things my children have argued about today

• who would use the checkered beach towel at the pool (note: we do own more than one beach towel).
• who would throw away a desiccated noodle i found under the coffee table.
• after snapping said noodle apart during their tussling, they argued about who now had more pieces to throw away.

things my children have argued about today

• whether or not child a would stand aside as child b ran across the couch cushions.
• who would retrieve the spare keys from the plumber.
• possession of a plastic hanger (note: we do own more than one plastic hanger).

various and sundry

item the first - reality cooking show

after hearing my mil bemoan how easy cooking on tv looks (well, duh), i came up with an idea for a real woman's cooking show: mom with weeping toddler clinging to her leg, rampaging preschooler breaking things in another room, and at least one major ingredient that is missing/frozen/spoiled. that i would watch.

item the second - dumbest product ever

candle jewelry.

because candles are so homely we need to gussy them up?

item the third - make way for dumb asses

so we noticed a duck in our backyard pacing along our fence. turns out her 8 ducklings were on the other side in our neighbor's yard, pacing right in step with mama and quacking frantically. apparently mama had a) somehow gotten separated from her babies and b) forgotten she could fly, because this went on for a while. we tried putting a stool by the fence for her to hop from (no go), the handsome man tried to grab her (very funny, but no go), and finally i suggested he stick a shovel under her butt and flip her over the fence (liftoff!).

mama then takes off through the neighbors' yard, trailing ducklings behind her. 7 ducklings. oops. so i go off in hot pursuit of mom to keep a bead on her while the handsome man scoops up lil fluffy. by the time he caught up with mama, she had crossed several yards and a road and was heading for a nearby lake. after he returned the babe, he noticed another duckling had flipped over on its back, turtle-like, and was stuck. so he flipped that guy over and made sure he caught up with mama.

we are less than confident that the whole family made it to the lake.

item the fourth - i continue to embrace the womanly art of cross stitch

why do you hate the baby? installment no. 784

so the religious freaks (rude) at the girls' swim lessons had their third baby. he joins big sisters phoenicia and eden. his name? obadiah.

crabby old lady is crabby about...

target.

my beloved target has decided to repackage its own brand of household and personal care items, ditching its bullseye logo in favor of an arrow and the words "up and up" accompanied by a proliferation of images.

because it's not like the company had any equity in the bullseye logo. it's not like customers deliberately sought out products with the logo. and it's not like said customers will be some pissed when they spend 10 minutes hunting for the damn target sunscreen before realizing they've been staring at its new incarnation. no, that's won't happen.

oh wait...

things i never thought i'd need to say, installment no. 312

"don't lick your dresser!"

this is why i'm still trying to get the beds made at 10 a.m.

so far this morning, thing one has scraped her leg on a door, hurt herself getting into a chair to work on the computer, and - just now - fallen out of a tree on her head. that last injury took substantially more clean-up time than usual (washing all the scrapes on her legs, combing the twigs and leaves out of her hair), so i'm kinda behind on my hausfrau duties.

and i need a cocktail.

make way for octuplets

is anybody else vaguely disappointed that octomom didn't name her babies jack, kack, lack, mack, nack, ouack, pack, and quack?

i am easily amused

i amuse myself

i have embraced the womanly art of cross stitch. here is my first attempt, which now hangs in my kitchen.

others amuse me

bumper sticker seen in the preschool parking lot:

a foreskin is NOT a birth defect

target amuses me

today's tally of target clothing items on my body: 5 (shoes, socks, cargo pants, underwear, sweatshirt).

today's tally of non-target clothing items on my body: 2 ("meh" t-shirt, bra).

the wicked witch of the upper midwest

it's melting! it's meeeeeelting!

for once, a soy cheese that actually acts and looks like cheese on pizza. i can't/won't vouch for the taste, but thing two ate her entire piece so i'll take that as a thumbs up.

thank you, teese, from me and my flying monkey.

no. no, no, no. and no.

ok, i've been to graduate school (twice). i know how hard academic appointments are to come by.

but i still think it must have been a tough sell to convince today's minnesota public radio commentator, barbara brown taylor, to accept the harry r. butman chair in religion and philosophy at piedmont college in georgia.

many thanks to julie for alerting me to this story, and i'm glad you didn't drive off the road when you heard it.

the four seasons

as seen through adults' eyes:

• shoveling
• weeding
• mowing
• raking

as seen through children's eyes:

• snow!
• mud!
• swimming!
• leaf piles!

"i have hay in my pants!"

another successful preschool field trip to the farm.

o blessed art thou, mars incorporated

some days, the only thing standing between me and some serious jail time is a bag of m&m's.

bad performance art

otherwise known as two 5-year-olds and a 3-year-old making up "knock, knock" jokes. a sample:

knock, knock!

who's there?

apple fridge!

apple fridge who?

apple fridge slimy banana hair!

