe.
I totally won't be able to sleep tonight you know. I should test and be done with it.
-No, totally better to wait until tomorrow. Because I'm not. Not really. And I'm going to be horribly disappointed when it comes up negative. I have to stop getting my hopes up. Because it sucks when that second line refuses to pop up.
4 days late though...................
-4 days is nothing. Talk to me when it's been 2 weeks.
Shut up you negative Nellie. 4 days is late and that's enough.
-Moron. 4 days is late for normal people. You? 4 days is nothing. You're not. So go play with Hurricane and wipe that stupid look off your face.

I'm so going to stay away from mirrors if you're going to talk to me like that. Assface.
- Whatever. Don't come crying to me when it comes up negative because I told you so. Dingus.
Screw you, I'm testing....... shit. Negative.
-Told you so.
Bite me bitch.

I hate trying to get pregnant. No, that's not entirely true. It's the waiting in between failed attempt after failed attempt. And the above conversation, which I have had several times now, is why I held off telling anyone that we were trying again. Because this stuff makes me crazy. Um.... crazier.

It's why I held off mentioning it here. I mean, it's been what? 2, 3 months since I mentioned it? And already, here comes the crazy.

Thankfully, this time I skipped telling my family that we were trying again because the thought of anyone calling to ask me if I'm pregnant yet makes me want to punch someone.

Sometimes I hate me.

The Ringer

What a way to start NaBloPoMo! Originally I thought I would ease into how stupid I can be but eh.... why bother. Regular readers already knew it anyway.
I was in charge of Girl's Halloween party at school. This meant I had to tell people what to bring and what to do. Yes! Being bossy! I am awesome at that! I sent notes to the parents who had volunteered to send things about what to bring. I organized little goody bags for the kids. I made up a special bag for Hurricane so he wouldn't be bored sitting there since the teacher said it was fine to bring him (I think really it was because I was the only one willing to actually take charge of the party and we don't have anyone we can trust to leave him with nearby).
I get there and start setting things up for the kids.
And there are 6 extra containers of cookies, 3 extra trays of cupcakes and 4 extra bags of candy. In my head I went on a little tirade about why the hell did I even bother since obviously no one read the damn notes anyway. Then I bagged the extras and set them aside for the teacher to use as bribery. I mean, rewards. For later. Right.
So we go on with the party and it's fine. The kids are full of sugar and hyper. Hurricane ate a cookie, then stole some kid's cupcake. Kid shrugged and went to get another one. I distracted Hurricane with blocks.

See? All is well. He ran for the door a few times but there was always someone nearby to block his great escape.
Girl begged to be allowed to ride the bus home and I let her knowing that Joe would be home to let her in. I started to clean up and slowly, the room emptied out. After everyone was gone, I noticed Hurricane standing near the door looking at the books. I bent down to pick up my bag, turned around and.....

He was gone.

He. Was. Gone!

Girl's school has an open layout. There is a long outdoor hallway with a larger building to one side that holds the office, library and a few classrooms. On the other side of the hallway are several pod-like buildings with a classrooms. In each pod there are 4-5 classrooms and a door at each end. There is a separate building for the gym and another for the cafeteria. There are also several pods on the far side of the library building. The playground is at one end of the building, the parking lot at the other.
We were in one of the pod-like buildings in a classroom by one door.
I came running out of the room and he wasn't there. There was a kid and her parent standing by the door but they hadn't seen him come out that way.
I started searching classrooms with the teachers in there looking at me like I was crazy. But I was starting to freak out. There were too many places to hide. And he was fast. And school had just let out and there were so many cars he could have gotten into or been run over by. I searched the bathrooms and ran outside.
It was then that someone asked me what was going on and it was then that I cursed myself for not asking for help sooner. It had been about 60 seconds since he had run out of that classroom and no one had seen him. 60 seconds and counting that I didn't know where he was.
Soon, every teacher on campus was searching for him. I ran out to the playground knowing he had been out there before and loved it there.
It was empty.
I ran back toward the buildings, my chest was burning. My hands were shaking.
I felt like throwing up.
I ran back into the pod I started from to recheck. Make sure I hadn't overlooked him.
One teacher rolled her eyes and yelled at me that he wasn't there and she'd already checked 6 times.
I bit my lip to refrain from cursing her out. I didn't have time to waste berating her.
I ran back out into the hall and started for the parking lot. My knees were shaking. I didn't want him to be out there.
Then, just as a teacher was telling me they had found him, I heard over the loudspeaker "Attention. We have one very angry pirate in the office. Would his mom please come and get him?"

