There are many things I love about summer. I could list them but who wants to read that? Borrrrrring. Instead here are the things I hate about summer. Enjoy.
Not everyone should wear a bikini. Must I go on? There are some body parts I really shouldn’t have to teach to my 3 year old son after a trip to the pool. I applaud your self-esteem ladies, I do, but please, pick up a tankini the next time you are out and about. The world would be ever so grateful.
Sunscreen. With two kids, it is hard to go anywhere. In the summer I have to add 15 minutes per child to our prep time, all for the application of sunscreen. Sticky, oooey, gooey, sunscreen. Boo. The Kraken is as cute as ever slathered in sunscreen. The Siren, poor little thing, turns into a grease ball. Her hair gets slimy and begins to collect dirt and random treasures. Picking her up is impossible. She just sorta slides right out of my arms. Not cute. Not safe.
My eczema kicks it up about 10 notches. Now right off, some of you may want to quote statistics about how hot and humid weather makes life easier on the eczema sufferer. Blah. Blah. Blah. Maybe for most people, but I am special. Hip hip hooray. By the end of August I am one red, puffy, scabby beast, which makes me really attractive in my tankini.
I sleep horribly most of the time. Somehow it gets worse in the heat. It’s hard to explain, but I think my already larger than most personal space bubble enlarges when I am hot or sweaty. This may be the main reason we didn’t co-sleep with either of our children. Stay out of my bubble or you will pay. Ask my husband, the man who has invaded my space since the day I met him and lived to tell about it, he knows.
Fireworks. Hate them. When I was much younger we attended a Fourth of July celebration that started well enough but ended in a huge ball of flames. Everyone was running and I was worried I was going to be lost in the crowd. I’ve never liked 4th of July festivities since. I did get a great piece of advice that evening, once safe and sound back at my aunt and uncle’s house. A news anchor was giving tips to have a safe 4th of July. Among the normal things like wear sunscreen and pack bug spray, he suggested everyone carry a bucket of water. I guess that would have been helpful with the flaming ball of death coming my way. Would have helped a lot.
Okay. Those are my major beefs with summer. Not many. I hope you all have plenty of fun in the sun and stay safe on vacations. All I ask is not to shoot a firework in my general direction and don’t let your boob pop out at the pool. Not too much to ask I don’t think.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Cinderella is Stupid
It’s been a rough couple days. My insomnia has been back in full force for about a week now after a 6 month hiatus. A well-known friend I did not miss. I had forgotten what it’s like to function on literally no sleep and am not quite in my sleep-deprived groove. Rosie has been screaming basically all day every day, which is so not like my little beauty. Turns out she has a new and very pointy eye tooth attempting to pop out. They aren’t friends either. The Kraken, well, he’s three. One minute he is delightful and a snuggle bug. The next he is screaming and beating me with a drumstick because I didn’t get chocolate milk with lunch, his puppy has gone missing or maybe his underwear is too tight. Whatever. This is one tired momma.
Needless to report, like all great mothers, I have been using the TV to babysit a little more often than usual. Sometimes you just need 20 minutes of quiet to concoct a dinner with ingredients that taste good together. I let my son choose the babysitter. His most recent choice was . . . Cinderella. Not a movie we watch often.
After answering no less than 80 questions, (we are in the ‘why?’ phase), I have realized why we don’t watch Cinderella very often. What a stupid movie.
I hate cats. Hate. I, however, deal with my hatred by not owning one. I didn’t purchase a cat and then punish him by naming him Lucifer. How am I supposed to answer, “Who is Lucifer?” Well, son, he is the evil one, the devil, the fallen angel, the prince of darkness (or is that Ozzy). I guess along with a serpent, the devil is also a really fat and lazy cat. I guess that makes sense.
I genuinely wish all mean girls in the world were really ugly, terrible singers, had annoying voices and wore dresses that made their bums look gigantic. It would be so much easier for me to warn my children who not to associate with. As it stands, the ugly step sisters plant a whole lot of dysfunctional crap into my son’s mind and maybe my daughter’s, who knows. Just another topic we will cover in therapy, no doubt.
Glass slippers? Really? Enough said.
If a man has the stamina to dance the waltz for hours on end, shouldn’t it also stand to reason that he could chase down a woman running in glass slippers? To add insult to an already bruised pride, chick loses one of her shoes. So now, off she runs, hobbling along in one fragile glass pump and one bare foot and yet you still can’t catch her. Come on man.