(all dissolve in helpless laughter.)

another one for the baby book

ah, the milestones...

first smile.

first tooth.

first step.

first medical alert bracelet in case of a life-threatening allergic reaction.

good times.

another sign of the end times

seen on a big orange road sign at a construction site:

resticted access

oh, eally?

(i need to start carrying a sharpie marker wherever i go.)

the ill-logic of motherhood

this morning, thing two told me that her imaginary friends couldn't join her for a parade because they were playing games.

and i found myself feeling pissed at the imaginary friends for slighting my kid.

may day

three sure signs of spring:

1. the rabbits have decapitated all my tulips.
2. the black, fossilized snow mountain that was mounded up in the mall parking lot has finally melted.
3. there is a layer of sediment in the tub after i bathe my children.

i heart spring.

just the two of us

it happens so rarely that we get time together, just us.

me and the new york times sunday crossword.

ahhh.

the best part about vegan baking

no eggs = eat as much raw cookie dough as you like.

things my children have argued about today

• who gets to brush her teeth first
• who gets to hand whom a stuffed bunny
• why they are not speaking to each other (this took a surprising amount of time, given the subject)

paging merriam-webster

some newly coined words, courtesy of my peeps:

squir•mish [skwurm-mish] noun - a distressing or embarrassing conflict with someone: "boy, my neighbor and i got into a real squirmish about his loud music."

al•loud•ded [uh-loud-did] adjective/adverb - highly vocal grant of permission: "mommy, we told that kitty it's not allouded in our yard!"

cut•e•ful [kyoot-uh-fuhl] adjective - cute and beautiful: "look at my cuteful hat!"

the klutz doesn't fall far from the family tree

i'm always riding my mother about the injuries she sustains. she, her mother when she was alive, and my brother all share an ability to hurt themselves frequently and in odd, even spectacular ways (falling into a swimming pool, closing a garage door on the head, trying to get a pop bottle from a soda machine, driving a motorcycle into a wall). yet they are/were oddly coordinated, too: gramma was a dancer, dave excelled at every sport he ever tried, and my mom has great large and small motor skills.

i, on the other hand, am uncoordinated but cautious. this has allowed me to avoid the stitches, surgeries, broken bones, sprains, strains and knocked out teeth that they have racked up. plus i got to take a pretty smarmy tone about their injuries.

and now i owe them all an apology.

because yesterday, while with my girls at gymnastics, i strode off a raised mat before realizing it was a sloped, sort of isosceles triangle-shaped mat. my ankle buckled and rolled with a dreadful cruuuuuuuuuching noise, and i went down like a tranqued rhino where i stayed, pale and nauseous, for several minutes until my friend discovered me.

so, many advil and bags of frozen veggies (they make great ice packs) later, i am here to say, "i'm sorry for making fun of you, you big klutzes."

hard sell, minnesota style

seen emblazoned in two-foot-high letters on a shipping truck:

bushel boy

probably the best tomato in minnesota

because we wouldn't want our produce to get the big head, dontcha know? oh, ya.

things i wouldn't think i would need to tell my children, but apparently i do

• don't lick the counter at the library
• don't spit at cats
• don't put a train with battery-powered wheels in your hair

my new hero

is susan boyle.

here's a link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=luRmM1J1sfg

(can't embed it, unfortunately.)

earnest white people

i have just come from a meeting of preschool church folks. ye gods. so many earnest white people.

i think that will be the name of my next imaginary band: earnest white people. i'll play bass.

i may have just had an aneurysm

an hour.

that's how long i just played candyland with my kids. an hour.

and most of that was consumed by one game, one interminable game where we kept getting stuck in cherry pitfalls or being sent back to the peppermint stick forest.

it ended, as it had to, with me snapping, thing one sulking, and thing two happily oblivious.

my eye is actually twitching.

wallpaper removal, day three

sartre said, "hell is other people."

i say, "hell is stripping wallpaper."

wallpaper removal, day two

i'd like to believe that the person who invented wallpaper is in hell right now.

stripping wallpaper.

a family of strippers

my mom is in town, so what kinds of exciting activities are we engaging in? shopping? dining out?

no, we're stripping wallpaper. lots and lots of wallpaper.

because that's the kind of fun, sexy people we are.

why do you hate the baby? installment no. 476 - reality check

that's the kid's name:  reality.

march madness

thing two is sick. again.

i am sick. again.

my friends' kids are sick. again.

my in-laws (aka the babysitters) are sick. again.

i hate march. again.

still with the haiku

oh no, not again.

my children hand off illness

like a race baton.

mother of the year, that's me

i taught thing one how to scrape the oreo filling off the cookie part with her teeth. she is thrilled with her new skillz.

i am ready to be measured for my sash and tiara now.

the flashing lights! the swirly colors! the 7-foot-tall skating rodents!

bad lsd trip? no, disney on ice!

probably about the same amount of long-term brain damage, though.

must lie down in quiet, dark room.