I wanted to cry.

The principal (!!) had found him behind the gym building (which is the toddler equivalent of from Seattle to Jupiter)playing in the dirt. He was none too pleased to be taken away from his treasure and even less happy that it was a strange man taking him away from his prize.
When I walked in he was asking the principal for cookies.
He saw me and smiled like this was a normal everyday sort of occurrence (For feck's sake I hope not!) and waved. Waved!
Of all the nerve! Run off, scare the pants off me and then wave as though this is nothing?
"Mama!"
Yeah. Thanks kid.

Now, please. Spare me the 'it could happen to anyone' bit. Because people? This is not the first time these teachers have had to search for one of my kids.

I am now the parent who loses her kids. I am the parent they have to call on a regular basis because her kid can't figure out how to not let go when she gets to the top of the monkey bars. I am the parent of the kid that caused them to have to send a letter home to the other parents because her kid developed scarlet fever and went to school for a few days before she realized something was wrong. I am the parent of the kid who ended up going to the hospital in kindergarten because of their super slide (even though it was totally Girl's fault not theirs) and then they had to field calls on the safety of the playground equipment.

This is the point where I throw in the towel and start sending in a ringer for PTA meetings.

She can claim I'm just the nanny. She should be organized, capable, commanding and have eyes in the back of her head. She should be able to teleport just as easily as Hurricane can. She should know exactly how to handle Girl's tween rebellion. She must be willing to deal with someone so incompetent, she regularly loses her kids.
Apply here.

On the plus side, trick or treat was great. I thought Hurricane would freak about all the costumes but he loved it. Joe told me (I stayed back to hand out candy) he said trick-or-treat and thank you at every house. He cried when it was time to come home because he wanted to keep going. They managed to get to the house that hands out the big candy bars.
Girl was Elizabeth, Hurricane was Jack Sparrow and Joe was supposed to be a parrot but I think he looks more like an escaped mental patient with a feather fetish.


And of course, as it is every year, we ended up with more candy than we started with.

The Idiot's Guide to Toddler Speak

We started teaching Hurricane baby signs pretty early and it has helped a bit. Most of the signs he knows have to do with food, getting food, getting more food, or being done eating. ( In fact, lately, all he has done is looked at his high chair then made the sign for 'all done'. Because I guess looking at the high chair where the eating is supposed to take place is enough to sustain him. I don't know, possibly he is absorbing all the calories and vitamins he needs through his eyeballs as he stares at the food I have spent an hour preparing in his special nit-picky way, meaning different colors can't touch and his banana has to be cut just so, only to refuse to eat one bite.) As his 2nd (G-d, no I am not crying, again, I swear. It's just.... a little.... dust in my eye. Or something) birthday approaches (too soon!! Waahhhh!!) he is speaking more and more.
I just wish I could understand more of what he is saying. He keeps asking me for 'recko na boots erka nam mama?' And I have not one damn idea what that is supposed to be. But it seems important and when I don't give it to him, he sighs and just looks so disappointed that I have resorted to this game which only seems to frustrate him further.
He asks and I start pretending we're playing charades.
"Is it a book?" He tilts his head and raises an eyebrow.
"Do you want boots?" I fall over pantomiming putting on boots and he shakes his head.
"Can you eat it?" I pretend to eat a sandwich and shrugs his shoulders.
"Is it a toy?" I point around the room and he sets his head on my chair in despair.
"Do you want to go somewhere?" He looks up hopefully but then he sees my keys and his head goes back down.
"Do you want to watch something?" I pantomime making a movie until I realize I'm a total idiot which is too late because Hurricane has already realized that and left the room.
There are some things that are so easy to understand......
Peas- not the vegetable. Are you kidding? He would not let a vegetable of all things pass his lips. No, this is just good manners.
Waner- water. He just doesn't really like t's. Or m's. Which is why Mickey Mouse is icky ouse. I'm lucky he calls me Mama.
Go fish- not to be confused with crackers because there is a difference. Even if they are wusses. But dammit all, he loves his go-fish.
Eebles- As in, hold still Girl whilst (see? Random odd words. send help. must be going crazy) I beat you with this rotund little toy.
Boo's coos!!- As in, if I have to watch that tape one more time dear boy, mommy is going to go ape shit bananas!

