Ok so here is today's lesson in genetics.... Take one man with thick, curly, black hair. Add to that a woman with straight, fine strawberry blond hair. What do you get? Me with mousy brown hair and a head full of strategically haphazard calics.
I have one calic that is just shy of being in the right place on the front of my hairline which makes for a wicked crazy part, and volume in a place where it's really not needed. I have to use tons of mousse and bobby pins and blow dry for hours to get the look I want. Most of the time I am too tired to deal so I just let my hair fall where it may.
My brother was blessed with the same hair and when we were younger it was a competition to who could wake up with the crazier alafalfa style do in the morning.
My son ,as it were, has received this hair curse. I decided to get him a cute little hair cut that was short on the sides and longer on top. Which all that really does is showcase were all the calycs are.
So in the mornings before we go to school I come into his room with a wetted washcloth in hand and a hair brush. As he sleepily rolls off his pillow... there it is "baby bed head" Most metrosexuals would kill for this style.
I hope for his sake that future popular culture does not adopt the slicked back look as commonplace...
Dear Jack, I apologize in advance for any future agony this may cause you.
Love, Mom ;)
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Learning and growing... sort of.
Jack is getting old enough to be independent from me for extended amounts of time, and take basic instructions, and he's also old enough to ask billions of questions… mostly “what’s that?”
He is two and a half and his mood swings from total and complete bear to sweet angel of light to chief mommy button pusher. Not too many shades of gray between those three.
Besides being charming and sweet and happy the personality trait, to the good, that I recognize the most is how helpful he is, when he wants to be that is. Other times he can be as a said before, a real bear.
But it’s fun to watch him help and learn chores. Right now the one we are going through the paces about is him taking his plate to the sink when he is done eating. The key to success? REPETITION!
We started out small. I would give him his snack in his room, a yogurt cup with a plastic spoon. He would sit at his table and chairs in his room with the instructions “throw the cup in trash and the spoon in the sink.” And then I would let him to it.
Time would pass and he would come to me with minimal yogurt smoodge to be wiped off his face. “All done!” --- We will see about that I thought.
So I went into his room and in the trash were the yogurt and the spoon inside. So I would take the spoon and praise him for the good he did… All the parenting magazine say praise is good. Tee hee and then gently correct him about the placement of the spoon. Then we would walk into the kitchen and put it in the sink together.
This happened a few more times with the spoon ending up in the trash. Then one day it stopped. He came to me “All done” . We went to check the trash and no spoon! So we rushed to the sink …. No spoon. So I checked ALL the trash cans in the house. At this point thinking that I may need to call an ambulance and that a plastic spoon is going to show up on a chest x-ray of my son. "where is the spoon?" I asked. "It's right dare" he would answer pointing at nothing.
Not under the bed, the kitchen table… no where. HUH.
So the next day at snack time I pulled the drawer open to get a spoon and sure enough the crusty yogurt covered spoon is laying in amongst his other clean (now unclean) spoons. Then Jack points to the spoon and goes “ I did it” yes Jack .. you did it. It was so sweet and cute I was the furthest thing from being annoyed.
We are still on the dirty spoon in the drawer phase and it not uncommon to find a dirty spoon or fork in any drawer in the house at anytime. I kind of like it that way. It reminds me how he is learning and it’s so innocent and sweet and it gives me a smile every time. Maybe one of these years I will teach him to put his spoon in the sink.
He is two and a half and his mood swings from total and complete bear to sweet angel of light to chief mommy button pusher. Not too many shades of gray between those three.
Besides being charming and sweet and happy the personality trait, to the good, that I recognize the most is how helpful he is, when he wants to be that is. Other times he can be as a said before, a real bear.
But it’s fun to watch him help and learn chores. Right now the one we are going through the paces about is him taking his plate to the sink when he is done eating. The key to success? REPETITION!
We started out small. I would give him his snack in his room, a yogurt cup with a plastic spoon. He would sit at his table and chairs in his room with the instructions “throw the cup in trash and the spoon in the sink.” And then I would let him to it.
Time would pass and he would come to me with minimal yogurt smoodge to be wiped off his face. “All done!” --- We will see about that I thought.
So I went into his room and in the trash were the yogurt and the spoon inside. So I would take the spoon and praise him for the good he did… All the parenting magazine say praise is good. Tee hee and then gently correct him about the placement of the spoon. Then we would walk into the kitchen and put it in the sink together.
This happened a few more times with the spoon ending up in the trash. Then one day it stopped. He came to me “All done” . We went to check the trash and no spoon! So we rushed to the sink …. No spoon. So I checked ALL the trash cans in the house. At this point thinking that I may need to call an ambulance and that a plastic spoon is going to show up on a chest x-ray of my son. "where is the spoon?" I asked. "It's right dare" he would answer pointing at nothing.
Not under the bed, the kitchen table… no where. HUH.