There are, I am sure, a million other reasons why Cinderella is stupid, but my chocolate trifle is ready complete with a layer of beef sautéed with peas and carrots. Yummy. Let’s eat. (Okay so don’t hate me. I lied. I love Cinderella. For crying in the sink, it’s a classic.) But still, let’s be honest, the movie is lame.
Needless to report, like all great mothers, I have been using the TV to babysit a little more often than usual. Sometimes you just need 20 minutes of quiet to concoct a dinner with ingredients that taste good together. I let my son choose the babysitter. His most recent choice was . . . Cinderella. Not a movie we watch often.
After answering no less than 80 questions, (we are in the ‘why?’ phase), I have realized why we don’t watch Cinderella very often. What a stupid movie.
I hate cats. Hate. I, however, deal with my hatred by not owning one. I didn’t purchase a cat and then punish him by naming him Lucifer. How am I supposed to answer, “Who is Lucifer?” Well, son, he is the evil one, the devil, the fallen angel, the prince of darkness (or is that Ozzy). I guess along with a serpent, the devil is also a really fat and lazy cat. I guess that makes sense.
I genuinely wish all mean girls in the world were really ugly, terrible singers, had annoying voices and wore dresses that made their bums look gigantic. It would be so much easier for me to warn my children who not to associate with. As it stands, the ugly step sisters plant a whole lot of dysfunctional crap into my son’s mind and maybe my daughter’s, who knows. Just another topic we will cover in therapy, no doubt.
Glass slippers? Really? Enough said.
If a man has the stamina to dance the waltz for hours on end, shouldn’t it also stand to reason that he could chase down a woman running in glass slippers? To add insult to an already bruised pride, chick loses one of her shoes. So now, off she runs, hobbling along in one fragile glass pump and one bare foot and yet you still can’t catch her. Come on man.
There are, I am sure, a million other reasons why Cinderella is stupid, but my chocolate trifle is ready complete with a layer of beef sautéed with peas and carrots. Yummy. Let’s eat. (Okay so don’t hate me. I lied. I love Cinderella. For crying in the sink, it’s a classic.) But still, let’s be honest, the movie is lame.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Discipline
While sitting on the couch, my husband leaned oh so gently to his right and farted in my general direction. So, naturally, I punched his bum. I was promptly sent to timeout by my three-year-old. "Put your face in the corner. 1, 2, 3, . . . 13, 16, 19, 20. Come here momma. You no hit. You be nice. Go tell daddy 'sorry' right now!"
For snack this afternoon we stopped at Panera for a bagel and family time. Midway through The Kraken had to go potty started to get up from the table with daddy. Suddenly he stopped, pointed his chubby little finger in my face and said, "You no eat my food, momma. You eat it and you go sit in timeout in that corner by that strange man. Get it? No eat my food." As he walked to the bathroom he peeked over his shoulder a couple times to check on his beloved cinnamon crunch happiness. After peeing all over the wall, he came back to the table and asked, "You eat my food." No, I hadn't. "Tell the truth, please." Still, my answer was 'no'. It seems he believed me as I didn't have to spend 20 seconds sitting next to a stranger. Thank goodness.
I am the owner of a delightfully loud and equally mean Sun Conure who is living, for the time being, at Oppa's house. My dad took in my bird for the sole purpose of keeping all my children's fingers on their hands and not at the bottom of a bird cage. Thanks dad. The Kraken has been told close to a million times not to put his sweet puffy hands near the cage. This evening The Siren went dangerously close to the mouth of the beast. Using his fast fast fast speed he stopped The Siren police nightstick style with a block of wood he found earlier and immediately cherished. "Not good Rosie. Big bad hurt. Back up back up back up." (It seems I repeat everything in threes and may begin to write this way as well.)
Here's what I learned today: a#1 - The Kraken listens to what I say. Yes, I am also amazed by this revelation. b#2 - Some part of my son, no matter how small, does like his sister. Or at least her hands. Or maybe just wants to be the boss. Or maybe wants to smack people with his nightstick. (Ok so b#2 was a bit of a flop.) And last but not least c#4 - The timeout corner isn't really a terrible place to stand. You can see out the window into our 'yard'. I'm pretty sure I saw a bird eat a bee. Educational but not much for punishment.
My goals for tomorrow are to stay out of timeout and find a really boring horrible spot for timeout . . . maybe next to the dirty clothes hamper . . .