Actually, there is a lot of things I can understand but it seems that no one else can. Which, I think, is pretty common when it comes to toddlers. The parents can understand them but to to strangers it sounds like "mghjsbuishenbbgofnjhs".

So wouldn't it be nice if among all those Idiot's Guides there was one for speaking toddler?

Cause And Effect: Or The Great Peep Meltdown of 2006

I was poking around in the back of my pantry trying to find that peanut butter cup I had stashed on the top shelf when I came across this package of marshmallow peep circa Easter (possibly) 2006. Although really, those things are like Twinkies and it was the top shelf so it could have been more like 2003. I'm not even sure why I bought them. No one in this house will eat them. I mean, they're marshmallows covered in colored sugar that will not melt even when the marshmallow catches fire.
Also they are gross. Really gross. And evil. For where there is one, soon there will be 2 and they will multiply until your house is covered in pastel colored marshmallow peeps. (Side note: We once decorated a high school teachers room in peeps because he hated them. We hung them from the blackboard and stuck them to the walls. They lined his desk and made a path around the room.)
When I had offered a pink peep bunny to Hurricane at Easter he pursed his lips in the universal toddler language of 'oh hell to the no! That thing will never get past these lips, crazy lady!'
So, there they sat. Bright yellow chick peeps.
Naturally the first thought in my head was I bet they look cool when they melt.
Girl has been learning cause and effect in school so she became my cover story for when Joe came home and asked me just what the hell I thought I was doing. Besides, it was time for her to learn the joys of melting things in the microwave.

15 little peeps. Safe in their package. Notice the one on the bottom with his nose pressed up against the plastic? He is plotting.
At this point, Girl rolls her eyes and insists that I am imagining things.
So, I set about to prove my point.




2 peeps, seemingly innocent. Just sitting there in all their fluorescent yellow glory.

Maybe not so innocent. Now there are 3.

4.... still manageable though right?

Soon they are lining up all military fashion and plotting their take-over.

She is now a believer. Or possibly she has just come to the realization that she is genetically linked to me and she is staring into her future and it is scary. Whatever. I'm right. Peeps are evil.

And they must be stopped.
In case you were wondering about that whole cause and effect lesson, here it is.

First came the prediction.

Q) What happens to an Evil Peep Overlord when you put him in the microwave?

Girl's guess was that it would melt. And she was right. Sort of.

First it expanded to about 3 times it's original size after 30 seconds in the microwave, then it shrank back down a little after we opened the door. It still had some of it's shape though.

So, there's the effect. The cause is the heat from the microwave, or according to Girl, her mother's insanity.

30 seconds did not do enough damage to one Evil Peep Overlord.

What would 40 seconds do to him and a few of his minions?

She thinks this is just awesome. Yes. A fine lesson, melting things is cool.

It's kind of hard to see, but they are expanding and possibly still plotting revenge.

Oh the carnage!!
At this point we kind of had to stop because it... um... kind of did catch fire and since this is me we're talking about, I figured I'd better stop it before I burned down my house. All the black spots you see are where it was on fire which of course was also cool. We could actually pick a mass of peep goo up while it was still smoking as long as we held onto the sugar. It wasn't even remotely hot. The guts, I mean, marshmallow was smoking it was so hot.

This should set the peep takeover mission back a few hours.

Apparently marshmallow peeps taste better melted.