So the next day at snack time I pulled the drawer open to get a spoon and sure enough the crusty yogurt covered spoon is laying in amongst his other clean (now unclean) spoons. Then Jack points to the spoon and goes “ I did it” yes Jack .. you did it. It was so sweet and cute I was the furthest thing from being annoyed.
We are still on the dirty spoon in the drawer phase and it not uncommon to find a dirty spoon or fork in any drawer in the house at anytime. I kind of like it that way. It reminds me how he is learning and it’s so innocent and sweet and it gives me a smile every time. Maybe one of these years I will teach him to put his spoon in the sink.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Opinions are like assholes....
So I have been in a custody battle with my ex for the last year and a half. I don't know if you would call it a battle with him per se, but with myself to make sure that Jack has the best possible care.
Jack's father lives in San Antonio and in the beginning after our split I felt really strongly that Jack was too young to go bath and forth for visits. So he has been with me and in so many words his father has an open invitation to visit. He hasn't really accepted that invitation. So in the eyes of a lot of people in my family he is a schmuck. Which, well, my opinions are my own....
Jack is getting older and before he gets too old, for several reasons, he needs to know and have a relationship with his father. So I have been dealing with Jack's dad and his dad's new girlfriend to work out a visitation agreement.
I have never messed with my ex's once they were my exes so this whole talking to and exes new girlfirend is new territory for me. For Jack I would walk through fire so, while awkward, I do it. She isn't that bad, actually, it could be a lot worse. In fact, it really kind of facilitates communication between Jack's dad and myself.
I am not going to run out and be this woman's BFF by anymeans, but if it means that I have a rational person on the other end of the phone to discuss Jack's well being in lieu of his father, so be it.
Anyway, that's not really what I wanted to write about. It's more about the decision NOT to fight his dad to the death over custody. It's been a long couple of years, and I can say that I have loved every minute I have had with my son. He is such a special and wonderful little person and he has such a mind of his own. He has come to a point where he is a little older and he can travel and he is aware of his surrounding. He's not my little baby anymore. While I am so very protective of him, I have to share him.
So we have been discussing a visitation schedule that is best for a two year old who's parents don't agree on anything and live five counties away from one another. Talk about a tall order....
It is by no stretch of the imagination one of the hardest things that I have had to deal with. I am tired, and mentally drained and I cry... A LOT. I have a great, awesome, support group.
Having such support also means that these people that you care about and that care about you have an opinion. And on an issue like this it's usually a strong one.
I focus every ounce of my energy in not making the wrong decision, so when someone doesn't agree with the course of action that I want to take it's really devastating. Not just because I want everyone to think like I think, but with such an emotional issue sometimes communications get broken down and people say things they don't mean. I am definitely guilty of this.
If I can describe it.... It's like for someone that works with coworkers on a team and you all have to have the same information and discuss the best course of action and eventually the right answer surfaces almost on it's own, but it's getting to that right answer that is kicking my ass. I hope it comes soon... It's feels close, but I still have a road ahead.
Jack's father lives in San Antonio and in the beginning after our split I felt really strongly that Jack was too young to go bath and forth for visits. So he has been with me and in so many words his father has an open invitation to visit. He hasn't really accepted that invitation. So in the eyes of a lot of people in my family he is a schmuck. Which, well, my opinions are my own....
Jack is getting older and before he gets too old, for several reasons, he needs to know and have a relationship with his father. So I have been dealing with Jack's dad and his dad's new girlfriend to work out a visitation agreement.
I have never messed with my ex's once they were my exes so this whole talking to and exes new girlfirend is new territory for me. For Jack I would walk through fire so, while awkward, I do it. She isn't that bad, actually, it could be a lot worse. In fact, it really kind of facilitates communication between Jack's dad and myself.
I am not going to run out and be this woman's BFF by anymeans, but if it means that I have a rational person on the other end of the phone to discuss Jack's well being in lieu of his father, so be it.
Anyway, that's not really what I wanted to write about. It's more about the decision NOT to fight his dad to the death over custody. It's been a long couple of years, and I can say that I have loved every minute I have had with my son. He is such a special and wonderful little person and he has such a mind of his own. He has come to a point where he is a little older and he can travel and he is aware of his surrounding. He's not my little baby anymore. While I am so very protective of him, I have to share him.
So we have been discussing a visitation schedule that is best for a two year old who's parents don't agree on anything and live five counties away from one another. Talk about a tall order....
It is by no stretch of the imagination one of the hardest things that I have had to deal with. I am tired, and mentally drained and I cry... A LOT. I have a great, awesome, support group.
Having such support also means that these people that you care about and that care about you have an opinion. And on an issue like this it's usually a strong one.
I focus every ounce of my energy in not making the wrong decision, so when someone doesn't agree with the course of action that I want to take it's really devastating. Not just because I want everyone to think like I think, but with such an emotional issue sometimes communications get broken down and people say things they don't mean. I am definitely guilty of this.
