Just before Molly and Dan and I were about to stumble out the door this morning in our usual fit of late-running chaos, we were met by a very nice policeman knocking on our door. At 8:15 a.m. This did not amuse Murphy the sharp-as-a-rusty-filed-down-tack watchdog who promptly barked loud enough to trigger a mild earthquake.
Seems some neighbors down the street had come out this morning to find their cars ransacked and items stolen, and while the cop was driving down the street looking for other possible victims, he noticed that the door to my car -- lovingly referred to now as "mommy BLUE car" -- was ajar. Sure enough, some jackasses had completely rooted through both my and Dan's cars overnight -- pulling everything out of the glove compartment, emptying consoles, throwing our shit on the floor (I think it was them. Hard to tell among the 4 inches of pretzel crumbs and smashed up goldfish crackers that already form a lovely graham cracker-like crust on the floor of my car)...and yet, apparently, taking NOTHING.
We are not talking the world's finest criminal minds here, or even people who understand that people will PAY MONEY to buy NICE STUFF on ebay. They left Molly's $250 car seat; our cell phone chargers; the adapters for our MP3 players; a stroller; all our CDs, etc. I was ragingly fumingly lividly and several other adverbs-ly PISSED, but Dan found some humor in the fact that no one in their right mind would steal my CDs, even if he PAID them. Among the ransacked display on my front seat -- Nelly, Britney Spears, KC and the Sunshine Band (the remix album), A Chorus Line, Baby Einstein Traveling Melodies, Best of Disney part 2, and Millenium Hip Hop Party. Now WHO could pass down a musical smorgasbord of such distinction?? I mean really.
Anyway, from now on, I guess daddy's insistence that we DO NOT NEED TO LOCK OUR DOORS, OH MY GOD WOMAN, STOP IT, YOU ARE AN OBSESSIVE FREAK has been reduced to a whimper. I hope these dumbasses walked away with sticky poptart residue, baby boogers and other assorted schmegma all over their unsuspecting little criminal fingers. And perhaps next time, Captain Snores-a-lot the Wonder Dog could actually GET OFF the extra bed where he sleeps sideways like a 115 lb passed out furry frat boy and bark...AT THE PEOPLE BREAKING INTO OUR CARS!!!!! Seriously. No points for the dog on this one.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Thursday, May 11, 2006
Happa DaBay
In an apparent effort to make sure that at least ONE person will be singing at her upcoming birthday party, Molly has taken to serenading us nightly with various refrains of "Happy Birthday," which I am guessing she learned from school. Although quite the neverending chatterbox, her pronunciation is still a bit (using my favorite word of the week) wonky. The other night as I was getting her tucked into bed, I gave her kisses and she laid down, and said "MOMMY lay down on da big bed." I complied, since she does now have an insanely comfy twin bed that is a bit more conducive to Mommy laying down in than, say, her crib was.
She likes to talk to me and give me kisses in bed before she falls asleep, and hug each of her 426 stuffed animals that have to sleep in bed with her (425 of them are stuffed bunnies). So she is going through this routine, and all of a sudden starts singing "happa da-baaaay....mommy....happa da-baaaaaay....daddy...happa da-baaay.....murfffy...."
I'm like "What the hell is a happa da bay?" and then she goes "Happa da-baaaay....TOOOO....yoooooou" and I figured out that she was, indeed, singing happy birthday to everyone she knew. She continued, with verses for mamaw, poppa, yoooou several more times...she actually fell asleep singing. I went downstairs and could hear "hap...da....bay....yoooo" in this tiny whisper.
Among the other "where did THAT come from" comments this week -- driving home from daycare one day --
Molly: "MOMMY!!!!"
Me: "WHAT??
Molly: (pause)..."Where da Easter bunny go?"
Me: (pause)..."WHAT??"
Molly: "Where dat bunny go mommy?"
Me: (pause....what the HELL is making her think of the easter bunny? is she seeing things? Is Harvey in my backseat???) "Um...I don't know, sweetie!"
Molly: (looking out window) "Up in da sky. In da airplane." (resumes eating pretzels)
Well there you have it. The Easter bunny was off on his private jet going to hook up with the tooth fairy in Cabo.
She likes to talk to me and give me kisses in bed before she falls asleep, and hug each of her 426 stuffed animals that have to sleep in bed with her (425 of them are stuffed bunnies). So she is going through this routine, and all of a sudden starts singing "happa da-baaaay....mommy....happa da-baaaaaay....daddy...happa da-baaay.....murfffy...."
I'm like "What the hell is a happa da bay?" and then she goes "Happa da-baaaay....TOOOO....yoooooou" and I figured out that she was, indeed, singing happy birthday to everyone she knew. She continued, with verses for mamaw, poppa, yoooou several more times...she actually fell asleep singing. I went downstairs and could hear "hap...da....bay....yoooo" in this tiny whisper.
Among the other "where did THAT come from" comments this week -- driving home from daycare one day --
Molly: "MOMMY!!!!"
Me: "WHAT??
Molly: (pause)..."Where da Easter bunny go?"
Me: (pause)..."WHAT??"
Molly: "Where dat bunny go mommy?"
Me: (pause....what the HELL is making her think of the easter bunny? is she seeing things? Is Harvey in my backseat???) "Um...I don't know, sweetie!"
Molly: (looking out window) "Up in da sky. In da airplane." (resumes eating pretzels)
Well there you have it. The Easter bunny was off on his private jet going to hook up with the tooth fairy in Cabo.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Still counting...annoying things
Since I only got through #s 100 down to 69 with my things I hate about winter rant, I guess I will just pick up where I left off and start in on the remaining 68 things that I hate...I'll start with spring.
#68. Wet worm smell after rain.
#67. STUPID MUDDY DOG FEET
#66. STUPID MUDDY YARD THAT CAUSES STUPID MUDDY DOG FEET
#65. Bees start coming out of hiding. I HATE BEES.