For snack this afternoon we stopped at Panera for a bagel and family time. Midway through The Kraken had to go potty started to get up from the table with daddy. Suddenly he stopped, pointed his chubby little finger in my face and said, "You no eat my food, momma. You eat it and you go sit in timeout in that corner by that strange man. Get it? No eat my food." As he walked to the bathroom he peeked over his shoulder a couple times to check on his beloved cinnamon crunch happiness. After peeing all over the wall, he came back to the table and asked, "You eat my food." No, I hadn't. "Tell the truth, please." Still, my answer was 'no'. It seems he believed me as I didn't have to spend 20 seconds sitting next to a stranger. Thank goodness.
I am the owner of a delightfully loud and equally mean Sun Conure who is living, for the time being, at Oppa's house. My dad took in my bird for the sole purpose of keeping all my children's fingers on their hands and not at the bottom of a bird cage. Thanks dad. The Kraken has been told close to a million times not to put his sweet puffy hands near the cage. This evening The Siren went dangerously close to the mouth of the beast. Using his fast fast fast speed he stopped The Siren police nightstick style with a block of wood he found earlier and immediately cherished. "Not good Rosie. Big bad hurt. Back up back up back up." (It seems I repeat everything in threes and may begin to write this way as well.)
Here's what I learned today: a#1 - The Kraken listens to what I say. Yes, I am also amazed by this revelation. b#2 - Some part of my son, no matter how small, does like his sister. Or at least her hands. Or maybe just wants to be the boss. Or maybe wants to smack people with his nightstick. (Ok so b#2 was a bit of a flop.) And last but not least c#4 - The timeout corner isn't really a terrible place to stand. You can see out the window into our 'yard'. I'm pretty sure I saw a bird eat a bee. Educational but not much for punishment.
My goals for tomorrow are to stay out of timeout and find a really boring horrible spot for timeout . . . maybe next to the dirty clothes hamper . . .
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Best Day Ever
This morning I slept in until 9am because my husband is a saint. I awoke, took a long hot shower and emerged from my bedroom into a clean house because my husband loves me. The kids’ bathroom didn’t smell of urine but of a nice lemony fresh scent because my husband knows I hate the smell, however faint, of pee in the morning. (Yes, The Kraken is still having an aiming issue, which is less of an aiming issue and more of an attention span issue. Four seconds straight is just way too long for any Kraken to stand without wiggling, am I right?) The post out of town wedding explosion had been cleaned out of the minivan and sorted into piles because my husband is my best friend. (It should be a bit obvious by now that “Gifts of Service” is my love language. The General was speaking it big time!)
After surveying the tidy home that normally resembles a crash site, I was greeted with laughter and hugs from the two most adorable children in the whole entire world. And no, not biased at all. They are the cutest. Ever. Deal with it.
My dad, bless his heart, agreed to watch my cutest, albeit most active, two kids all by himself while The General and I headed off to spend our free tickets to Cirque du Soleil! Awesome! I shall say it again, AWESOME! When we arrived home, my children were still alive. (Not a surprise. I had total faith.) My dad was still alive. (A bit of a surprise.) He said the afternoon went really well, even mentioning something about when he babysits the next time. (A HUGE surprise. I figured after four hours alone with my kiddos he would run away and never look back. That is, after all, what I do.) Thanks dad!
My husband cooked dinner because he my soul mate. And as I sat in a kitchen I didn’t clean, eating a splendid well balanced dinner I hadn’t prepared, my little Kraken looked up and said, “Momma, may I hug you?” Um, yeah. He laid his curly cherub noggin on my shoulder and said, “Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.” My heart melted. “I so sweet.” Yes, my son, you are the sweetest thing ever!
After surveying the tidy home that normally resembles a crash site, I was greeted with laughter and hugs from the two most adorable children in the whole entire world. And no, not biased at all. They are the cutest. Ever. Deal with it.
My dad, bless his heart, agreed to watch my cutest, albeit most active, two kids all by himself while The General and I headed off to spend our free tickets to Cirque du Soleil! Awesome! I shall say it again, AWESOME! When we arrived home, my children were still alive. (Not a surprise. I had total faith.) My dad was still alive. (A bit of a surprise.) He said the afternoon went really well, even mentioning something about when he babysits the next time. (A HUGE surprise. I figured after four hours alone with my kiddos he would run away and never look back. That is, after all, what I do.) Thanks dad!
My husband cooked dinner because he my soul mate. And as I sat in a kitchen I didn’t clean, eating a splendid well balanced dinner I hadn’t prepared, my little Kraken looked up and said, “Momma, may I hug you?” Um, yeah. He laid his curly cherub noggin on my shoulder and said, “Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.” My heart melted. “I so sweet.” Yes, my son, you are the sweetest thing ever!