If I can describe it.... It's like for someone that works with coworkers on a team and you all have to have the same information and discuss the best course of action and eventually the right answer surfaces almost on it's own, but it's getting to that right answer that is kicking my ass. I hope it comes soon... It's feels close, but I still have a road ahead.
Friday, July 2, 2010
One year and a half years... and counting
I woke at 3:00am, with the ringing of the phone. It was my aunt . "Are you awake?"she said, sounding chipper, she's been up for hours, I thought. "Yes" I lied. Julie had succeeded where my alarm had failed. I was now, awake. I eased out of bed, wonderd into the kitchen, and stumbled around as I waited for the coffee to brew.
The one saving grace was how easily Jack went down so,while marginal, I did get some sleep.
I sipped my coffee...Everything was ready; I had showered the night before and laid out mine and Jack's clothes. This afforded me time to stare mindlessly into the mirror. I brushed through my hair and tried to scrub away the dark circles underneath my eyes with soap. I put on my pink jacket and matching skirt, made my bed, smoothed out my hair and put all my essential into my big oversized purse. I headed to Jack's room to change and dress him carefully before he woke. I debated putting on his shoes, and decided that it's best I should; if I were trusting someone else to watch him I didn't want them to be troubled with taping the velcro straps across his tiny feet. In that moment I believed that I was the only one that knew how to fasten his shoes...
The one saving grace was how easily Jack went down so,while marginal, I did get some sleep.
I sipped my coffee...Everything was ready; I had showered the night before and laid out mine and Jack's clothes. This afforded me time to stare mindlessly into the mirror. I brushed through my hair and tried to scrub away the dark circles underneath my eyes with soap. I put on my pink jacket and matching skirt, made my bed, smoothed out my hair and put all my essential into my big oversized purse. I headed to Jack's room to change and dress him carefully before he woke. I debated putting on his shoes, and decided that it's best I should; if I were trusting someone else to watch him I didn't want them to be troubled with taping the velcro straps across his tiny feet. In that moment I believed that I was the only one that knew how to fasten his shoes...
Thursday, May 20, 2010
He conquered the mountain !!!!
Somewhere Jack picked up the word scary, pronounced (scare-we). He is extremely afraid of the dark and on more than one occasion he has called me into his room to fend off the scary monsters. (MONshtars).
This weekend, however, I saw a very different, very brave little boy. Until, that is, the scary monsters slipped into his tent while he was sleeping (but that's a story for another time) On our camping trip to E-Rock this past weekend, I was exponentially impressed by my toddler’s capacity for hiking. Hiking while injured, to point a fact.
I’m not sure if you are aware, but when you use a portable grill for making breakfast tacos, just because you shut the lid does not mean that the grill is no longer hot. In fact, it is the quite the opposite, and my fumbly, Rubbermaid, caterpillar-chasing, Calvin doppleganger of a son found this out the hard way as he went skipping past the grill and for a brief second, put his soft fleshy hand on the lid for support. 3….2….1…. wait for it... He smiled...... then ….but no!….oh my gosh that f***ing hurtzzzzz!!!!……"MOMMY MY BOO BOO!!!!!!” He came screaming to me with tears in his eyes.
I comforted him a while and wrapped his hand with a wet cloth after applying some bactin to the red swollen circle on his palm. He just cried and cried and begged for kisses for the sum total of about five minutes and then the skies cleared and he was good-to-go!
Amazing the resilience on that kid.
So we loaded up and took the trek to the summit of “E”-Rock. Jack’s hand, wrapped in a pink bandana, was carrying the ever-faithful brunket. Jack was dressed in a green and blue shirt and a pair of shorts that could’ve doubled as baggy pants.
At first it was slow going. It’s been over a decade since the last time I did any kind of hiking and I am pretty sure that I needed oxygen and physical assistance to walk at some point . So, I had some apprehensions on how I would perform. Not to mention a whole other set of worries on the performance of a miniature genetic replica of myself. It didn’t take long for me to get into the “Drag your feet in that gravel one more time and I am gonna karate chop your adam’s apple” kind of mood. I started the day carrying Jack because the path was rocky and the granite that makes up e-rock was slick from the rain the night before. It was hard enough for me to maneuver, but the slippery slopes would of resulted in a massive injury for Jack. Luckily before long the trail smoothed out and the weather warmed and dried the rock so I was able to let Jack walk on his own and focus on my own ascent up the hill. It was a 45 degree incline towards the top of the hill and over a thousand feet up.