One-Eyed Blogging

Stye. Ow. Can't see very well. Driving is fun.

Also, lots of pretty yellow gunk all over bad eye.

Does not feel good. I do not feel good.

Send percocet. And eye patch.

I am scaring small children.





*Tomorrow: Easter peeps take over my kitchen. Or how we're explaining cause and effect. Pictures included.



**Does anyone know an easy way to get burnt marshmallow off the microwave?

Way To Go Genius!

I managed to make it 2 months through coaching Girl's cheer squad without seriously injuring any body parts or making a gigantic ass (*ahem*) of myself. In fact, it was all going so well. Even the things I thought were going to be impossible turned out just fine. I managed to not saying anything so terribly stupid that I couldn't possibly recover. The parents didn't look at me as though I had 2 heads.

This is the last week of practice, Saturday is the last game. I was finally starting to think that maybe I could be around people.

Then after practice I stayed to talk to some of the moms and somehow ended up telling them about how mannequins and I don't get along.

They had a good laugh and then suddenly decided it was time to leave.

Sometimes I wish I could hire someone to follow me around and tell me when to shut up.

Because Apparently? I Have Nothing Better To Do.

Usually I trash all the spam in my bulk folder after a quick check because I know sometimes my friend's e-mails end up in there. But then one day I came across this e-mail whose subject read: Your sperm will be thankful to you if you order Spermamax.
And, like any 12 year old, I couldn't stop giggling.
So it stayed. For weeks, every time I would open my bulk folder I would see this e-mail and smirk.
Finally, curiosity got the better of me and I opened the e-mail.

And it was blank.

Blank? How can you offer me such a great promise to make my sperm oh so grateful, so beholden it may offer me tokens of appreciation. Like flowers or candy. Or something useful like a new car or a trouble free uterus.

So I googled it.

And I laughed even more and then realized that I need to grow up. There is really nothing funny about being awarded by Top Rated Penis Pills.

Another Bright Idea

First, my apologies for this entry will most likely suck. Because it is full of pictures but I am getting a stye in my eye and I am a very big baby and it huu-uurrrrttss!
Sunday we took the kids to the nearest pumpkin patch, for it is a requirement, nay (I can't believe I just used the word 'nay' in a sentence. Next I will be saying things like 'thy' and 'thou' that's about all I can think of for now but I am sure there are more.) the law, according to Girl who is nearly 9 and knows everything, that parents take their kids to a pumpkin patch so that we can all trudge through mud in the cold getting whipped in the face with corn husks.
Actually, it wasn't that bad. At least it was ok before we learned that Hurricane? He does not like hay rides, pumpkin guts, corn husks or caterpillars. Or cameras.

In the very brief moments before Hurricane realized that this little outing would involve scary machines and bugs.

I have no idea where she learned to sit like this. Doesn't it look all proper? She absolutely does not get that from me. Also? I did not help her pick our her clothes. Her dad did. This explains why she is wearing red sweatpants that are too short for her, her blue tweety bird pajamas, a dark blue sweater and my gray granny cardigan. This is a step up from when he helped her get dressed to go out to eat in her pink skirt, purple knee-highs, red 'know it all' shirt and yellow rain boots.

Every time Joe would lift a pumpkin, Hurricane felt compelled to do the same. Even if he couldn't move it more than a few feet, he still grunted and made his Hercules face (oh come on, don't tell me your kid doesn't have a Hercules face! Or that you didn't have one as a kid. And I know some of you still do it) and when he was done he would stand up, stretch and smile, completely satisfied that he was the strongest boy with in a 2 foot radius.

This was the highlight of the day for Hurricane. He would walk to the front and knock down the animal faces making their noises as he went.

Baaaa..... buck-buck-buck......niegh......moo........

Roooaaarrrrrrr!!!!

People? What the hell kind of scary ass farm has he been on that pigs growl and roar?

This still has me flummoxed (yeah, I said it. First nay, now flummoxed. I am a cartoon character). Hurricane loves tractors. Tractors, bulldozers, trucks. He loved the tractor that pulled the wagon we were sitting in.