#64. Cleaning up recently unfrozen dog poop piles that have been fermenting on the lawn since October and which Molly thinks would be GREAT fun to pick up and throw for the dog to chase
#63. Spring cleaning. I tend to clean in giant spurts of energy - like, every 4 months or so I will windex a mirror in the bathroom -- then, phew, have to rest. I just cleaned out our garage all by myself and found 89% of the surfaces in the garage covered in either mouse poop, spilled birdseed, stray pieces of the pink insulation stuff or dirt. Yum.
#62. Trying on bathing suits.
#61. Trying on ANYTHING that involves showing skin.
#60. Having to actually maintain your toenails now that your feet are seeing the light of day again, after enjoying many months of poking your bed mate with nasty sharp little uneven toenails and then rubbing your nasty pale unshaven legs on them.
#59. Actually having to shave your legs higher than your anklebone.
#58. I STILL HATE BEES. Especially buzzing around my beer at Tiger games.
#57. Realizing that the Tigers do, indeed, still suck.
#56. Realizing that you paid $1300 in season tickets to once again see the Tigers suck 21 times in person.
#55. Realizing how many cute purses you could have bought for $1300
#54-45. ROAD CONSTRUCTION EVERYWHERE I POSSIBLY NEED TO GO IN MICHIGAN
#68. Wet worm smell after rain.
#67. STUPID MUDDY DOG FEET
#66. STUPID MUDDY YARD THAT CAUSES STUPID MUDDY DOG FEET
#65. Bees start coming out of hiding. I HATE BEES.
#64. Cleaning up recently unfrozen dog poop piles that have been fermenting on the lawn since October and which Molly thinks would be GREAT fun to pick up and throw for the dog to chase
#63. Spring cleaning. I tend to clean in giant spurts of energy - like, every 4 months or so I will windex a mirror in the bathroom -- then, phew, have to rest. I just cleaned out our garage all by myself and found 89% of the surfaces in the garage covered in either mouse poop, spilled birdseed, stray pieces of the pink insulation stuff or dirt. Yum.
#62. Trying on bathing suits.
#61. Trying on ANYTHING that involves showing skin.
#60. Having to actually maintain your toenails now that your feet are seeing the light of day again, after enjoying many months of poking your bed mate with nasty sharp little uneven toenails and then rubbing your nasty pale unshaven legs on them.
#59. Actually having to shave your legs higher than your anklebone.
#58. I STILL HATE BEES. Especially buzzing around my beer at Tiger games.
#57. Realizing that the Tigers do, indeed, still suck.
#56. Realizing that you paid $1300 in season tickets to once again see the Tigers suck 21 times in person.
#55. Realizing how many cute purses you could have bought for $1300
#54-45. ROAD CONSTRUCTION EVERYWHERE I POSSIBLY NEED TO GO IN MICHIGAN
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
There, I fixed the spacing problem.
All I had to do was completely change the look of the whole blog. Oh well.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
HERE. I updated.
Now all six of my remaining readers (Curt, Kathy, Rachel, Erin, possibly Megan if she's really bored in a meeting, and maybe my sister in law) can have proof that I do still exist in cyberspace.
I recently did some online poll thing where it tells you what animal you will be reincarnated as in your next life. I think I was actually a cat -- which I guess means I am bored with humanity, selfish, reclusive, arrogant and deathly allergic to myself. Yep, that pretty much sums me up. I think, though, that I more accurately will be reincarnated as an octopus as payback for the fact that I spend all of my waking hours and many of my sleeping ones multitasking like a freak. My coworker told me the other day, "Wow, I really wish I did as much 'stuff' as you did. But then I think -- wow. Just HEARING about your life makes me tired."
It makes me tired and cranky and overcommitted and overstressed and guilty. Right now in addition to full time work (well, "full time" -- ha ha, considering how often I am online googling things that I saw the night before on Discovery Health channel or debating whether or not Molly REALLY needs that $84 pair of baby Ralph Lauren capris...by the way, NO.), I am performing in "A Chorus Line" -- which I have to tell you is the WORST show for a woman's self esteem EVER. Just the thought of standing in front of hundreds of people in a leotard makes me (ALMOST) want to vomit. In my brain, the entire show will be ignored by everyone as they stare intently at my midsection and say in their heads (or out loud, if they're really rude) "tsk tsk, what a NASTY looking roll of fat from that poor woman's C-section! And look! Her left thigh seems to be growing fatter as we sit here!!!" Not to mention that 3/4 of the women in the cast are a) under 20 and b) the size of my arm. You got us couple-a mommas up there feeling like dancing water buffalos next to this army of no-inner-organ, rib-cage removed pixies. BLEGGGGH.
So, show ends April 23. April 25 I leave at 7 am for Charlotte for 4 days for work. I also recently agreed to serve on the communications committee for the March of Dimes, which requires 7:30 am monthly meetings, and am on the board of the theater group that is performing Chorus Line which means being involved with fundrasing/begging, events, marketing, getting the word out to local media, etc.
With my beloved group of online mommy friends (many of whom I recently met in real life!!! I will have to get into that later. See? promise of at least one more post), I am doing two "gift exchanges" and "secret mommy" relationships. I have Molly's 2nd birthday coming up -- which I vowed to "scale WAY back" from last year's 60 person gala -- right now I am at 42 and counting. My mother in law's birthday is this Sunday; and oh yeah, yours truly celebrates her Baskin Robbins birthday next Thursday on opening night of the show (get it? Baskin Robbins? 31-derful? ha ha ha. sigh. It should be 31-der why I feel like ass all the time and have wrinkles and saggy parts -- oh yeah, I'm OLD. Guess that won't fit neatly on those little pink plastic taste spoons though).
I don't expect sympathy from anyone -- I bring this on myself and have always been involved in a million and a half things. But what gets to me is that oh yeah -- wake up , captain selfish -- you have this little person named Molly who might, perhaps, like to see her mother at some point. Daddy is also in school, a schedule which is about to get a LOT worse before it gets better, so in theory, one or the other of us is always a single parent and more often than THAT, Molly is shuffled around between her very patient/willing grandparents and her aunt who indulge my silly penchant for theater and Daddy's penchant for wanting to make a lot of money to support Mommy's ridiculous spending on things like, oh, CARPET that isn't the color of ground salmon with giant spills all over it (including the Kathy memorial wine stain); FURNITURE that isn't faded, torn, puked on, shedded on, deflated and deformed; and oh yeah, a $10 GARBAGE CAN THAT DOESN'T HAVE A GAPING HOLE IN THE SIDE OF IT!!!!!! (Dan's response -- "I can't believe you're throwing that out. We can PATCH it you know.")
ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Anyway, if you've been wondering where I've been and what I've been doing, there you have it. Talk to you all in 2007.
I recently did some online poll thing where it tells you what animal you will be reincarnated as in your next life. I think I was actually a cat -- which I guess means I am bored with humanity, selfish, reclusive, arrogant and deathly allergic to myself. Yep, that pretty much sums me up. I think, though, that I more accurately will be reincarnated as an octopus as payback for the fact that I spend all of my waking hours and many of my sleeping ones multitasking like a freak. My coworker told me the other day, "Wow, I really wish I did as much 'stuff' as you did. But then I think -- wow. Just HEARING about your life makes me tired."
It makes me tired and cranky and overcommitted and overstressed and guilty. Right now in addition to full time work (well, "full time" -- ha ha, considering how often I am online googling things that I saw the night before on Discovery Health channel or debating whether or not Molly REALLY needs that $84 pair of baby Ralph Lauren capris...by the way, NO.), I am performing in "A Chorus Line" -- which I have to tell you is the WORST show for a woman's self esteem EVER. Just the thought of standing in front of hundreds of people in a leotard makes me (ALMOST) want to vomit. In my brain, the entire show will be ignored by everyone as they stare intently at my midsection and say in their heads (or out loud, if they're really rude) "tsk tsk, what a NASTY looking roll of fat from that poor woman's C-section! And look! Her left thigh seems to be growing fatter as we sit here!!!" Not to mention that 3/4 of the women in the cast are a) under 20 and b) the size of my arm. You got us couple-a mommas up there feeling like dancing water buffalos next to this army of no-inner-organ, rib-cage removed pixies. BLEGGGGH.
So, show ends April 23. April 25 I leave at 7 am for Charlotte for 4 days for work. I also recently agreed to serve on the communications committee for the March of Dimes, which requires 7:30 am monthly meetings, and am on the board of the theater group that is performing Chorus Line which means being involved with fundrasing/begging, events, marketing, getting the word out to local media, etc.
With my beloved group of online mommy friends (many of whom I recently met in real life!!! I will have to get into that later. See? promise of at least one more post), I am doing two "gift exchanges" and "secret mommy" relationships. I have Molly's 2nd birthday coming up -- which I vowed to "scale WAY back" from last year's 60 person gala -- right now I am at 42 and counting. My mother in law's birthday is this Sunday; and oh yeah, yours truly celebrates her Baskin Robbins birthday next Thursday on opening night of the show (get it? Baskin Robbins? 31-derful? ha ha ha. sigh. It should be 31-der why I feel like ass all the time and have wrinkles and saggy parts -- oh yeah, I'm OLD. Guess that won't fit neatly on those little pink plastic taste spoons though).
I don't expect sympathy from anyone -- I bring this on myself and have always been involved in a million and a half things. But what gets to me is that oh yeah -- wake up , captain selfish -- you have this little person named Molly who might, perhaps, like to see her mother at some point. Daddy is also in school, a schedule which is about to get a LOT worse before it gets better, so in theory, one or the other of us is always a single parent and more often than THAT, Molly is shuffled around between her very patient/willing grandparents and her aunt who indulge my silly penchant for theater and Daddy's penchant for wanting to make a lot of money to support Mommy's ridiculous spending on things like, oh, CARPET that isn't the color of ground salmon with giant spills all over it (including the Kathy memorial wine stain); FURNITURE that isn't faded, torn, puked on, shedded on, deflated and deformed; and oh yeah, a $10 GARBAGE CAN THAT DOESN'T HAVE A GAPING HOLE IN THE SIDE OF IT!!!!!! (Dan's response -- "I can't believe you're throwing that out. We can PATCH it you know.")
ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Anyway, if you've been wondering where I've been and what I've been doing, there you have it. Talk to you all in 2007.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
SING!
I just wanted to see if I could get anyone to faint by updating not once, but twice - in ONE WEEK!! That should give you some indication of how bored I am with the riveting world of housing industry public relations. Be still, my beating interest rate.
In true typecasting, I have been given the role of "Kristine," the dancer who can't sing to save her life, in the upcoming production of "A Chorus Line" with my new theater (or "theatre" if you're truly cultured. Or pretentious.) group, Destination Theatre. The downside of this role is that it is a pretty nice-sized role, with lots of dialogue, a whole song, and plenty of dancing -- thereby likely to land me in divorce court from a time commitment standpoint. The upside is that I will be doing the show with my bestest little short person mommy friend Rachel, all four-feet-ten-inches (oh, 11, fine) of her. Should be a blast! Kristine's signature piece is aptly titled "SING!" which, of course, she cannot do. I can at least sing (a little), but it will be a huge relief for me to actually squawk and shriek on stage with the goal of being as BAD as possible. I still have to dance well, unfortunately, which as I found out during auditions would be an easier feat if I wasn't Captain Carbs-a-lot, actually got some exercise other than toting the 23 lb screaming eel up and down the steps, could wear a leotard without looking like a sausage factory accident, and had any of the flexibility left that made me such a popular party trick in my earlier days (reference: bachelorette party photo of foot over head, wearing 3 inch heels and feeling no pain. Til the next day at least)
That's all the news for now. Molly is feeling better but has lately turned into a control freak on issues like diaper changes, eating, clothes changing, crayon picking, page turning...basically anything that occurs during waking moments. It's a blast. Why do we want to do this again??? DO we want to do this again?!?! EEK!
(NOTE: THIS IS IN NO WAY AN INDICATION OF A CHANGE IN CURRENT CHILD COUNT. WE WILL ISSUE AN ALL POINTS BULLETIN SHOULD THE CHILD QUANTITY EXCEED THE CURRENT LIMIT OF 'ONE' IN OUR HOUSEHOLD. PLEASE RESUME NORMAL BREATHING PATTERNS.)