The burn in my legs felt good and the air in my lungs was a happy reminder of one of the many reasons that kicking the cigarette habit was such an amazing thing in my life. I was impressed with myself, but even more impressed with Jack. It was a severe hike and we was walking up the granite slope like he was walking to recess. Before long we were all at the top of the hill and ready to descend into the valley. As I looked at the amazing view that being this high afforded us, it dawned on me... How many people have exclusive bragging rights to climbing Enchanted rock at two years of age. I looked at Jack and scooped him up to give his face kisses, trying to take in as much of the moment as I could. Yes, I am a proud mother, but seriously that's quite an accomplishment. One I am sure to be telling the story for years to come.... And with an boo boo to boot. Jack. You go boy!!! Mommy's proud :)
This weekend, however, I saw a very different, very brave little boy. Until, that is, the scary monsters slipped into his tent while he was sleeping (but that's a story for another time) On our camping trip to E-Rock this past weekend, I was exponentially impressed by my toddler’s capacity for hiking. Hiking while injured, to point a fact.
I’m not sure if you are aware, but when you use a portable grill for making breakfast tacos, just because you shut the lid does not mean that the grill is no longer hot. In fact, it is the quite the opposite, and my fumbly, Rubbermaid, caterpillar-chasing, Calvin doppleganger of a son found this out the hard way as he went skipping past the grill and for a brief second, put his soft fleshy hand on the lid for support. 3….2….1…. wait for it... He smiled...... then ….but no!….oh my gosh that f***ing hurtzzzzz!!!!……"MOMMY MY BOO BOO!!!!!!” He came screaming to me with tears in his eyes.
I comforted him a while and wrapped his hand with a wet cloth after applying some bactin to the red swollen circle on his palm. He just cried and cried and begged for kisses for the sum total of about five minutes and then the skies cleared and he was good-to-go!
Amazing the resilience on that kid.
So we loaded up and took the trek to the summit of “E”-Rock. Jack’s hand, wrapped in a pink bandana, was carrying the ever-faithful brunket. Jack was dressed in a green and blue shirt and a pair of shorts that could’ve doubled as baggy pants.
At first it was slow going. It’s been over a decade since the last time I did any kind of hiking and I am pretty sure that I needed oxygen and physical assistance to walk at some point . So, I had some apprehensions on how I would perform. Not to mention a whole other set of worries on the performance of a miniature genetic replica of myself. It didn’t take long for me to get into the “Drag your feet in that gravel one more time and I am gonna karate chop your adam’s apple” kind of mood. I started the day carrying Jack because the path was rocky and the granite that makes up e-rock was slick from the rain the night before. It was hard enough for me to maneuver, but the slippery slopes would of resulted in a massive injury for Jack. Luckily before long the trail smoothed out and the weather warmed and dried the rock so I was able to let Jack walk on his own and focus on my own ascent up the hill. It was a 45 degree incline towards the top of the hill and over a thousand feet up.
The burn in my legs felt good and the air in my lungs was a happy reminder of one of the many reasons that kicking the cigarette habit was such an amazing thing in my life. I was impressed with myself, but even more impressed with Jack. It was a severe hike and we was walking up the granite slope like he was walking to recess. Before long we were all at the top of the hill and ready to descend into the valley. As I looked at the amazing view that being this high afforded us, it dawned on me... How many people have exclusive bragging rights to climbing Enchanted rock at two years of age. I looked at Jack and scooped him up to give his face kisses, trying to take in as much of the moment as I could. Yes, I am a proud mother, but seriously that's quite an accomplishment. One I am sure to be telling the story for years to come.... And with an boo boo to boot. Jack. You go boy!!! Mommy's proud :)
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Shootin' Range... it's like shopping for men.
So this past weekend I went the the "Hot Wells" shooting range with my boyfriend Pat. For those that don't know him, he is big into guns and my go-to guy in case of zombie invasion. I have never in my life shot or held a gun that did not have nerf written down the side in big orange letters. Up until now I hadn't really put much thought into guns. To shoot or not to shoot? That is the question.
Anyway, guns are totally a guy thing, for the most part. There are some women out there that have taken a liking to guns as a hobby and that is totally fine, but I never considered myself that kind of girl.
First of all, I will say that guns... ARE VERY LOUD. I walked up to the range and had no ear protection on and my ear is still bothering me 5 days later. It was like being at ground zero for a nuclear blast, or what I imagine ground zero to be because if you were actually at ground zero you would have evaporated by now, but if in some weird fluke you did not evaporate than I imagine this is the sound you would hear. Even after I put my headset on it was still pretty loud.
Oh and I was nervous. Pat versed me on all these rules about holding your gun down range and always having the safety on and blah blah blah blah gun safety blah and I knew I would be the one to get confused and flustered and accidentally shoot someone.
But when all was said and done it was pretty cool. I shot an AK-47 and I still have no idea if I actually hit the target, but the feeling of holding something so powerful in my arms and all I had to do was push this little trigger and BOOM. I have to say it was a great stress reliever. And I will admit to liking the smell of gun powder...
It occurred to me that going along to the gun range must be what guys feel like going along to the mall. A little nervous and out of his element, too many clothes, too many girls, too many sales, and then as the day progresses you buy him a pretzel and he feels better and actually starts to enjoy himself....
Kind of like me. I finally started to loosen up and enjoy myself. Even though I was the only girl on the range, totally out of my element and afraid of killing someone.
