Today, my oldest son impressed me more than he has since he found the gas leak at our neighbors house and the time he helped the little old lady out of the ocean without being asked.
A regular Lassie that kid is I tell ya.
A mom showed up at the park with her twin boys at about the same time Bonus decided he was thirsty. He ran home to get some water for himself and his brother (which him doing ANYTHING other than beating the hell out of his brother is a stretch so I was totally going to sniff the water first to make sure it wasn't toilet water or something. Although, how would you know if it was toilet water? Does it truly stink like one would just assume? Note to self: Buy blue thingies to stain toilet water.) I digress...
So, Bonus returns with four glasses of water; one of which had a sippy cup lid on it for his brother. The mommy of the twins was obviously impressed that my little gentleman had thought of her boys when getting himself water.
(I too was impressed and chose to praise him rather than sniffing everyone's water.)
See?! Just think, that little kid was the one who was compared to Dennis the Menace in less than a week in our last neighborhood.
Although, it's only fair to mention he did beat the hell out of a kid at said playground a few hours prior.
I'm sure he had it coming though.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
...and leave the key under the mat too.
Do you ever have one of those days when you honestly could not look any worse, your house could not be any more trashed, your dog could not smell any more like dead ass and your kids could not act any more like the spawn of satan?
Let me elaborate.
The kind of day where everyone is still in their pajamas at 2 p.m. Never mind the fact that they have been that way for the second day in a row; mostly because the weather sucks and you may have given up the will to live after having them inside for FOUR DAYS STRAIGHT. The living room is full of toys, empty food bowls, shredded pieces of a stuffed dog toy, and milk-laden sippy cups rolled under the chairs. The couch is blocking the entire entrance to the living room which isn't a big deal since the dining room chairs are lined up in a train fashion blocking the rest of the room and the couch cushions are supporting the fort under the table. The dining room table is full of torn shreds of paper because your sons decided playing with scissors would be a great past time and you just don't have the energy to empty the vacuum bag so you can get it up. There isn't an open spot on the counter top in the kitchen due to the lovely mix of dirty and clean dishes. Which subsequently, you are terrified of attempting to make the differentiation for fear of putting a dirty one away and the one guest you are wanting to empress getting that dirty glass. But at the same time, the thought of cleaning every single dish again makes the risk seem worthwhile? So you take these three rooms and you put them all into one big room...that, is my house. As soon as you walk in the front door you are overwhelmed by this one, big, obnoxious, incredibly open space that is obviously inhabited by the kind of people you avoid in every realm of society. And that front door; it's glass. There are no curtains. There is no hiding the mess or the pajama-clad inhabitants.
That, my dear friends, is the setting for my afternoon visit from the Welcome Wagon.
I wish I was kidding.
Apparently, new residents get a lovely visit from a flowery-basket carrying well-dressed, makeup-clad member of society. (A society in which I will never be welcomed now.) She shows up riding a cupcake sprinkled with fairy dust and a cheery smile that makes you loose the power to say no when she invites herself in. Even though you are mortified and stumbling over all sorts of excuses about 'pretending to build a fort' or 'learning to hold scissors properly' or 'celebrating pajama day in some foreign country', the fairyland greeter can see right through you. Straight through to the dust bunnies under the chairs suckling the last drops from the long-lost sippy cups. She knows that you are hiding much more than a 'lazy day' and recognizes that you need more help than her 'little basket of joy' (read: business cards) can bestow.
She doles out her little prizes and spends much too long explaining the benefits of said cleaning service or free facials. She knows you are that one new neighbor who needed much more help than her one little basket could provide. But never says a word as she fakes an understanding smile, while you are comforting a screaming toddler who's has just been abused by his brother, and she makes her hasty exit.
Just as you are thanking God that it is over and still cursing yourself for not saying everyone had the flu, she mentions this...
"So, I just realized when you said your son's name (read: yelled at Bonus to get the dirty underwear off Deuce's head) that my daughter is the one that baby sat for you last month!"