(many thanks to andrea and henry for inviting us to be their guests - the girls absolutely loved it.)

idiots

people, no one is more eager for spring than moi. but i think you're pushing it just a tad, perhaps out of hope, perhaps because some of your higher functioning circuits have frozen.

so let me help you out. it is too cold to wear shorts if:

• you wear your knee-length down coat over them.
  
• you stop during your jog to make a snowball.
  
• you live anywhere in minnesota.

there. go put on some long underwear and wait it out, just like the rest of us.

weirdos

it's saturday morning, so my people are glued to the tv, of course.

are they watching clifford the big red dog? sesame street? curious george?

of course not. they're watching cooking shows again. today they're learning how to make lemon-herb chicken, roasted tomatoes, and cream cheese brownies.

weirdos.

(the pear and red wine sorbet was really delicious, though.)

and a postscript on sunday:  today, thing one watched the pbs pledge drive. now that's a testament to the power of the glowing box.

and now, another haiku

hacking, yakking coughs,

icky, sticky, thicky phlegm.

i am sick of sick.

and a-one, and a-two

even a classic can stand updating some time, right? (remember how well that new coke thing went?) so here are some of the old standard songs, revised for modern mamas and their kidlets:

• what kind of fool am i...to let my kids paint in the house?
  
• don't be cruel...or you're going on time out.
  
• it's now or never...so get in that bathtub.
  
• when fools rush in...they smack their heads on the door frame.
  
• fly me to the moon...or florida.
  
• at last...mr. rogers is on.
  
• ain't misbehavin'...right this second. but wait.
  
• i enjoy being a girl...and showing everyone proof.
  
• singin' in the rain...without a coat, hat, boots or umbrella.
  
• a boy named sue...no, he just has long hair.
  
• he was really sayin' somethin'...but i couldn't hear daddy over the sound of you two fighting.
  
• she's a lady...and yes, i can see that she's fat. shhh!
  

how is this even possible?

i am the only person i know who can gain weight during a stomach bug.

perhaps because the only energy i have expended during the past two days has been in the playing of approximately 5,427 games of go fish, old maid, and crazy eights.

shutting down

ah, march. that time of year when my brain and my body completely disintegrate.

not only do i lose my tiny little mind after nearly half a year of winter, but my carcass shows the strain. dry, bloody nose. finger tips that are cracking open and bleeding. feet that are beyond disgusting.

and now, thing one and i have both come down with some sort of bug that bestows killer headaches, fever, and intestinal...episodes. oh, and she's barfing.

so i've shut the machinery down as best i can, as least as far as our digestive tracts go:  we're both on the saltines-jello-flat sprite meal plan. 

march:  coming in like a lion, as usual. a lion that has eviscerated me and is now feasting on my entrails.

and now, a haiku

hail ibuprofen!

soother of fiery children.

ibu, i love you.

in today's medical news

Study says: Moderate alcohol consumption increases cancer risk.

I say: Moderate alcohol consumption reduces filicide risk.

wake up - dinner's ready!

it's 10 a.m., and dinner is cooking. tonight i'm debuting easy pork ragu, because any recipe that starts with the word easy is a recipe for me.

indifferent is probably the kindest term that can be applied to my cooking, and this fit the bill:  brown meat, then dump in a crock pot with some other stuff and fuhgeddabodit. i'm loving me some crock pot these days, having recently rediscovered the hand-me-down one i got years ago from a friend (hint for carbon-dating:  it's harvest gold).

maybe this pork thingie will be tasty, maybe not. all i know is i'll be able to put it in front of my people and call my part done.

kwizine at its finest.

why do you hate the baby? installment no. 317

took things one and two to a kids' event today. one of the girls there was named...precious.

and her brother's name? gift.

precious and gift. 

why do you hate the babies?

the boob tube, with a light raspberry vinaigrette

we finally got television at our house last month, after living here for a year and a half. no cable, but we do get the regular broadcast channels. 

the girls are fascinated.

thing one barely remembers "live tv," and thing two has no memory of it at all and is very put out that we can't pause it so she can go potty. when the handsome man first fired the tv up a few weeks ago, he turned on pbs. it was antiques road show, and the girls were mesmerized and wouldn't let him change the channel.

today, he went to put on a bob the builder dvd for them, but before he could the girls saw some cooking show on pbs and again were suctioned to the screen. i believe they're learning how to make a lamb stew with wilted spinach and a red wine and pear sorbet right now.

you know you're in minnesota when

you look around at the kids in your preschooler's music class and realize that there are:

• 3 brunets
  
• 1 redhead
  
• and 10 blonds. and of them, 4 are towheads.

ba-dum-bum psssh.