I even kept one of my targets as a souvenior. Although I wouldn't compare a food court pretzel to learning how to shoot a 9mm. I guess that's just how men and women are different I suppose....
Anyway, guns are totally a guy thing, for the most part. There are some women out there that have taken a liking to guns as a hobby and that is totally fine, but I never considered myself that kind of girl.
First of all, I will say that guns... ARE VERY LOUD. I walked up to the range and had no ear protection on and my ear is still bothering me 5 days later. It was like being at ground zero for a nuclear blast, or what I imagine ground zero to be because if you were actually at ground zero you would have evaporated by now, but if in some weird fluke you did not evaporate than I imagine this is the sound you would hear. Even after I put my headset on it was still pretty loud.
Oh and I was nervous. Pat versed me on all these rules about holding your gun down range and always having the safety on and blah blah blah blah gun safety blah and I knew I would be the one to get confused and flustered and accidentally shoot someone.
But when all was said and done it was pretty cool. I shot an AK-47 and I still have no idea if I actually hit the target, but the feeling of holding something so powerful in my arms and all I had to do was push this little trigger and BOOM. I have to say it was a great stress reliever. And I will admit to liking the smell of gun powder...
It occurred to me that going along to the gun range must be what guys feel like going along to the mall. A little nervous and out of his element, too many clothes, too many girls, too many sales, and then as the day progresses you buy him a pretzel and he feels better and actually starts to enjoy himself....
Kind of like me. I finally started to loosen up and enjoy myself. Even though I was the only girl on the range, totally out of my element and afraid of killing someone.
I even kept one of my targets as a souvenior. Although I wouldn't compare a food court pretzel to learning how to shoot a 9mm. I guess that's just how men and women are different I suppose....
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Layla Grace
I never met Layla Grace or anyone in her family, but I learned about her story just a few weeks ago and was really touched by it as was I am sure everyone that had the opportunity to hear about this little girl’s struggle. She was born 11/26/2007, just one day before Jackson, and in her little life has taught so many so much.
A little over a year ago this tiny girl was complaining that her stomach hurt and stopped eating. Her parents thought that she was just a picky eater with a tummy ache. They took her to the doctor for what they thought was constipation and the doctors came back with the leveling diagnosis of stage 4 neuroblastoma. Basically, she had a large tumor in her stomach. The family began chronicling their fight with this cancer in a blog where I began familiarizing myself with her story.
Yesterday morning little Layla lost her fight and went to be in heaven.
I didn’t really mean to write about something so depressing, but it was on my mind because if you see pictures of this little girl she truly is just a angel sent from heaven.
The thing that struck me the most was the family’s courage to write about something so real and close to home and not holding anything back. They were always honest about how they were feeling; they truly had strength. I admire them.
Layla’s mom wrote one day about how quiet her house was because Layla was too weak to be under foot asking her a billion questions or “helping” her with the dishes. The same things that Jack does now. How those things used to annoy her and how she would give anything to be annoyed like that now.
I just kept thinking about how frustrated I get with my own son when I am tired and don’t want to be bothered. Layla and her family have touched my life profoundly because now all I can think about when I am annoyed is how I am so blessed to have a healthy, happy little boy that is so full of life and laughter.
Like I said I am sorry for the bummer, but I wanted to get a link out to Layla’s blog it is truly inspiring.
If you have some time please go to http://www.laylagrace.org/.
A little over a year ago this tiny girl was complaining that her stomach hurt and stopped eating. Her parents thought that she was just a picky eater with a tummy ache. They took her to the doctor for what they thought was constipation and the doctors came back with the leveling diagnosis of stage 4 neuroblastoma. Basically, she had a large tumor in her stomach. The family began chronicling their fight with this cancer in a blog where I began familiarizing myself with her story.
Yesterday morning little Layla lost her fight and went to be in heaven.
I didn’t really mean to write about something so depressing, but it was on my mind because if you see pictures of this little girl she truly is just a angel sent from heaven.
The thing that struck me the most was the family’s courage to write about something so real and close to home and not holding anything back. They were always honest about how they were feeling; they truly had strength. I admire them.
Layla’s mom wrote one day about how quiet her house was because Layla was too weak to be under foot asking her a billion questions or “helping” her with the dishes. The same things that Jack does now. How those things used to annoy her and how she would give anything to be annoyed like that now.
I just kept thinking about how frustrated I get with my own son when I am tired and don’t want to be bothered. Layla and her family have touched my life profoundly because now all I can think about when I am annoyed is how I am so blessed to have a healthy, happy little boy that is so full of life and laughter.
Like I said I am sorry for the bummer, but I wanted to get a link out to Layla’s blog it is truly inspiring.
If you have some time please go to http://www.laylagrace.org/.
Also, the family is taking donations for Layla’s past medical expenses and funeral costs and every little bit helps.