And with that, I am crawling in my hole of despair and never returning.
Shut the lights off when you leave, please.
Let me elaborate.
The kind of day where everyone is still in their pajamas at 2 p.m. Never mind the fact that they have been that way for the second day in a row; mostly because the weather sucks and you may have given up the will to live after having them inside for FOUR DAYS STRAIGHT. The living room is full of toys, empty food bowls, shredded pieces of a stuffed dog toy, and milk-laden sippy cups rolled under the chairs. The couch is blocking the entire entrance to the living room which isn't a big deal since the dining room chairs are lined up in a train fashion blocking the rest of the room and the couch cushions are supporting the fort under the table. The dining room table is full of torn shreds of paper because your sons decided playing with scissors would be a great past time and you just don't have the energy to empty the vacuum bag so you can get it up. There isn't an open spot on the counter top in the kitchen due to the lovely mix of dirty and clean dishes. Which subsequently, you are terrified of attempting to make the differentiation for fear of putting a dirty one away and the one guest you are wanting to empress getting that dirty glass. But at the same time, the thought of cleaning every single dish again makes the risk seem worthwhile? So you take these three rooms and you put them all into one big room...that, is my house. As soon as you walk in the front door you are overwhelmed by this one, big, obnoxious, incredibly open space that is obviously inhabited by the kind of people you avoid in every realm of society. And that front door; it's glass. There are no curtains. There is no hiding the mess or the pajama-clad inhabitants.
That, my dear friends, is the setting for my afternoon visit from the Welcome Wagon.
I wish I was kidding.
Apparently, new residents get a lovely visit from a flowery-basket carrying well-dressed, makeup-clad member of society. (A society in which I will never be welcomed now.) She shows up riding a cupcake sprinkled with fairy dust and a cheery smile that makes you loose the power to say no when she invites herself in. Even though you are mortified and stumbling over all sorts of excuses about 'pretending to build a fort' or 'learning to hold scissors properly' or 'celebrating pajama day in some foreign country', the fairyland greeter can see right through you. Straight through to the dust bunnies under the chairs suckling the last drops from the long-lost sippy cups. She knows that you are hiding much more than a 'lazy day' and recognizes that you need more help than her 'little basket of joy' (read: business cards) can bestow.
She doles out her little prizes and spends much too long explaining the benefits of said cleaning service or free facials. She knows you are that one new neighbor who needed much more help than her one little basket could provide. But never says a word as she fakes an understanding smile, while you are comforting a screaming toddler who's has just been abused by his brother, and she makes her hasty exit.
Just as you are thanking God that it is over and still cursing yourself for not saying everyone had the flu, she mentions this...
"So, I just realized when you said your son's name (read: yelled at Bonus to get the dirty underwear off Deuce's head) that my daughter is the one that baby sat for you last month!"
And with that, I am crawling in my hole of despair and never returning.
Shut the lights off when you leave, please.
Monday, March 2, 2009
We may be loosing touch...
Or he can't speak without using acronyms.
I got this email from my husband this morning, "NRC is already here and going over my documents. Trying to get ready for my Safety meeting, the POD, then the NCR meeting then NRC meeting. I’ll catch you up laters."
I cannot make this stuff up.
The nuclear industry can B.I.T.E. M.E. cause seriously, only the WWJD people can get away with that crap.
TTYL.
I got this email from my husband this morning, "NRC is already here and going over my documents. Trying to get ready for my Safety meeting, the POD, then the NCR meeting then NRC meeting. I’ll catch you up laters."
I cannot make this stuff up.
The nuclear industry can B.I.T.E. M.E. cause seriously, only the WWJD people can get away with that crap.
TTYL.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
My Most Proud 'Mommy FAIL' Moments
Thursday afternoon was one of my typical 'holy crap, this place is a wreck and I just don't have the energy to do anything about it' kind of days.
So I didn't.