In true typecasting, I have been given the role of "Kristine," the dancer who can't sing to save her life, in the upcoming production of "A Chorus Line" with my new theater (or "theatre" if you're truly cultured. Or pretentious.) group, Destination Theatre. The downside of this role is that it is a pretty nice-sized role, with lots of dialogue, a whole song, and plenty of dancing -- thereby likely to land me in divorce court from a time commitment standpoint. The upside is that I will be doing the show with my bestest little short person mommy friend Rachel, all four-feet-ten-inches (oh, 11, fine) of her. Should be a blast! Kristine's signature piece is aptly titled "SING!" which, of course, she cannot do. I can at least sing (a little), but it will be a huge relief for me to actually squawk and shriek on stage with the goal of being as BAD as possible. I still have to dance well, unfortunately, which as I found out during auditions would be an easier feat if I wasn't Captain Carbs-a-lot, actually got some exercise other than toting the 23 lb screaming eel up and down the steps, could wear a leotard without looking like a sausage factory accident, and had any of the flexibility left that made me such a popular party trick in my earlier days (reference: bachelorette party photo of foot over head, wearing 3 inch heels and feeling no pain. Til the next day at least)
That's all the news for now. Molly is feeling better but has lately turned into a control freak on issues like diaper changes, eating, clothes changing, crayon picking, page turning...basically anything that occurs during waking moments. It's a blast. Why do we want to do this again??? DO we want to do this again?!?! EEK!
(NOTE: THIS IS IN NO WAY AN INDICATION OF A CHANGE IN CURRENT CHILD COUNT. WE WILL ISSUE AN ALL POINTS BULLETIN SHOULD THE CHILD QUANTITY EXCEED THE CURRENT LIMIT OF 'ONE' IN OUR HOUSEHOLD. PLEASE RESUME NORMAL BREATHING PATTERNS.)
Monday, February 13, 2006
Greetings from Snotsville USA
Yeah, I really have that boring of a life that my child's bodily excretions are worthy of their own blog entry. While it seems that the little monster had had some kind of snotty nose for about the last 3 years, including time in utero, she got cough-y and phlegm-y enough today that even DADDY agreed she needed to go to the doctor (something that usually requires "proof" of serious illness such as an amputated limb or second head sprouting). Turns out she has RSV and a double ear infection (sounds like something you would order at Starbucks -- "Make mine a half-caf RSV with a double E/I, please"). We are lucky this didn't happen last year -- RSV would likely have landed her in the hospital as an infant. It stands for Respiratory Syncitial Virus (look at me throwin' around all the medical terminology, now that I am considering nursing school!) and is a cousin of pneumonia that causes wheezing, coughing and all sorts of unpleasantness, including, apparently, the desire to take all solid foods and shove them up mommy's butt or somewhere equally far away from said child's mouth.
She has been surviving on Pediasure, chocolate milk, drinkable yogurt and daddy's homemade milkshakes. Yesterday, Daddy aka Captain Child Psychology aka I Worked In A Daycare Don't Question My Parenting WHERE IS MY SUPERSUIT, WOMAN?!?! decided that we needed to start boosting Molly's protein intake since her idea of well rounded nutrition is eating solely from the F group - French Fries, Frosty, Fingers (chicken), etc. Sooooo, daddy mixed up vanilla ice cream, nestle quik, bananas, and...A RAW EGG. Yes, because apparently Molly has unbeknowst to me become a champion weightlifter and will soon be trading in her cheerios for Creatine. BLEGGGGGGGGH. Needless to say I was none too amused with Daddy's efforts, as thoughtful as they were to get her to try to eat more. Sigh. He is home with her today and tomorrow while she rests up from the RSV, so I am secretly hoping that maybe a few nice rounds of less-than-well-formed poop might repay daddy for the raw egg favor.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
I've Been Tagged So I Have to Stop Slacking
Thank God for Natalie, who tagged me with these questions, thus saving me from having to come up with an original idea. Original ideas have been in short supply 'round these parts so I will happily post some responses to her "four questions" and then pass them along to anyone who's left who hasn't already been tagged!
Four jobs that I have had:
1) game technician and merchandise rep at Sea World of Ohio, working in Shamu's Happy Harbor and perfecting my Skee-ball skills (college summers)
2) public relations coordinator for the Detroit Tigers for four years (experience: priceless. number of drinks paid for by gazillionaire athletes: priceless. salary, broken down per hour: priceless. I mean, LITERALLY priceless. As in too small to assign a price to.)
3) public relations human sacrifice, horrible Midwest calls-itself-luxury-but-really-overpriced-crap apartment management company (job stress = prime suspect for why I had a baby, 9 weeks early, while on a business trip 1000 miles from home)
4) dance teacher (high school)
Four movies that I can watch over and over again:
1) Major League (but NOT Major League II or III or however many unfortunate sequels now exist)
2) A League of Their Own (sensing a trend here?)
3) Rudy (naw, I really don't like sports. Really.)
4) Clueless (it's just damn funny)
Four places I have lived:
1) Pittsburgh, PA
2) Cleveland, OH
3) South Bend, IN
4) Detroit, MI
Yes, indeedy, all I need is Gary, IN and I will have hit all of the Midwest's finest armpit cities
Four TV shows I love to watch:
1) Lost
2) Anything and everything on Discovery Health Channel
3) West Wing
4) Jack's Big Music Show (regardless of whether or not Molly is home)
4a) American Idol
4b) Dancing with the Stars
4c) I 4-C needing to stop watching so much bad TV
Four websites I read daily (or I at least check on daily):
1) Detroit News (detnews.com)
2) Babycenter.com
3) Msnbc.com (I am a news junkie)
4) A private site I cannot name for fear that the other members will hunt me down and fling rabid wet rodents at me
4a) ESPN.com
4b) Dooce.com (hil-a-ri-ous blogger)
Four places I have been on vacation:
1) Spain
2) The Bahamas
3) Hawaii (Maui, Kauai, Oahu)
4) Duck, NC (always one of my favorites)
Four favorite foods:
1) my nachos
2) Don Pablo's anything
3) anything Italian that doesn't involve olives
4) Brown sugar cinnamon pop tarts
Four places I'd rather be:
1) in bed, asleep
2) with Molly, not at work :(
3) Hawaii, if I could get there without the whole airplane flight thing
4) in bed, asleep
Four people to tag:
Sheesh, who's left???