(and yes, people here really do sound like the extras in fargo. oh, yah.)

my husband wants one of these

Sony Releases New Stupid Piece Of Shit That Doesn't Fucking Work

the slashers

that's the cool marketing term i want applied to me and all my friends who are stay-at-home-moms/freelance whatevers. mommy-slash-writer. mommy-slash-counselor. mommy-slash-consultant. mommy-slash-tutor. mommy-slash-caterer.

the slashers. i bet we could get some really cool t-shirts made up.

no braids, no dolls

when she eventually goes completely loopy, my friend peggy has one simple request for her caretakers:  "please don't put braids in my hair or dolls in my arms."

i think i'd better pin those instructions to my own shirt right now.

the other day, i received a check for my freelance work. i only bill once a month, so, while it was not a huge some of money, neither was it insubstantial. i endorsed it while i was doing my usual lakshmi impression:  paying bills-helping with spelling-making snacks-helping string beads-sorting mail-folding laundry-answering the phone-helping people pee.

the next morning, after i dropped thing one off at school with the requisite boots, snow pants, hat, and show-and-tell item, i got ready to head to the bank. "i should just make sure that check is in my wallet," i thought.

the check was not in my wallet. 

the check was also not in:

• my backpack
  
• any pockets of any of my pants
  
• any pockets of any of my coats
  
• the recycling (which i sorted)
  
• the trash (which i went through with rubber gloves)
  
• the tax documents i had been collecting for our accountant
  
• miscellaneous papers to be filed
  
• miscellaneous papers to be shredded
  
• stuff that had already been shredded
  
• our office desk drawers
  
• my husband's dresser drawers
  
• my armoire
  
• the wet clothes sitting in the washing machine
  
• the dry clothes sitting in the dryer

finally, after tossing the house for nearly an hour, i called the handsome man for help. "you gave me the phone bill this morning to mail," he said. "should i open the envelope and look in there?" 

yes, i said, you should. 

and lo, there was the check i'd written for the phone company ($30), and a little extra ($800) i'd thrown in by mistake.

i've reminded the handsome man:  no braids, no dolls.

p.s. and you just know the phone company would have cashed it.

the new official perimenopausal theme song (according to me)

dr. jenkyll and mrs. wyde

here's the most interesting thing about "the change of life" so far:  the personality rupture created by the upheaval of hormones. i don't need no stinkin' potion to mutate from good to evil; it happens (semi) regularly all by itself as i ride the waves of womanlynesshood.

viz:

dr. jenkyll:  "i got up at 6 a.m. and exercised, then ate many vegetables today!"

mrs. wyde:  "cheese tortellini!"

dr. jenkyll:  "i'm going to take more care of my appearance - perfume, mascara, cute necklace."

mrs. wyde:  "oh shit, it's 3 p.m. - i guess i'd better shower."

dr. jenkyll:  "i made my family a tasty, nutritious meal and plated it beautifully."

mrs. wyde:  "hot dog for breakfast? sure kid, whatever."

answer: five

question:  what is the number of games of candyland a grown woman can play before she begins to entertain felonious thoughts?

don't forget your booties 'cause it's cold out there

you know it's going to be a long winter when you wake up and realize you were dreaming about asking your doctor to up your dosage of antidepressants.

uncle

it's official:  i give up.

another double-digit-below-zero day. another day spent gazing blankly at the frozen wasteland out my window. 

we didn't get out of bed until 9.

we had gummy bears and tings (think cheetos without the cheese) for breakfast.

my living room is now a blanket fort.

we're all still in our jammies and have no plans for getting dressed (yesterday it finally happened at 5 pm, but only because we had to go to a school open house).

the beds are unmade.

baskets of unfolded laundry are sitting around.

mary poppins is playing (again).

and i'm trolling the internet, looking for blogs of people who are crabbier than me (fortunately, there are plenty – thank you all).

in one word, why i don't have a dog in minnesota

poopsicles

sometimes, it does pay to get involved

hey minnesotans, did you know you can make a donation to your favorite political party or state-level candidate and get your money back?

it's minnesota law:  individuals can contribute up to $50 a year, and married couples up to $100 a year, and be reimbursed through the political contribution refund program. 

when you give to the democratic party (or the evil empire) or a candidate, you'll get a receipt. send the receipt in with this form any time; you don't have to wait until you file your taxes.

et voilà! you really can get something – like a little piece of democracy – for nothing.

murphy's law

– noun 

the facetious proposition that if something can go wrong, it will.

example:  when the handsome man takes the girls to the hardware store, who gets licked IN THE EYE by the owner's friendly doggie?  not the handsome man. not thing one. no, it would of course be thing two, miss allergy 2009. so now her eye is red, puffy and watery, she's all stuffed up, and  it took me and the handsome man working together to hold her down so we could rinse out the eye.

and the best part? right now, they're on their way BACK to the hardware store because the handsome man left the 20 cent plastic wedges that precipitated this whole chain of events on the counter.

grapefruit: the poodles of the citrus world

my kids eat like supermodels. some days all they want is cucumbers, tomatoes or grapefruit.

grapefruit, i've discovered, are high-maintenance little pissers. cut in half. take the curved knife and free each half from its peel. cut each stoooopid section out of its pithy confines. dump sections into a bowl, then wrestle out those that don't want to make the journey. 

it takes longer to prep a grapefruit than it does to eat it. too much fluffing and buffing and coaxing.

the q&a session will now begin

i think thing two will take 8 a.m. classes in college, because her thirst for knowledge is greatest first thing in the morning, before caffeine has rendered me capable of speech. 

here is an excerpt from this morning's pre-dawn barrage of questions:

• what's inside your neck?
  