I spent too much time on twitter where it's become a personal goal to make someone laugh in 140 characters. Ex: "10yo hounddog just chased a dust bunny across the room. Either she's getting senile or I have another smartass in the house. Off to clean!" Totally addicting, I'm telling you. By the time four o'clock rolled around, I realized that I was not only still in my pajamas, as were my sons, but the house was still a wreck and my fancy-pants dinner that I should have put on the stove three hours ago certainly wasn't making itself.
I got up, put on some cartoons for the boys to keep them out of the cleaning tornado that I was about to become. (Yeah, you know as well as I do THAT wasn't happening.) I did get dinner started though and from the smell of it, this might be the most delicious dinner I had prepared to date. For those of you who are trying to eat healthier, I have been spending a lot of time on the Cooking Light website. They have some awesome, easy to prepare dinners that are ready in minutes! For those of you who cook all the time and are damn good at it....pffft....is all I have to say.
This post was SO about something totally different. *ahem*
Anyway, my new neighbor Jessica called, so we went to the park while dinner simmered and the house cleaned itself. Heh...
When we got there, it was much colder than it had looked from my warm, cushy living room chair. Jessica immediately mentioned the freezing wind and that they wouldn't be able to stay much longer. (Lightweight.) Granted, she had been waiting about 30 minutes while I dressed the boys and tried to blow some of the 'been-sitting-in-the-same-spot-in-my-jammies-all-day' stink off me. My response? "Why don't you guys just come over to my house?!"
The second it left my lips I remembered the all-too-honest tweet about the hound dog and the dust bunny as well as the rest of the 'holy shit, did a bomb go off in here' mess that awaited us. It was too late...she came...she saw...and I think she either felt good about herself and her own domestic skills or vowed to never return. I know she didn't decide to never talk to me again, because my phone rang as soon as she got home.
"Hey, I know you cooked that 'fancy-pants' meal and all, but we are going out to grab some dinner and a beer if you guys want to join us." (Yeah, I totally made her smell my dinner and went on and on about how much work it was to assemble. It made me feel a little better about the house. A little.)
So dinner went in the fridge and we went out.
We hadn't been there 30 minutes and some stranger came carrying Deuce (the two year old) to us from the game room. The kid was screaming like I've never heard before. The man said something about him falling off a highchair and hitting his head. I didn't catch it all since I was too busy trying to climb under the table from embarrassment. The full story was that he was standing on TOP of a high chair, holding the toy rifle from the video game when he fell, backwards, and hit his head on the game console.
Never in my five years of parenting have I ever experienced a knot like that one. You've heard of a goose egg? Yeah, this was a perfectly shaped and appropriately sized golf ball sticking out of the back of his head. I'm not exaggerating here, it was the exact size of a golf ball. I had to keep touching it because I couldn't believe it was that big, and round, and dude, it was a golf ball. Deuce, didn't appreciate my amazement. Nor did he seem to enjoy having everyone else touch it. "Man, you have to feel his head! It's like a perfect golf ball! Feel that!"
Yeah, I know. Mommy FAIL, right?
On the way out, I started doing the mommy guilt thing. I should have been in there with him, I should have been watching him, yadda yadda yadda. I was starting to get pretty down on myself when I remembered the many other mommy FAIL moments in their short little lives.
There was the time I let my mom hold Deuce and she dropped him; like we all knew she would.
The time I put Bonus in a swing and left him while I went to check my email. Oh, and didn't bother to strap him in. Yeah, you got it. He fell, face first, onto the hardwood floor.
The numerous calls to those blessed saints at poison control who never said, "Where the hell were you when he was eating goo-be-gone?!" Oh, and by the way, apparently it is okay to drink it in small amounts as long as you don't get it in your lungs. (I know, what the hell?!)
Oh, and I can't forget the time I was nursing Bonus and decided I couldn't wait one more minute to go to the bathroom. I walked across the house, with him still latched, and made it there only to slam the back of his head on the door jam when I failed to realize the bathroom door was much narrower than the other doors. That one, was actually pretty funny. He looked up at me with this, "I have been given to a total dumbass" look before screaming bloody murder.