God bless little Layla and her family she is truly a little angel from heaven. May she rest in peace.
God bless little Layla and her family she is truly a little angel from heaven. May she rest in peace.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Bitches and moldy cheese
So isn’t it always the case when you decide to bite off more than you can chew that everything goes wonky? Yesterday my aunt was quarantined in her house with the stomach flu and asked if I could pick up dinner for her and her equally quarantined husband. Of course I agreed because it really would be my pleasure to do them a solid.
I was on my way to pick up Jack from school and then headed to the grocery store and since I have the time management skills of a five year old I was on a mental loop. Jack….store….home. Jack…..store….home. Jack…..store…..home.
This new task changed my mental rhythm. Jack…..food….store….home. Jack…..food…..store…..home. It took me a minute to find the beat, but still manageable.
Then I remember that I had to return a stepladder that I borrowed to a lady down the street and I told her that I would drop it off after work…SHIT!
Jack….food….store….stepladder……home.
Then my aunt calls to tell me that she needs Lysol to disinfect her house and would I mind getting some on while I was at the store?
Jack…..food …..store….Julie…..stepladder…..home.
Then my uncle calls and asks if I would like to go to the rodeo.
Jack…..RODEO!!! ….home
Starting to sound like a viable option, but I press on to my appointed task.
So I get to Jack’s school and this C U next Tuesday is waiting for her son and or daughter to get out of practice she decides that instead of parking in a parking spot that she will park diagonal to the end of two spots. The parking lot isn’t all together that big and without drawing you a diagram I will just say that it’s an extremely bitchy thing to do and limits where I can park and increases the distance that I have to walk. So I pulled up behind her and gave a polite little honk “getoutofmywaypleasebitch” But what does she do? She ignores me. I am so pissed at this moment, but decide it’s still not worth it to get out of my car and deck her in the face so I park at a spot further away.
I pick up Jack and when I get back to my car the idiot has a following. Another woman has parked behind her and LEFT her car. Almost completely blocking me into my spot. So I have to perform an 18 ½ point turn to get out of this spot still trying to keep my composure because afterall Jack will be going to this school for many years and I don't want to be THAT mom. I am still boiling mad on the inside and giving disapproving looks to this woman so what do I do? I back into a dumpster.
So now on top of everything else I look like a complete angry moron. I get out to inspect the damage which not only did anyone watching just see me make my 18 ½ point turn narrowly miss hitting this other car. They have seen me with plenty of room to pull forward, STILL hit the dumpster. Oh and I’m still mad. So I get out of my car and instead of saying anything I stare at the woman who I have decided is responsible for me not knowing how to put my car in drive and get this… I shake my head….That’ll show her.
So my car was fine, but I as I sit here writing am reminded why my back hurts.
I get out the parking lot as fast as humanly possible without looking any more like an idiot than I already do and pick up the food, drop it off, head to the grocery store.
By the way, I am an absolute SUCKER for pre-packaged specialty items. If it’s a little snacky gourmet treat you better believe I putting it in my belly. So as I am heading to check out I see this container of garlic and dill cheese cubes. Yum yum get ya some. So what they are $6 I love dill!
By the time I get finished and wrap up my errands it was a little late to get the stepladder delivered, so I blew it off. Well, all I gotta say is karma is a bitch. I don’t know if it was the stepladder or my unrequited anger at soccer mom, but I got mine.
I FINALLY sit down at about 8:30 last night and I tear into my package of cheese. I start mindlessly eating and I look down about half way through and it’s COVERED with green fuzzy mold. So NASTY! How much of it did I eat before I noticed. Egh I am still grossed out at the thought of it. So today my back hurts, my stomach definitely hurts, and you best believe I am taking that $6 cheese back to Kroger.
So what did I learn from all this? I should've just decked the bitch.
I was on my way to pick up Jack from school and then headed to the grocery store and since I have the time management skills of a five year old I was on a mental loop. Jack….store….home. Jack…..store….home. Jack…..store…..home.
This new task changed my mental rhythm. Jack…..food….store….home. Jack…..food…..store…..home. It took me a minute to find the beat, but still manageable.
Then I remember that I had to return a stepladder that I borrowed to a lady down the street and I told her that I would drop it off after work…SHIT!
Jack….food….store….stepladder……home.
Then my aunt calls to tell me that she needs Lysol to disinfect her house and would I mind getting some on while I was at the store?
Jack…..food …..store….Julie…..stepladder…..home.
Then my uncle calls and asks if I would like to go to the rodeo.
Jack…..RODEO!!! ….home
Starting to sound like a viable option, but I press on to my appointed task.
So I get to Jack’s school and this C U next Tuesday is waiting for her son and or daughter to get out of practice she decides that instead of parking in a parking spot that she will park diagonal to the end of two spots. The parking lot isn’t all together that big and without drawing you a diagram I will just say that it’s an extremely bitchy thing to do and limits where I can park and increases the distance that I have to walk. So I pulled up behind her and gave a polite little honk “getoutofmywaypleasebitch” But what does she do? She ignores me. I am so pissed at this moment, but decide it’s still not worth it to get out of my car and deck her in the face so I park at a spot further away.