• when will i be 16?
  
• why don't we wear bathrobes to bed?
  
• is there enough ice cream left for me to have an ice cream cone?
• where is my ankle bone?
  

a sure sign of the end times

cnn's new year's eve broadcast live from times square with anderson cooper and kathy griffin.

i have never been so glad not to have tv.

okay, okay

here is some documentation of the hirsute hullabaloo. 

see if you can guess which is before and which is after.

it's beginning to look a lot like boot camp

it's beginning to look a lot like christmas

ev'rywhere you go

take a look at the five and ten glistening once again

with candy canes and silver lanes aglow

"mommy, i need a towel."

"why? honey, i'm up to my elbows in meatloaf mix here, and WHERE ARE YOUR BANGS?!"

"josie cut them."

it's beginning to look a lot like christmas

toys in every store

but the prettiest sight to see is the holly that will be

on your own front door

"JOSIE! GET OUT HERE! WHY DID YOU CUT KEELY'S HAIR?!"

{blink}

{blink}

"i dunno."

it's beginning to look a lot like christmas

ev'rywhere you go

there's a tree in the grand hotel, one in the park as well

the sturdy kind that doesn't mind the snow

"AHHHH! there's hair all over the bathroom! it looks like someone detonated a pomeranian in here! and are these daddy's NAIL SCISSORS?!"

a pair of hopalong boots and a pistol that shoots 

is the wish of barney and ben

dolls that will talk and will go for a walk

is the hope of janice and jen

"hello, kids' hair? are you open christmas eve day? thank god. my 5-year-old just cut my 3-year-old's hair. the bangs are GONE, and the sides are decidedly asymmetrical – sort of a 1980s, vidal sassoon, 'say-lon' kind of thing. 10 a.m.? thank you so much."

and mom and dad can hardly wait for school to start again...

aloha

thanks to itunes, my kids know a huge range of christmas music. i had kind of assumed that the favorite would be something traditional and climatically suited to minnesota, like jingle bells or frosty the snowman, or even baby, it's cold outside.

but no. when thing two crawled into bed with us this -14 morning (that's temperature, folks, not wind chill), here's what she was singing:

mele kalikimaka is the thiiiing to say

on a bright, hawaiian christmas daaaaay.

that's the island greeting that we send to you

from the land where palm trees swaaaay.

here we know that christmas will be green and briiiiight,

the sun to shine by day and all the stars at niiiiight.

mele kalikimake is hawaii's way

to say 'merry christmas' to yoooooou.

science fact for the day

the human head can hold thoughts or phlegm, but not both.

or maybe that's just my head.

nice try

thing two:  "mommy, can i have a bomb pop?"

me:  "not at 10 a.m. in the morning, you can't."

thing two:  "can i have one after lunch?"

me:  "maybe. we'll see."

{pause}

{pause}

thing two:  "mommy, can i have some lunch?"

moo

totally not my business to suggest what holiday gifts folks might like to give.

but.

if you're casting about for ideas, here's one:  heifer international. it's a non-profit dedicated to ending hunger and poverty by providing livestock, plants and education in sustainable agriculture to people around the world. recipients subsequently give an animal to a neighbor, multiplying the impact of the program ("and so on and so on and so on").

we gave flocks of chicks to the preschool teachers who care for our little chick, and our parents are all receiving shares of the joy to the world collection:  sheep, goats, llamas and a heifer.

and – proving that my mother and i do indeed have one brain, as my brother once remarked – my mom made a donation to heifer in my family's name at the same time i was making one in hers. scary.

do you hear what i hear?

*sniffle*

*cough*

*[swear word]*

predictably, my stocking is going to be filled with kleenex and motrin this year. thing one debuted the death cold in our house, then handed the baton off to thing two, who is in the throes. and a few hours ago, i began to feel the soreness creeping through my throat and head.

now, if someone just lands in the er or urgent care, it'll be a good ol' family xmas. i think it's my turn this year, and i am trying:  i walked INTO THE DOORFRAME of my ob/gyn's office the other day, ricocheting my skull off the metal. apparently the girls come by it honestly.

mommies say the darndest things

oops. must remember that small children have supersonic hearing akin to dogs and bats.

i recently toured the elementary school that thing one will attend next fall, and afterward i wrote thank you notes to the teachers and principal (my mama raised me right). 

recounting this story later, i told the handsome man that i had sent off my butt-snorkeling blandishments. and now, predictably, josie delights in saying "butt-snorkeling."