I almost forgot the time we drove all the way to DorkFish's work to show off our new son, Bonus, to the firefighters and when we got there realized we had never strapped him in.
In fact, most of my mommy FAIL moments had involved Bonus. I guess that's the way it rolls when you're the first-born. I suppose, in the grand scheme of life, Deuce really had it coming.
After all, we weren't saving for Harvard or anything.
So I didn't.
I spent too much time on twitter where it's become a personal goal to make someone laugh in 140 characters. Ex: "10yo hounddog just chased a dust bunny across the room. Either she's getting senile or I have another smartass in the house. Off to clean!" Totally addicting, I'm telling you. By the time four o'clock rolled around, I realized that I was not only still in my pajamas, as were my sons, but the house was still a wreck and my fancy-pants dinner that I should have put on the stove three hours ago certainly wasn't making itself.
I got up, put on some cartoons for the boys to keep them out of the cleaning tornado that I was about to become. (Yeah, you know as well as I do THAT wasn't happening.) I did get dinner started though and from the smell of it, this might be the most delicious dinner I had prepared to date. For those of you who are trying to eat healthier, I have been spending a lot of time on the Cooking Light website. They have some awesome, easy to prepare dinners that are ready in minutes! For those of you who cook all the time and are damn good at it....pffft....is all I have to say.
This post was SO about something totally different. *ahem*
Anyway, my new neighbor Jessica called, so we went to the park while dinner simmered and the house cleaned itself. Heh...
When we got there, it was much colder than it had looked from my warm, cushy living room chair. Jessica immediately mentioned the freezing wind and that they wouldn't be able to stay much longer. (Lightweight.) Granted, she had been waiting about 30 minutes while I dressed the boys and tried to blow some of the 'been-sitting-in-the-same-spot-in-my-jammies-all-day' stink off me. My response? "Why don't you guys just come over to my house?!"
The second it left my lips I remembered the all-too-honest tweet about the hound dog and the dust bunny as well as the rest of the 'holy shit, did a bomb go off in here' mess that awaited us. It was too late...she came...she saw...and I think she either felt good about herself and her own domestic skills or vowed to never return. I know she didn't decide to never talk to me again, because my phone rang as soon as she got home.
"Hey, I know you cooked that 'fancy-pants' meal and all, but we are going out to grab some dinner and a beer if you guys want to join us." (Yeah, I totally made her smell my dinner and went on and on about how much work it was to assemble. It made me feel a little better about the house. A little.)
So dinner went in the fridge and we went out.
We hadn't been there 30 minutes and some stranger came carrying Deuce (the two year old) to us from the game room. The kid was screaming like I've never heard before. The man said something about him falling off a highchair and hitting his head. I didn't catch it all since I was too busy trying to climb under the table from embarrassment. The full story was that he was standing on TOP of a high chair, holding the toy rifle from the video game when he fell, backwards, and hit his head on the game console.
Never in my five years of parenting have I ever experienced a knot like that one. You've heard of a goose egg? Yeah, this was a perfectly shaped and appropriately sized golf ball sticking out of the back of his head. I'm not exaggerating here, it was the exact size of a golf ball. I had to keep touching it because I couldn't believe it was that big, and round, and dude, it was a golf ball. Deuce, didn't appreciate my amazement. Nor did he seem to enjoy having everyone else touch it. "Man, you have to feel his head! It's like a perfect golf ball! Feel that!"
Yeah, I know. Mommy FAIL, right?
On the way out, I started doing the mommy guilt thing. I should have been in there with him, I should have been watching him, yadda yadda yadda. I was starting to get pretty down on myself when I remembered the many other mommy FAIL moments in their short little lives.
There was the time I let my mom hold Deuce and she dropped him; like we all knew she would.
The time I put Bonus in a swing and left him while I went to check my email. Oh, and didn't bother to strap him in. Yeah, you got it. He fell, face first, onto the hardwood floor.