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Helpful
I am a co-matron of honor in my sister’s wedding on Saturday! (My sister is getting married! Wahoo!) And as such, I feel I should be helping with the plans and preparation as much as possible to help ease the stress from the bride and mother of the bride. Unfortunately, I live about two hours from party central. On top of the distance, I come in a package deal. Anywhere I go I bring the death and destruction that can only be my Kraken, and the unrelenting sleep depriver that is my Siren. By day we knock over wedding cakes and shred invitations. By night we keep you tossing and turning in order to create dark under eye circles which are all the rage with brides these days.
It seems absence makes the heart grow fonder, or maybe we relieve more stress by staying away. Whatever the case, I still want to do what I can to help.
So I did the only thing I knew was absolutely necessary. I started blowing up my Facebook page and consequently the pages of my ‘friends’ with Steel Magnolias quotes. The women in my family have an odd addiction to this movie and, no we don’t need help. Steel Magnolias contains the answer to any problem, and can make us laugh in any situation. How to do your hair: “Just tease it and make it look like a brown football helmet.” What to do with a dog that is stressed out: “Serve him on toast.” How to make friends and influence people: “NOBODY MOVE! MY CONTACT!” How to deal with a drunk: “I don’t care what you do in your fridge, but you will not keep liquor in mine.” How to conduct a sports interview: “Would you call that grape or Aubergine?” How to tell someone you care: “I love you more than my luggage.” Like I said, awesome movie and just the ticket to get us laughing. Operation: Relieve Stress from afar is a success!
What else? Oh, yeah. All eyes should be on the bride on her glorious day, not the wildebeest standing up front in a cute strapless dress. If you know me, I hope you would agree that I am about as low maintenance as a girl can come. Mostly a good thing, except when it comes to hair removal. I don’t have the time, the strength nor do I really care enough to shave, pluck or wax regularly (my husband, poor fellow, must really like me just for being me). In college when I was playing volleyball, I would only shave from where my kneepad ended to where my spandex shorts began. That’s it. Not kidding. Also, among other wonderful aliments, I have a bit of a moustache problem. I’m learning to like myself, but that guy has got to go. So, just for my favorite older sister, I waxed the stache, plucked my eyebrows, pulled some extroverted nose hairs and unbraided my leg hair so it could be shaved smooth. I’m not sure my shower drain will ever recover, but I look a bit like a woman and less like a Sasquatch.
All for my sister on her big day! I am nothing if not helpful.
It seems absence makes the heart grow fonder, or maybe we relieve more stress by staying away. Whatever the case, I still want to do what I can to help.
So I did the only thing I knew was absolutely necessary. I started blowing up my Facebook page and consequently the pages of my ‘friends’ with Steel Magnolias quotes. The women in my family have an odd addiction to this movie and, no we don’t need help. Steel Magnolias contains the answer to any problem, and can make us laugh in any situation. How to do your hair: “Just tease it and make it look like a brown football helmet.” What to do with a dog that is stressed out: “Serve him on toast.” How to make friends and influence people: “NOBODY MOVE! MY CONTACT!” How to deal with a drunk: “I don’t care what you do in your fridge, but you will not keep liquor in mine.” How to conduct a sports interview: “Would you call that grape or Aubergine?” How to tell someone you care: “I love you more than my luggage.” Like I said, awesome movie and just the ticket to get us laughing. Operation: Relieve Stress from afar is a success!
What else? Oh, yeah. All eyes should be on the bride on her glorious day, not the wildebeest standing up front in a cute strapless dress. If you know me, I hope you would agree that I am about as low maintenance as a girl can come. Mostly a good thing, except when it comes to hair removal. I don’t have the time, the strength nor do I really care enough to shave, pluck or wax regularly (my husband, poor fellow, must really like me just for being me). In college when I was playing volleyball, I would only shave from where my kneepad ended to where my spandex shorts began. That’s it. Not kidding. Also, among other wonderful aliments, I have a bit of a moustache problem. I’m learning to like myself, but that guy has got to go. So, just for my favorite older sister, I waxed the stache, plucked my eyebrows, pulled some extroverted nose hairs and unbraided my leg hair so it could be shaved smooth. I’m not sure my shower drain will ever recover, but I look a bit like a woman and less like a Sasquatch.
All for my sister on her big day! I am nothing if not helpful.
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