welcome to the glue factory

most of my kids' clothes, toys and gear are hand-me-downs. not because i'm an eco-conscious earth mama, but because i'm a stay-at-home drain on the economy, and when someone offers something free i say yes.

i try to hand the stuff off again when we're done with it, but apparently my children secrete some sort of invisible destructo-juice because they just destroy stuff. seemingly pristine clothes that have already been through one, two or more kids by the time they reach us are instantly and irreparably stained. toys crack and disintegrate. books give a soft sighing sound and gentle shed their pages.

this weekend, when the handsome man had the girls safely out of the house, i held the annual post-birthdays, pre-christmas purge of the outgrown and outmoded. besides the stuff that was donatable and went to arc, i also threw away bags of stuff that was on life-support, including a shattered barbie camping van (dammit).

my house:  where toys come to die.

how cold is it? it's so cold that...

you know you're a minnesotan when this is the weather forecast you hear delivered in a cheery voice:

"well, it could be worse!"

spa day

just got back from having a crown put on my tooth, followed by a boob grope at my ob/gyn.

that's about as close as i get to a facial and a massage anymore. cleansing breath!

the workers' comp for all those the elves must be murder

here's a holiday-specific injury:  thing two just got her finger stuck in a jingle bell.

have a holly jolly nervous breakdown

i'm one of those obnoxious people who love the holidays (christmas carols! ornaments! cocoa!), but i know this season brings many folks low.

so no matter how bad it gets in the next month, you can console yourself by reading the following story, which was relayed to my brother-in-law several christmases ago by one of his friends. i've removed the names to protect the poor unfortunate souls (and cleaned up the grammar and punctuation a bit because i just can't help myself), but that's it – the rest is all exactly as it was told:

so the kid's first christmas has been not much short of a train wreck for me.

it all started on the 21st when my mom flew in to "help with the baby." we picked up indian food for k, which she would then not eat for fear of upsetting the breast feeding process. we think the rice pudding had something in it that poisoned mom, as she spent the next two days violently ill. and i mean violently – the poor woman was out of control at every possible end – and i spent much of my time cleaning up after her and caring for her.

of course, little q started showing signs of dehydration and possible illness, so then i had to disinfect a significant portion of the house to keep the fears of a new mother contained. that was just before my mom accidentally flooded the master bathroom toilet at 4 a.m. and used our good towels to contain the spillage. k later told me i probably shouldn't have used pine sol to mop up the wood floors in the bedroom, but i guess i'll deal with the long-term stripping/damaging effects later.

mom finally started to feel better on the 25th, when the rest of my family arrived by car. because we had lost all of our last-minute shopping time, we agreed to postpone christmas by a day. 

problem is, when we woke up on the 26th, the dog was having seizures. she then died just before noon on the 26th (but not before i had killed a day cleaning and boiling five chickens for her as part of a post-stroke diet). this prompted an emergency search for a crematory that could take our animal on a holiday. needless to say, everyone lost their appetite for cooked meat that day.

okay. so by the morning of the 27th, i'm thinking the smoke has cleared. even though my house is now a wreck from having guests, things should get better now, right? so that's just about the time my bumper gets torn off in a parking lot where i'm doing my belated last-minute shopping. no note, of course. 

we opened presents, but decided to wait on the south texas-style fried turkey i've been so excited to prepare. fortunately, the meal went well (no fires), except for the fact that my brother was passing up the shiner bock to finish up my orval, even after being informed of the expense. that's a trappist-monk, bottle-conditioned ale from a monastery founded in the 1100s, fermented three times with three different malts and two types of hops and wild yeast, buddy! you put that in a balloon glass and drink slowly!

by the 30th, folks were showing unmistakable signs of family fatigue, so my brother and i went to austin for some live music. unfortunately, it turns out that the austin live-music scene is quiet on new year's eve eve – guess all the bands are sleeping for the all-nighter to come.

so austin was a bust, but not before tempers flared while he and i exchanged a few words over who was a "cruise director." the point is, my patience had run out. i had nothing left to spare, and after he left the next day, i made a tactical error:  i criticized his expectations (and therefore his maturity) to mom...a very poor audience choice. naturally, she defended her parenting to tears, which was not what i meant to attack. spent the rest of the day clearing that one up.

so you would think that whatever could happen has happened? not yet. sunday afternoon, mom has a tremendous headache from ear to ear. wakes up monday morning with a tooth that now has a slightly bluish tint. so we spend hours on the phone trying to decide on a response to this new problem and find an open dentist. 

by mid-afternoon, we found a dentist who would see her and possibly prescribe some antibiotics to tide her over until she gets back home to her dentist. next thing we know, he is recommending an immediate root canal. yes, a root canal. while on "vacation."

most of the swelling has gone down, and mom should be off the 4x dose (800 mg) of ibuprofen by the time she boards the plane tomorrow. k and i have recovered most of the house; q is responding well to her dietary changes. and i just can't WAIT until next christmas.

so how were your holidays?

k

thanks mom!

after reading about how i'm a dick, my mom reminded me of some other phrases she had in her parental arsenal. i'm looking forward to telling my kids:

• "stop crying or i'll give you something to cry about."
  