I pick up Jack and when I get back to my car the idiot has a following. Another woman has parked behind her and LEFT her car. Almost completely blocking me into my spot. So I have to perform an 18 ½ point turn to get out of this spot still trying to keep my composure because afterall Jack will be going to this school for many years and I don't want to be THAT mom. I am still boiling mad on the inside and giving disapproving looks to this woman so what do I do? I back into a dumpster.
So now on top of everything else I look like a complete angry moron. I get out to inspect the damage which not only did anyone watching just see me make my 18 ½ point turn narrowly miss hitting this other car. They have seen me with plenty of room to pull forward, STILL hit the dumpster. Oh and I’m still mad. So I get out of my car and instead of saying anything I stare at the woman who I have decided is responsible for me not knowing how to put my car in drive and get this… I shake my head….That’ll show her.
So my car was fine, but I as I sit here writing am reminded why my back hurts.
I get out the parking lot as fast as humanly possible without looking any more like an idiot than I already do and pick up the food, drop it off, head to the grocery store.
By the way, I am an absolute SUCKER for pre-packaged specialty items. If it’s a little snacky gourmet treat you better believe I putting it in my belly. So as I am heading to check out I see this container of garlic and dill cheese cubes. Yum yum get ya some. So what they are $6 I love dill!
By the time I get finished and wrap up my errands it was a little late to get the stepladder delivered, so I blew it off. Well, all I gotta say is karma is a bitch. I don’t know if it was the stepladder or my unrequited anger at soccer mom, but I got mine.
I FINALLY sit down at about 8:30 last night and I tear into my package of cheese. I start mindlessly eating and I look down about half way through and it’s COVERED with green fuzzy mold. So NASTY! How much of it did I eat before I noticed. Egh I am still grossed out at the thought of it. So today my back hurts, my stomach definitely hurts, and you best believe I am taking that $6 cheese back to Kroger.
So what did I learn from all this? I should've just decked the bitch.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Bacon
I remember the carefree and careless days of youth when I could eat and drink whatever I wanted and stay up until the early hours of the morning howling at the moon. Now the only thing I howl at is my alarm clock when it goes off the time I used to go to bed or when I eat too much bacon. Really? Bacon? Didn’t see that one coming. When you here old folks warble on about their ailments… “my _____hurts” Or “my ______is acting up again” You never hear them say “ I really shouldn’t of eaten that bacon.”
Well, maybe, but I can assure it wouldn’t be with the consistent occurrence that I get to experience when I decide that I am invincible against bacon’s ugly power. To which bacon replies, “oh yeah? Take this!!” and for added effect “bi-otch” Really bacon? Was that necessary?
Which is sad because it’s so tasty, but it is like eating tiny diamonds or miniature razor blades. There are a few exceptions: One, if it served wrapped around a cream cheese filled jalapeno I am in the clear. I know what you’re thinking. “I don’t know Sadie jalapeno’s seem like they might be trouble…” I know right? But surprisingly it’s a green light. I have no idea why.
Last Monday I ordered a sandwich from Quizno’s and the sneaky bastard had bacon hidden inside of it. I had to leave work early. Which all together was not a bad thing, but the pain associated with it was so excruciating that I cannot even describe it for fear that you might lose your lunch. Hopefully, it’s was bacon free.
So as I venture into my third decade I bid a fond farewell to my dear friend bacon. I will be forced to hang out with his less fun cousin turkey bacon. I try to convince myself that it’s a good thing because it’s healthier, but who am I kidding? We had some good times, bacon. I will miss you. ::tear::
Well, maybe, but I can assure it wouldn’t be with the consistent occurrence that I get to experience when I decide that I am invincible against bacon’s ugly power. To which bacon replies, “oh yeah? Take this!!” and for added effect “bi-otch” Really bacon? Was that necessary?
Which is sad because it’s so tasty, but it is like eating tiny diamonds or miniature razor blades. There are a few exceptions: One, if it served wrapped around a cream cheese filled jalapeno I am in the clear. I know what you’re thinking. “I don’t know Sadie jalapeno’s seem like they might be trouble…” I know right? But surprisingly it’s a green light. I have no idea why.
Last Monday I ordered a sandwich from Quizno’s and the sneaky bastard had bacon hidden inside of it. I had to leave work early. Which all together was not a bad thing, but the pain associated with it was so excruciating that I cannot even describe it for fear that you might lose your lunch. Hopefully, it’s was bacon free.