The numerous calls to those blessed saints at poison control who never said, "Where the hell were you when he was eating goo-be-gone?!" Oh, and by the way, apparently it is okay to drink it in small amounts as long as you don't get it in your lungs. (I know, what the hell?!)
Oh, and I can't forget the time I was nursing Bonus and decided I couldn't wait one more minute to go to the bathroom. I walked across the house, with him still latched, and made it there only to slam the back of his head on the door jam when I failed to realize the bathroom door was much narrower than the other doors. That one, was actually pretty funny. He looked up at me with this, "I have been given to a total dumbass" look before screaming bloody murder.
I almost forgot the time we drove all the way to DorkFish's work to show off our new son, Bonus, to the firefighters and when we got there realized we had never strapped him in.
In fact, most of my mommy FAIL moments had involved Bonus. I guess that's the way it rolls when you're the first-born. I suppose, in the grand scheme of life, Deuce really had it coming.
After all, we weren't saving for Harvard or anything.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Why you should be saving money for my bail
Last Sunday we took the boys to Lowes. I know, I know, some GRAND ADVENTURE there Mrs. Outdoordogs...but they love the place and Steve needed some lumber for his garage project.
(For the record, I have no idea what he's doing out there, but it allows me to read blogs and twitter; until I have to go fetch the Deuce because he's terrified of the circular saw.)
So, we stop by the hot dog stand on the way out of the store and there is a police man standing there. Both boys stand, frozen, until he acknowledges them. Then the questions start:
Bonus: "Is that a REAL gun?! My gun has an orange tip on it and I don't wike dat."
Police Man: "Yes, buddy. It is a real gun. Yours has an orange tip so we police officers know it's a toy. You need to keep that on there. Did you know bad guys are painting the tips of their guns orange to trick us?"
……….
First, let me say that I'm totally amazed not only at that fact, but because he's taking the time to talk to my sons. We've never had this happen. Generally, they approach the officer and stand there refusing to speak so it looks like I'm the one that wanted to talk to the officer...grrrr. Incidentally, they also did this to me at a concert once. The old banjo player is probably still telling his buddies about it.
……….
Bonus: "Are those REAL handcuffs?! We need handcuffs...we only have a dog leash."
Police Man: (giggling) "Yes, these are real handcuffs." -chuckle, chuckle, chuckle.
(I, am turning beet red at this moment.)
Then little Deuce pipes up with his too adorable stutter: "My daddy, he he he he he he he..."
Not knowing where this was going, but utterly terrified after the dog leash comment, I quickly suggest we go eat our hot dogs on the lawn tractors. (Yes, we're redneck. But the only thing more awe-inspiring to my sons than a police man is a lawn mower.)
Whew.
(For the record, I have no idea what he's doing out there, but it allows me to read blogs and twitter; until I have to go fetch the Deuce because he's terrified of the circular saw.)
So, we stop by the hot dog stand on the way out of the store and there is a police man standing there. Both boys stand, frozen, until he acknowledges them. Then the questions start:
Bonus: "Is that a REAL gun?! My gun has an orange tip on it and I don't wike dat."
Police Man: "Yes, buddy. It is a real gun. Yours has an orange tip so we police officers know it's a toy. You need to keep that on there. Did you know bad guys are painting the tips of their guns orange to trick us?"
……….
First, let me say that I'm totally amazed not only at that fact, but because he's taking the time to talk to my sons. We've never had this happen. Generally, they approach the officer and stand there refusing to speak so it looks like I'm the one that wanted to talk to the officer...grrrr. Incidentally, they also did this to me at a concert once. The old banjo player is probably still telling his buddies about it.
……….
Bonus: "Are those REAL handcuffs?! We need handcuffs...we only have a dog leash."
Police Man: (giggling) "Yes, these are real handcuffs." -chuckle, chuckle, chuckle.
(I, am turning beet red at this moment.)
Then little Deuce pipes up with his too adorable stutter: "My daddy, he he he he he he he..."