• "i'm not your friend, i'm your mother."
  
• "i hope you get one just like you." (must be said with gritted teeth and slitty eyes.)
  

this is a dictatorship, and i'm the dick

some of the most satisfying phrases of motherhood:

• "no."
  
• "because i said so."
  
• "i'm not asking you, i'm telling you."
  
• "did that sound like a question?"
  
• "i said, 'no'."
  
• "not later – now!"
• "what part of 'no' wasn't clear?"
  
• "no, and don't ask me again!"
  

why i studied art history in college

the handsome man accompanied thing one to a birthday party yesterday at a nearby nature center. the kids and parents went on a nature walk led by an eager 20-something naturalist who imparted all sorts of fun facts, including this one:

when winter approaches, certain turtles swim down to the bottoms of their lakes and burrow into the muck. how do they breathe, you ask? they take in the oxygen that's in the water through membranes in their gums and rectums.

at this point, i must once again thank the university of michigan for letting me pass through its halls unencumbered by any real science credits (or math!). hail, hail.

recipe for maaaaadness

profanity pizza

submitted by thing two, age 3

feeds 4. or 3, if someone refuses.

1. help mommy make pizza dough from scratch, so there are no allergens in it
   
2. help mommy roll out the pizza dough
   
3. help mommy spread organic tomato sauce on the dough
   
4. help mommy sprinkle soy cheese on a portion of the dough
   
5. watch mommy sprinkle regular cheese on the rest, carefully avoiding the soy cheese section
   
6. just as mommy prepares to put the pizza in the oven ask, "can i have oatmeal?"
   

extra credit points if, when the oatmeal is ready, you tell mommy you're too busy playing to eat it.

csi: the faerie queen

there are teeny, tiny mites of glitter, spangles, sequins and unknown twinkly bits over every surface. it looks like someone murdered tinkerbell in my living room.

crap creep

every time i turn around, there's more crud in this house.

cripes.

best diet aid ever?

a face full of novocaine. i can't feel my tongue, and my skin feel exactly like my old baby tender love doll.

looks like i picked the wrong week to quit sniffing glue

remember in the movie airplane! when the stressed-out air traffic controller goes back to all his vices? substitute "batshit mental insane-o small children" for "airliner out of control" and "molasses coffee cake and cosmos" for "smoking and amphetamines" and you've got a pretty accurate idea of how my week has been. i resorted to trolling the interwebs for stories of child abuse just to make sure there are worse parents out there than me...

apples to oranges

what do you get when your 3-year-old is acting insane, your 5-year-old is egging her on, and you're out of cosmo ingredients?

you get a new drink recipe:

the apples to oranges

• juice from one clementine (when you're out of limes)
  
• apple cider (when you're out of cranberry juice)
  
• triple sec
  
• vodka, and plenty of it
  

shake over ice and hit it.

(the handsome man initially wanted to call it the clapmo, but decided that sounded like what you get if you drink too many of them.)

k-k-k-keely and the jets

i didn't realize i'd given birth to elton john until this week, when thing two picked out her own new glasses.

"it's finally snowing"

amazing how different that phrase sounds from the mouth of a 5-year-old than from the mouth of a 43-year-old. things one and two are already outside, fully suited up, pre-breakfast, loving winter. 

god bless. and stay outside.

will my aarp card arrive next week?

in today's mail, i got a catalog i've never seen before called acacia. as i flipped through it, i realized this is an old lady catalog, which is apparently the demographic i've slid into. thank goodness i now know where to get my hot flash pajamas and nightgown (page 20) or my solutions camisoles (page 21) with built-in bra ("shelf bras are fine up to a certain age, but after that, we want real support.").

not that kind of support, thanks.

as an aside, i looked up acacia in the dictionary. it's a "gnarled, thorny" tree and also "a bag filled with dust as a memento of mortality." which is exactly how getting this catalog made me feel.

terrorist fist bump, everyone

we did it.

oh my frickin' god, we did it.

my so-clichéd life

before having kids, i remember reading "funny" stories about little nippers and their shenanigans and thinking, "ha ha. sounds completely made up for a laugh, but ha ha anyway."

but as in so much with parenthood, the joke is real, and it's on me.

the set-up:

today, thing one and i had a "big girl" date. we shopped. we lunched. she got to pick out coloring books, paints, crayons and a stuffed kitty for her birthday. we bought a game for her friend's upcoming birthday, and – what the hell – one for ourselves, too. i picked up some holiday books for my little cherubs. when we got home, we played bingo, painted, ate halloween candy. i was the über-mommy; she was delightful. the teller at the bank, who gave thing one a sucker, said, "i've never seen such a cute, well-behaved child!"