Did anyone tag Kiki?
How about Kafra?
Angel?
Everyone else I can think of has already been hit with this one!!
Four jobs that I have had:
1) game technician and merchandise rep at Sea World of Ohio, working in Shamu's Happy Harbor and perfecting my Skee-ball skills (college summers)
2) public relations coordinator for the Detroit Tigers for four years (experience: priceless. number of drinks paid for by gazillionaire athletes: priceless. salary, broken down per hour: priceless. I mean, LITERALLY priceless. As in too small to assign a price to.)
3) public relations human sacrifice, horrible Midwest calls-itself-luxury-but-really-overpriced-crap apartment management company (job stress = prime suspect for why I had a baby, 9 weeks early, while on a business trip 1000 miles from home)
4) dance teacher (high school)
Four movies that I can watch over and over again:
1) Major League (but NOT Major League II or III or however many unfortunate sequels now exist)
2) A League of Their Own (sensing a trend here?)
3) Rudy (naw, I really don't like sports. Really.)
4) Clueless (it's just damn funny)
Four places I have lived:
1) Pittsburgh, PA
2) Cleveland, OH
3) South Bend, IN
4) Detroit, MI
Yes, indeedy, all I need is Gary, IN and I will have hit all of the Midwest's finest armpit cities
Four TV shows I love to watch:
1) Lost
2) Anything and everything on Discovery Health Channel
3) West Wing
4) Jack's Big Music Show (regardless of whether or not Molly is home)
4a) American Idol
4b) Dancing with the Stars
4c) I 4-C needing to stop watching so much bad TV
Four websites I read daily (or I at least check on daily):
1) Detroit News (detnews.com)
2) Babycenter.com
3) Msnbc.com (I am a news junkie)
4) A private site I cannot name for fear that the other members will hunt me down and fling rabid wet rodents at me
4a) ESPN.com
4b) Dooce.com (hil-a-ri-ous blogger)
Four places I have been on vacation:
1) Spain
2) The Bahamas
3) Hawaii (Maui, Kauai, Oahu)
4) Duck, NC (always one of my favorites)
Four favorite foods:
1) my nachos
2) Don Pablo's anything
3) anything Italian that doesn't involve olives
4) Brown sugar cinnamon pop tarts
Four places I'd rather be:
1) in bed, asleep
2) with Molly, not at work :(
3) Hawaii, if I could get there without the whole airplane flight thing
4) in bed, asleep
Four people to tag:
Sheesh, who's left???
Did anyone tag Kiki?
How about Kafra?
Angel?
Everyone else I can think of has already been hit with this one!!
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
#69 is so annoying it gets its own post
The 69th most annoying thing about the holidays, that is - get your mind out of the gutter!!!
DAMN TO HELL the sadistic people who designed the packaging on Fisher Price/Playskool toys. Seriously, these $19.99 toys are more secure than the Hope diamond. Fisher Price has this line of toys called "Little People" -- I'm not sure how the PC Patrol lets them get away with that one, considering that kids will grow up thinking that anyone who is referred to as a "little person" is a 2-inch plastic molded thing with its legs fused together and a big hole in its bottom.
But anyway, there are all kinds of Little People playsets - circus, zoo train, airport, school, playground, maximum security prison compound, etc. etc. We got Molly a few more of these for Christmas, as they are currently her favorite toys in the world. As she opened up the Little People zoo train present, her eyes lit up and she immediately wanted it "opa. OPA!!!" (not Greek flaming cheese, but "open" in Molly-ese). So, Mommy rips open the outer box to find...another box. A box to which every single piece of the 14 piece set is securely anchored by way of titanium-reinforced steel twist-ties, which are then scotch-taped over just in case the 45 twists in each steel tie come undone. Yes, apparently scotch tape is the end-all product in security.
The zoo train is secured to the packaging in multiple locations. The train wheels are separately secured to each other so they don't spin. The little animals on the train are separately SEPARATELY secured, with twist ties around their bodies and I am not kidding you, I think even through their eye sockets.
What, exactly, are the engineering gods at the toy company trying to prevent here? Individual pieces somehow jumping out of the plastic-encased packaging? Thieves who only want to steal the random toy giraffe here and there? Wow, gee, I guess now they'd steal THE WHOLE PACKAGE, because it's easier to diffuse a bomb than get any pieces out of this toy set. Apparently, also, no one at the toy company has children or they would understand the severe danger created for parents who are incapable of ripping through the steel twist-ties and protective plastic, cardboard and omnipresent scotch tape fast enough for the satisfaction of a very impatient toddler who wants to start jamming those cute little animals in her mouth and running the doggy over with the train NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
DAMN TO HELL the sadistic people who designed the packaging on Fisher Price/Playskool toys. Seriously, these $19.99 toys are more secure than the Hope diamond. Fisher Price has this line of toys called "Little People" -- I'm not sure how the PC Patrol lets them get away with that one, considering that kids will grow up thinking that anyone who is referred to as a "little person" is a 2-inch plastic molded thing with its legs fused together and a big hole in its bottom.
But anyway, there are all kinds of Little People playsets - circus, zoo train, airport, school, playground, maximum security prison compound, etc. etc. We got Molly a few more of these for Christmas, as they are currently her favorite toys in the world. As she opened up the Little People zoo train present, her eyes lit up and she immediately wanted it "opa. OPA!!!" (not Greek flaming cheese, but "open" in Molly-ese). So, Mommy rips open the outer box to find...another box. A box to which every single piece of the 14 piece set is securely anchored by way of titanium-reinforced steel twist-ties, which are then scotch-taped over just in case the 45 twists in each steel tie come undone. Yes, apparently scotch tape is the end-all product in security.