And then it moved and he decided that maybe he doesn't like tractors so much after all.In fact, maybe he thought tractors sucked and perhaps that it was going to eat him because it was loud and those tires were big and moving and what the hell were his parents thinking?

Then Joe started making fart noises with his mouth and all was right with the world again.

Well, it was alright until Joe decided he couldn't go running through the corn alone and then it just sucked again.

We only got lost 3 times (we had a map and still, we got lost). We answered the little questions and solved the riddle.

The questions was "How did the farmer get lost in the corn maze?"

The answer? "He got CORNFUSED!"

Joe and I laughed thinking Girl would totally go for that. It was her type of lame joke that she would have shared with her grandpa (he told us a lot of incredibly lame jokes when we were kids).

Instead she rolled her eyes and declared that that joke was not funny. At. All. When she finally did laugh it was because I tripped coming up the stairs to see out over the maze.

When we finally came out, most of the fog had lifted, it was finally a little bit warmer than death, and their were pumpkins to pick.

Again, it was great. At first. Then Hurricane came across his first smashed pumpkin. He stared down into the guts, the seeds, the carnage! This was too much for his young sensibilities and he burst into tears screaming 'no!'. He refused to pass any pumpkin guts, only slightly mollified when we would lift him up and over, beyond the mess.


We started to walk back up to pay for our intact pumpkins (no way were we going to try the tractor again, thank you very much). It was then that Hurricane noticed the camera.

"No paparazzi!"

He pushed the camera straight back into my head. It seemed as good a time as any to put the camera away.

Another attempt made for cherished childhood memories. Another attempt that didn't exactly go as I had imagined it would.

Name Game

I've come up with a few new name choices for my blog and now you get to vote!
So, take a minute, delurk, vote.

1) A Bad Idea
...... because let's face it, most of posts are written because I had this 'great idea' to rid our yard of moles, or be a cheer coach, or try to shop for new clothes and so on. And it just doesn't seem to end well given my inability to walk and chew gum at the same time.

2) Under Construction
........ because I feel like I always am.... ever-changing, never quite right (shut up).

3) Undercover Mother
........ Except that I'm sort of thinking this one is taken.

4) Your write in vote here:___________

And of course, I'll probably change my mind completely and end up with something else because that's just how we roll here.

Age Difference

People regularly comment on how nice it must be to have my kids so far apart in age (bite me asshole) since Girl is 8 (I'm almost 9 mom! Geez!) and Hurricane is almost 2. They seem to be under the impression that Girl is this huge wonderful help with her little brother.
Occasionally she is (this usually involves bribery-candy, money, my car), but most of the time they are either fighting or she's teaching him something that will later bite me in the ass.
Fighting:

This usually occurs because Girl has taken a toy out of Hurricane's hands (but he's smaller and he wasn't playing with it right anyway mom!) and Hurricane feels that it is his responsibility to smash her face in with a Weeble. It's not over until there is bloodshed. Or at least bruising.
Sometimes it happens because Girl tries to force Hurricane to play the way she wants him too but no matter how hard she tries he simply doesn't understand the rules to hide and seek. Eventually it devolves into Hurricane hitting Girl in the knees and Girl yelling 'No hit!' until I separate them.
Sometimes it's simply because Girl is sitting there and Hurricane is sitting there and it just seems like a good time to beat each other with the Weebles.

Sibling Lessons:

1) How to 'ski' down the stairs in a laundry basket and give your mother cause to explode in fiery burst of "Holy shit!" which Hurricane will then repeat ad naseum.

2) How to trap Cat in the bathroom and bathe him with toilet water because..... well.... why not?

3) How to say 'Shake your booty' and then dance for strangers.

4) The correct ratio of toilet paper to oatmeal necessary to flood a toilet.

5) How to get cookies off the out of reach shelf.

And so on until my mind shuts down in self-defense.

So, sure. Having them so far apart (seriously, just bite me now) is just grand. I'll be sure to remind myself of that when I'm explaining to the police why Girl tied her brother to the light post in front of our house (I think it was some game they were playing but it could have been just because she could).