So as I venture into my third decade I bid a fond farewell to my dear friend bacon. I will be forced to hang out with his less fun cousin turkey bacon. I try to convince myself that it’s a good thing because it’s healthier, but who am I kidding? We had some good times, bacon. I will miss you. ::tear::
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Brunket
I can still remember first meeting Brunket. He came in a dark, wooden basket. The basket was filled with washcloths, onesies, and other baby things. He was placed in a drawer for the better part of a month, but as soon as Jack and Brunket met the attraction was almost instantaneous.
Just at a few weeks old Jack was still sleeping most of the day, couldn’t feed himself, and couldn’t sit up, but he knew which blanket was his favorite.
So Jack’s first best friend is a blue blanket named, Brunket. The thick, light-blue blanket , has shiney blue trim and an airplane stitched in the corner. They go everywhere together. To school, to the park, to bed, through puddles, you get the idea. As you can imagine the two get filthy together. The only difference is the amount they both get cleaned. Jack takes a bath or “bubbles” ,as he calls them, every night. I am lucky if Brunket makes it to the washing machine in the week.
No, I am not lazy or have a thing against laundry. In fact, I feel like I am constantly doing laundry…all….the…..time. It’s just that Jack is pretty attached to Brunket and I have to get crafty in order to distract him long enough to get Brunket away from him. It’s not easy.
Once, we turned Target upside down because Brunket fell out of his hand. I have called grocery stores, crawled under beds, and ransacked my own room in search of a misplaced Brunket before. Let me just put it this way…. Jack gets inconsolable without Brunket in his hands and his thumb in his mouth. He kind of turns purple with rage is the best way I can think to describe it. Blue blanket? Blond hair? Thumb?…. Yes, my son is Linus.
So in order to wash Brunket I have tried to distract him with Cream. I do not make the names I just go with it when they are bestowed. Cream is a blue and white plaid blanket which does not contain a hint of the color cream.
I soon found out that trying to substitute ANY blanket for Brunket is an evil dirty and wrong thing to do according to Jack and the only time he wants to associate with Cream is during nigh nigh…. (another thing I have learned? An entirely new language created by two year olds)
Once he screamed so mercilessly that I actually took Brunket out of the washer and handed it to him soaking wet. Hoping that would teach him a lesson. Silly mommy. He drug the dirty wet blanket around for the better part of an day before I snuck it away at nap time and RE-washed it.
Now, when I wash Brunket it’s thirty minutes of “Where’s Brunket mama?” “In the wash.” “Where’s Brunket mama?” “In the wash” “Mama where’s Brunket mama?” and so on and so forth.
I have had notes sent home from school that the blanket smells. It’s really embarrassing. Jack doesn’t even notice. I actually think he likes that it smells funky because it means no one will touch it.
A boy and his Brunket are not easily parted. I just hope it’s sometime before his first day of college!
Just at a few weeks old Jack was still sleeping most of the day, couldn’t feed himself, and couldn’t sit up, but he knew which blanket was his favorite.
So Jack’s first best friend is a blue blanket named, Brunket. The thick, light-blue blanket , has shiney blue trim and an airplane stitched in the corner. They go everywhere together. To school, to the park, to bed, through puddles, you get the idea. As you can imagine the two get filthy together. The only difference is the amount they both get cleaned. Jack takes a bath or “bubbles” ,as he calls them, every night. I am lucky if Brunket makes it to the washing machine in the week.
No, I am not lazy or have a thing against laundry. In fact, I feel like I am constantly doing laundry…all….the…..time. It’s just that Jack is pretty attached to Brunket and I have to get crafty in order to distract him long enough to get Brunket away from him. It’s not easy.
Once, we turned Target upside down because Brunket fell out of his hand. I have called grocery stores, crawled under beds, and ransacked my own room in search of a misplaced Brunket before. Let me just put it this way…. Jack gets inconsolable without Brunket in his hands and his thumb in his mouth. He kind of turns purple with rage is the best way I can think to describe it. Blue blanket? Blond hair? Thumb?…. Yes, my son is Linus.
So in order to wash Brunket I have tried to distract him with Cream. I do not make the names I just go with it when they are bestowed. Cream is a blue and white plaid blanket which does not contain a hint of the color cream.
I soon found out that trying to substitute ANY blanket for Brunket is an evil dirty and wrong thing to do according to Jack and the only time he wants to associate with Cream is during nigh nigh…. (another thing I have learned? An entirely new language created by two year olds)
Once he screamed so mercilessly that I actually took Brunket out of the washer and handed it to him soaking wet. Hoping that would teach him a lesson. Silly mommy. He drug the dirty wet blanket around for the better part of an day before I snuck it away at nap time and RE-washed it.
Now, when I wash Brunket it’s thirty minutes of “Where’s Brunket mama?” “In the wash.” “Where’s Brunket mama?” “In the wash” “Mama where’s Brunket mama?” and so on and so forth.
I have had notes sent home from school that the blanket smells. It’s really embarrassing. Jack doesn’t even notice. I actually think he likes that it smells funky because it means no one will touch it.
A boy and his Brunket are not easily parted. I just hope it’s sometime before his first day of college!
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