The zoo train is secured to the packaging in multiple locations. The train wheels are separately secured to each other so they don't spin. The little animals on the train are separately SEPARATELY secured, with twist ties around their bodies and I am not kidding you, I think even through their eye sockets.
What, exactly, are the engineering gods at the toy company trying to prevent here? Individual pieces somehow jumping out of the plastic-encased packaging? Thieves who only want to steal the random toy giraffe here and there? Wow, gee, I guess now they'd steal THE WHOLE PACKAGE, because it's easier to diffuse a bomb than get any pieces out of this toy set. Apparently, also, no one at the toy company has children or they would understand the severe danger created for parents who are incapable of ripping through the steel twist-ties and protective plastic, cardboard and omnipresent scotch tape fast enough for the satisfaction of a very impatient toddler who wants to start jamming those cute little animals in her mouth and running the doggy over with the train NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
#79 and counting...
Yes, my Scrooginess continues. Here we go...
#79. GETTING REAR ENDED IN YOUR OWN SUBDIVISION because the DAMN HOMEOWNER'S ASSOCIATION that you pay $100 A YEAR to for NO CONCEIVABLE REASON other than to PLANT SOME DAMN TULIPS can't come up with the funds to hire someone to CLEAR THE DAMN STREETS which contain 3 INCHES OF SOLID ICE!!!!!!!!
#78. Shopping with a 19 month old. Anywhere. Anytime. But especially in stores so overpacked with merchandise that the aisles are .00001 micrometers wider than the sides of your shopping cart, and said 19 month old is capable of pulling down breakable items with both arms simultaneously
#77. Creepy friends-of-friends-of-friends at holiday parties
#76. Spending 5x more per person on everyone in your department at work than they spent on you
#75. Waiting to get your annual review at work (today) which will dictate whether #76 is really an issue, or whether you no longer care because you have a nice bonus in your pocket
#74. RADIO STATIONS THAT INSIST ON PLAYING "MY FAVORITE THINGS" FROM "THE SOUND OF MUSIC" AND TRYING TO PASS IT OFF AS A CHRISTMAS SONG. IT'S NOT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Yes it mentions snowflakes and packages but it also mentions dog bites, attacking bees, depression, rain, and SCHNITZEL WITH NOODLES. NOT CHRISTMAS!!!!!
#73. Any Christmas songs sung by Celine Dion, Mariah Carey, any female pop star from 1985-present (please leave Christmas song singing to Karen Carpenter and good ol' boys like Burl Ives and Johnny I-still-can't-accept-that-he's-gay-Mathis)
#72. The silver candy ball thingies that people use to decorate Christmas cookies. I don't trust 'em. God didn't intend for us to eat silver balls. Interpret that as you wish, perverts.
#71. Eggnog. Bleggh.
#70. Shutting your scarf end in the car door and not realizing it til you start walking awayyyyaggggkkkkkk.
#79. GETTING REAR ENDED IN YOUR OWN SUBDIVISION because the DAMN HOMEOWNER'S ASSOCIATION that you pay $100 A YEAR to for NO CONCEIVABLE REASON other than to PLANT SOME DAMN TULIPS can't come up with the funds to hire someone to CLEAR THE DAMN STREETS which contain 3 INCHES OF SOLID ICE!!!!!!!!
#78. Shopping with a 19 month old. Anywhere. Anytime. But especially in stores so overpacked with merchandise that the aisles are .00001 micrometers wider than the sides of your shopping cart, and said 19 month old is capable of pulling down breakable items with both arms simultaneously
#77. Creepy friends-of-friends-of-friends at holiday parties
#76. Spending 5x more per person on everyone in your department at work than they spent on you
#75. Waiting to get your annual review at work (today) which will dictate whether #76 is really an issue, or whether you no longer care because you have a nice bonus in your pocket
#74. RADIO STATIONS THAT INSIST ON PLAYING "MY FAVORITE THINGS" FROM "THE SOUND OF MUSIC" AND TRYING TO PASS IT OFF AS A CHRISTMAS SONG. IT'S NOT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Yes it mentions snowflakes and packages but it also mentions dog bites, attacking bees, depression, rain, and SCHNITZEL WITH NOODLES. NOT CHRISTMAS!!!!!
#73. Any Christmas songs sung by Celine Dion, Mariah Carey, any female pop star from 1985-present (please leave Christmas song singing to Karen Carpenter and good ol' boys like Burl Ives and Johnny I-still-can't-accept-that-he's-gay-Mathis)
#72. The silver candy ball thingies that people use to decorate Christmas cookies. I don't trust 'em. God didn't intend for us to eat silver balls. Interpret that as you wish, perverts.
#71. Eggnog. Bleggh.
#70. Shutting your scarf end in the car door and not realizing it til you start walking awayyyyaggggkkkkkk.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
More things I hate about winter
Where did I leave off? #89?
#89. HELLACIOUS Christmas decoration displays -- newsflash to my neighbors, there was no giant inflatable holy penguin at the manger. The three wise men did NOT bring white twig-made light up reindeer along. Mickey Mouse and friends did not ride the Xmas train into Bethlehem to pay their respects. And BABY JESUS SHOULD NOT PLUG IN TO AN EXTENSION CORD FOR BETTER NIGHTTIME VIEWING!!!!!!!!!!!!