the punch line:

late afternoon, i finally began tending to household stuff while thing one settled in to the sound of music. or so i thought. instead, i later discovered, she had taken markers and crayons to the playroom walls (raw, porous, unfinished, VERY absorbent wood), fireplace (porous brick), and floor. her defense? the rationale for these crimes against building materials? "i dunno."

ha ha.

that's 25.2 miles - good enough

the handsome man, like many other (wonderful, dear, lovely) men i've heard about, is known to do things aaaalmost all the way. like the room we finished off in the old house...except for the baseboards (i finally got them as a belated mother's day pressie). like the way he used to faithfully sweep his apartment kitchen...then leave the little pile o' dirt and cat hair sitting in the corner. and like the way he, again this morning, emptied and reloaded the dishwasher (thanks, honey!)...but left the clean pots, pans and bowls sitting on the counter and stove for the cuisine elf to put away. why? why?

unrelated note:  as an addendum to the homemade political lawn signs appreciation, here's the best one i saw today:

undead for obama

now there's a constituency i would have thought for sure the republicans have locked up.

when you care enough to hammer the very best into your grass

as we near the end of campaign season, the bumper lawn sign crop in minneapolis continues to proliferate. my favorites are the homemade ones, like this sampling seen on today's trip to swimming lessons:

pro-woman, anti-palin

no war

no empire

no occupation

avoid trauma, vote obama

and the one that best sums up my feelings:

ENOUGH!

another sure sign of aging

i have more will to stay on the treadmill if i'm listening to npr podcasts than to bouncy music.

all together now:  geeeeeek.

the hills are alive with the sound of child protective services

thing two has joined thing one in her obsession with the sound of music. not only do they sing along, they also randomly spout lines of dialogue – in the kitchen, at the grocery store, on the playground. which would probably be a lot cuter if thing two hadn't chosen this line to deliver with great verve:

"soaking myself in champagne!"

over and over and over.

things my children have argued about recently

• who gets the measuring cup with the rubber base when we make cocoa and who gets the plain measuring cup (note:  these are only the prep cups, not the ones they actually drink from)
  
• which color of jell-o we will make after the next time we make jell-o
  
• the correct way to wear underpants on one's head
  

the back page is always the best page

remember the glamour magazine dos and don'ts? of course you do. (unless maybe you're over 70. or a guy.) flipping immediately to the back page was always the most fun part of getting the 'zine – it was such sweet relief to see other females who had made worse fashion faux pas than oneself.

i was reminded of the dos and don'ts when i walked around the lake this morning, so let's bring on the snark:

do

• get out and enjoy the stellar fall weather. bring the kids, bring the pets, or saddle up on your old schwinn like the becardiganed gentleman who looked to be about 100 (good on you, sir).

don't

• jog in a t-shirt with "just do it" emblazoned across your chest if said chest is huge, extra springy, and threatening both you and random passersby with a potential black eye.
• push your pooch around in a stroller. repeat after me:  it's a dog. and if it's too tiny and trembly to make it around the lake on its little toothpick legs, leave it at home. or kill it.
  
• wear your lifetime fitness personal trainer/aerobics instructor work outfit to walk around the lake. you're fit. we get it. now fuck off.
  
• wear spandex pants so low-slung that i can see your hip bones and possibly a pube or two. i don't care how fine you are (and yes, pink-shirt girl, you are fiiiiine), those pants look good on precisely no one. No. One.
  

they are preschoolers, hear them roar

at thing one's preschool today, they talked about what they want to do when they grow up. of the five girls in the class, two want to be "struction" workers, one wants to be a firefighter, one wants to be a doctor, and one wants to be a "computer person like daddy" (that would be thing one). 

different shit, same day

• first moments of the day, eyes not even fully open, sans glasses – wiping up pee in, on, around and in front of the potty and its environs. (note to mothers of boys:  you are not in this alone! girls have bad aim, too.)
  
• post-breakfast – picking up smallish turd off the bathroom rug, now being washed (rug, not turd).
  
• lunch – returning from preschool and rushing to the potty, thing one rushes back to inform me it's stopped up. plunging ensues, followed by rinsing plunger in bleach water and trying to autoclave hands.

it's hard being as glamorous as me.

postscript, 7:35 pm – and we just rounded out the day with someone whizzing on one of the good chairs. not one of cheap plastic chairs from ikea. no, the nice upholstered chair from room and board. is it any wonder i had rice krispies and red wine for dinner? no, it is not.

it's always a dad

heard in the aisles at target, addressed to a squalling, squabbling small boy and smaller girl:

"can you two get me that big bottle of olive oil?"

i have a feeling that shopping trip ended badly.

rich inner lives

my children have made up a game that involves:

• 2 laundry baskets
  
• the pillows from the handsome man's and my bed
  
• their blankies
• cords from their lacing cards
  
• numerous lite brite pegs
  
• my good spatulas
  
• many tiny pieces of paper
  
• and all of the hairbrushes in the house
  

i do not understand this game. i do not care. if they're happy (read: busy without fighting), i'm happy.