Not knowing where this was going, but utterly terrified after the dog leash comment, I quickly suggest we go eat our hot dogs on the lawn tractors. (Yes, we're redneck. But the only thing more awe-inspiring to my sons than a police man is a lawn mower.)
Whew.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
But First...
I’m working on a post for both, er, all of you faithful followers, but first this:
(Phone Rings)
Me: “Hello?”
Other person: “Hey, Amy! It’s Jessica! Do you want me to come get Bonus so he can play over here today?”
Me: “HELL YES! Wait, who is this again?”
So, Beaux is playing at a neighbor’s and I’m pretty sure I could find the house if I had to… In the mean time, Deuce is fussing about having to take a nap, but doesn’t know Bonus is gone, shhhh.
I am busy eating chocolate that I had to buy for myself because my husband sucks at holidays... Er, I meant to say that I'm writing a new blog post for you guys.
Bet you’ll never guess the topic…heh.
(Phone Rings)
Me: “Hello?”
Other person: “Hey, Amy! It’s Jessica! Do you want me to come get Bonus so he can play over here today?”
Me: “HELL YES! Wait, who is this again?”
So, Beaux is playing at a neighbor’s and I’m pretty sure I could find the house if I had to… In the mean time, Deuce is fussing about having to take a nap, but doesn’t know Bonus is gone, shhhh.
I am busy eating chocolate that I had to buy for myself because my husband sucks at holidays... Er, I meant to say that I'm writing a new blog post for you guys.
Bet you’ll never guess the topic…heh.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Ode to a Redneck Shower
Some crazy burocracy in Canada thought it would be a good idea to give this nut job a child. (And honestly, I am applauding their decision.) So as a tribute, a bunch of bloggers are admitting their best “Redneck Mommy Moments”. Normally, I would have no problem recanting personal experiences…but there is just something about the ‘google is forever’ rule that scares me…
Here goes anyway!
The name “Bo” has stuck with you from years of Dukes of Hazard and yelling, “Get It Bo!” (But when you name your kid Beaux, you spell it different so no one will ever make the connection.)
You’ve taken soap and pajamas to the local pool.
You’ve bathed them in the front yard with a water hose; just for the fun of it.
You taught them ‘daddy likes his beer shaken’ cause your adorable husband thought it was cute to have the one year old get him a beer.
You have borrowed diapers from strangers on many, many occasions but have never been asked.
You potty trained them in the front yard. (Bonus points for watering the already dead plants!)
It took you 3 years to get the two-leggers to pee inside and the four-legger to pee outside. (Your rugs tell the story well.)
Your toddler calls himself “Pussy” because he can’t pronounce his name and you giggle. Every. Single. Time. (Then you tell perfect strangers about the time he was standing in the Catholic school parking lot and with arms raised high and biceps flexing he yelled, “Super Pussy!”; all while tears stream down your face.)
And that, my dear friends, is why I Pink-Puffy-Heart Tanis. She gets it.
Here goes anyway!
The name “Bo” has stuck with you from years of Dukes of Hazard and yelling, “Get It Bo!” (But when you name your kid Beaux, you spell it different so no one will ever make the connection.)
You’ve taken soap and pajamas to the local pool.
You’ve bathed them in the front yard with a water hose; just for the fun of it.
You taught them ‘daddy likes his beer shaken’ cause your adorable husband thought it was cute to have the one year old get him a beer.
You have borrowed diapers from strangers on many, many occasions but have never been asked.
You potty trained them in the front yard. (Bonus points for watering the already dead plants!)
It took you 3 years to get the two-leggers to pee inside and the four-legger to pee outside. (Your rugs tell the story well.)
Your toddler calls himself “Pussy” because he can’t pronounce his name and you giggle. Every. Single. Time. (Then you tell perfect strangers about the time he was standing in the Catholic school parking lot and with arms raised high and biceps flexing he yelled, “Super Pussy!”; all while tears stream down your face.)
And that, my dear friends, is why I Pink-Puffy-Heart Tanis. She gets it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