#88. People who mix big Christmas light bulbs with small ones (DAN), or people who mix the twinkly motion lights with still ones
#87. You know those white-light "net" decorations that are supposed to be thrown over a bush for easy installation? THE BUSH SHOULD NOT BE 14 TIMES THE SIZE OF THE LIGHT NET, giving the impression that the shrubbery has a bad toupee
#86. Boring, trite, grammatically inept Christmas card letters that mention either surgical procedures, pets with infestations of any kind, or the progress of raising the next Einstein because your kid accidentally, once, put the square block through the square hole in the shape sorter instead of trying to shove it up his nose
#85. People who get offended because their kid is singing Christmas carols as part of the third grade holiday/winter pageant
#84. People who get offended because their kid ISN'T singing Christmas carols as part of the third grade holiday/winter pageant (hey, unless the kid is singing "God Bless the KKK" or "I'm Just a Jew at Christmas" from South Park, chances are they don't really care WHAT songs they're singing -- they're more interested in flinging boogers at their classmate on stage)
#83. Lingering illnesses that last from Labor Day til the spring thaw
#82. Trees that insist on standing at a 33 degree angle despite anchoring them to the tree stand, the wall and the floor joists
#81. Pumping gas while wearing gloves, which inevitably STINK for the next three days, although the alternative of getting frostbite while fueling your car makes smelly gloves a slightly better option
#80. Second-rate Christmas specials. Dear networks: please stick to the classics. We don't need to see "Charlie Brown's Adopted Cousin's Christmas Wish"
#89. HELLACIOUS Christmas decoration displays -- newsflash to my neighbors, there was no giant inflatable holy penguin at the manger. The three wise men did NOT bring white twig-made light up reindeer along. Mickey Mouse and friends did not ride the Xmas train into Bethlehem to pay their respects. And BABY JESUS SHOULD NOT PLUG IN TO AN EXTENSION CORD FOR BETTER NIGHTTIME VIEWING!!!!!!!!!!!!
#88. People who mix big Christmas light bulbs with small ones (DAN), or people who mix the twinkly motion lights with still ones
#87. You know those white-light "net" decorations that are supposed to be thrown over a bush for easy installation? THE BUSH SHOULD NOT BE 14 TIMES THE SIZE OF THE LIGHT NET, giving the impression that the shrubbery has a bad toupee
#86. Boring, trite, grammatically inept Christmas card letters that mention either surgical procedures, pets with infestations of any kind, or the progress of raising the next Einstein because your kid accidentally, once, put the square block through the square hole in the shape sorter instead of trying to shove it up his nose
#85. People who get offended because their kid is singing Christmas carols as part of the third grade holiday/winter pageant
#84. People who get offended because their kid ISN'T singing Christmas carols as part of the third grade holiday/winter pageant (hey, unless the kid is singing "God Bless the KKK" or "I'm Just a Jew at Christmas" from South Park, chances are they don't really care WHAT songs they're singing -- they're more interested in flinging boogers at their classmate on stage)
#83. Lingering illnesses that last from Labor Day til the spring thaw
#82. Trees that insist on standing at a 33 degree angle despite anchoring them to the tree stand, the wall and the floor joists
#81. Pumping gas while wearing gloves, which inevitably STINK for the next three days, although the alternative of getting frostbite while fueling your car makes smelly gloves a slightly better option
#80. Second-rate Christmas specials. Dear networks: please stick to the classics. We don't need to see "Charlie Brown's Adopted Cousin's Christmas Wish"
Thursday, December 08, 2005
101 Things I Hate About Winter
I am not going to post all 101 here today. But I think I can come up with that many in the coming weeks.
#101. Trying to put mittens on a toddler who has the attention span of a short-wired eel
#100. SCARF SMELL - the nasty phenomenon that occurs from breathing in your own snot smell when having to wear a scarf over your nose and mouth lest #99 occur...
#99. Your drippy, runny nose instantly freezing into little snotsicles as soon as you set foot outside
#98. Having to get into a freezing cold car that warms up 1 mile before you reach your final destination
#97. MORON MICHIGAN DRIVERS who act like every flake of snow is the first damn one they've EVER seen
#96. Having to wipe up your hardwood and tile floors EVERY day because your husband is incapable of understanding that his size 46 gigundo shoes track in enough snow and slush for the dog to take a bath in
#95. Untangling Christmas lights that you tangled yourself last year because it was so damn cold when you took them down that all you wanted to do was throw them in the box and deal with them next year
#94. Pumping gas in any temperature below 55 degrees
#93. The fact that taking your car to a car wash is rendered pointless 4 seconds after you pull back onto the street and the salt/grime/slush spray re-cakes your vehicle instantaneously
#92. Going from being a very tan white girl to a very very VERY WHITE white girl whose sexy dark hair now looks very goth next to her very white dry flaky skin
#91. The inability to EVER have warm toes, especially in bed
#90. The 45 minutes it takes to get you and your child dressed to go the 10 feet from the front door to the car in the morning, especially when said child thinks that mittens, hats, coats and all other forms of protective, warm clothing are restrictive torture devices that should be removed, hurled or chewed on as promptly as possible
Please, feel free to send me ideas for 89 more things you hate about winter. To any of my readers in warm weather areas who wistfully say "gosh, I WISH it would snow here...snow is so pretty...blah blah blah" and all that other crap that Harry Connick-esque carols have drummed it your brains over the years -- I have one thing to say:
PLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLB :P
#101. Trying to put mittens on a toddler who has the attention span of a short-wired eel
#100. SCARF SMELL - the nasty phenomenon that occurs from breathing in your own snot smell when having to wear a scarf over your nose and mouth lest #99 occur...
#99. Your drippy, runny nose instantly freezing into little snotsicles as soon as you set foot outside
#98. Having to get into a freezing cold car that warms up 1 mile before you reach your final destination
#97. MORON MICHIGAN DRIVERS who act like every flake of snow is the first damn one they've EVER seen
#96. Having to wipe up your hardwood and tile floors EVERY day because your husband is incapable of understanding that his size 46 gigundo shoes track in enough snow and slush for the dog to take a bath in
#95. Untangling Christmas lights that you tangled yourself last year because it was so damn cold when you took them down that all you wanted to do was throw them in the box and deal with them next year
#94. Pumping gas in any temperature below 55 degrees
#93. The fact that taking your car to a car wash is rendered pointless 4 seconds after you pull back onto the street and the salt/grime/slush spray re-cakes your vehicle instantaneously
#92. Going from being a very tan white girl to a very very VERY WHITE white girl whose sexy dark hair now looks very goth next to her very white dry flaky skin
#91. The inability to EVER have warm toes, especially in bed
#90. The 45 minutes it takes to get you and your child dressed to go the 10 feet from the front door to the car in the morning, especially when said child thinks that mittens, hats, coats and all other forms of protective, warm clothing are restrictive torture devices that should be removed, hurled or chewed on as promptly as possible
Please, feel free to send me ideas for 89 more things you hate about winter. To any of my readers in warm weather areas who wistfully say "gosh, I WISH it would snow here...snow is so pretty...blah blah blah" and all that other crap that Harry Connick-esque carols have drummed it your brains over the years -- I have one thing to say:
PLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLB :P
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Say what?
Molly had a delightful time trick-or-treating last night and even managed to keep her bunny ears/hood thing on the whole time! (This photo is from our "Zoo Boo" excursion, which unfortunately came on the same day as our run-face-first-into-a-magazine-rack-excursion -- hence the lovely cut on her face. I have come to the conclusion that we are not going to get photos of this child without some kind of scratch, bruise, cut, welt or other evidence of self-inflicted injury until she graduates from college.)
We kept trying to get her to say "trick or treat" but more often than not the only thing she would say is "woooof! wooooof!" regardless of whether or not any actual woof woofs -- er, dogs -- were within 20 miles. Only a handful of people said "hey, what a handsome little guy" or other such gender-specific commentary, which is understandable since what little hair she has was covered up by said bunny ears/hood thingy.
She was (obviously) a bunny this year, and conveniently has added bunny -- "Buh." pause. pause. pause. Go-make-a-peanut-butter-sandwich, put-the-dog-out, fold-some-laundry, come back. pause. "NEEEEEE" to her vocabulary.
For those of you who have not had the pleasure of carrying on a conversation with a 17 month old who can only say about 15 things, I thought I'd give everyone a lesson in Moll-ese in case you find yourself in a babysitting situation without a translator.
Here are her words, quasi-words, animal sounds and whatnot as of today -- 17 months and a couple of days old:
- Mama, which has recently been replaced with:
- Mom-MEEEEEE
- Dada
- Daddy
- dog (DOHHHH!)
- duck
- HI. HI. HI. HIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHI. To anything, everything, everyone, anyone, and no one, 25 hours a day.
- bye and bye-bye
- no. No. NO. NONONONONONONONO
- busssssssss
- uh oh (this is a step up - her first words were uh oh, but for a long time it was just "UH.")
- Melmo (Elmo, the red little Muppet cretin)
- Ernie (ehhhhhh-neeeeee! AKA any Muppet who is not Elmo.)
- Grover (Roh-ruh)
- Bunny (see above)
- Mickey (mouse) -- Mih.....meeeeeeeee
- Baby (baaaaay-beeeeeeeee. NO WE ARE NOT HAVING ANOTHER ONE, SIMMER DOWN, SHE PLAYS WITH BABY DOLLS AT SCHOOL. Sheesh. When she starts saying "wretched morning sickness &^#%!@&#% then you people can start worrying.)
- MAAAAAAOOOOOOOOO! MAAAAAAAAOOOOOO! (this is what a kitty says, by the way. LOUDLY. OFTEN. EXCLAMATIONPOINTILY.
- thank you (dat doooooo)
- Bahavagasha rerrfnassssh babablllllldldldldldd maooo maoooo? HI!!! (translation: I am channeling the spirit of a Bangladeshi goat herder from the year 1634. I eat cats. Hi!)
Friday, October 28, 2005
Bloglets
I have no real topic today so I thought I'd treat you all (all 4 of you still checking this, although I seem to have fallen into a once-a-week-or-less rut) to some random little bloglets....
* Boo hiss on the outcome of the World Series. I was pulling hard for the Astros. Now we enter the black hole of my life, the time between the end of the World Series and the start of Spring Training (yes, on my planet, Spring Training is important enough to deserve capitalization). Once college football ends I REALLY have issues. You know those two days a year - before and after the baseball All Star Game, the only two days where there are NO professional sports played whatsoever??? Worst two days of my year. It's like tomboy PMS.
* Molly's new phrase this week is "dat doo," which for those who do not speak babble-ease, means "thank you" -- I know this because she says it after you hand her something (or she gives you something -- whatever, we'll get the etiquette logistics worked out later). Apparently at daycare this week she has been talking up a storm -- she said "snack" yesterday -- great, now maybe sometime she will want to EAT food rather than just talk about it.
* Molly has been on an eating strike lately, and when you only weigh 22 lbs, "you've lost weight!" is NOT a positive comment. She has a bizarre affinity for pizza and garlic bread though, and has been wolfing down Ensure shakes every morning to add calories. So far her caloric intake each day is about 800 calories, and her output is about 167, 453. NEVER. SITS. STILL. Unless Melmo is on TV.
* Halloween is quickly approaching, and we have a very uncooperative little bunny on our hands who does NOT want to wear her cute bunny ear hood/headpiece thing under any circumstances. We took her to Zoo Boo last weekend to go trick or treating at the Detroit Zoo, and she spent much of the time waddling around like an overstuffed marshmallow since 1) she did NOT want that hood on and 2) she did NOT want ride in the wagon we lugged down 5 flights of parking lot stairs -- she wanted to WALK, thank you, and also did NOT want to hold our hands. None of the scenarios we presented to her were met with much enthusiasm (i.e., be carried, ride in the wagon, or hold our hand - ewww, responsible parenting sucks!!!) so we'll see how we do with the rest of our trick or treat adventures. And to those parents who think that taking young children out for trick or treating is a devious, underhanded way for parents to eat candy while exploiting their children --
Yup. Sure is. Payback time from our own childhoods. I think my dad convinced me that I HATED Snickers bars as a kid, solely so he could swipe them out of my pumpkin pail. If anyone talks to Molly, pass along that she can't STAND peanut butter cups and M&Ms. Please reiterate that dislike early and often so it's stuck in her head for all eternity, and I am 13,000 calories richer because of it this weekend.
I told you I had nothing interesting to write about, so I'll sign off. Went to the doctor yesterday and yes, I am still certifiably crazy -- nope, they haven't developed a cure for irrational emotional nutcakiness yet. Damn.
* Boo hiss on the outcome of the World Series. I was pulling hard for the Astros. Now we enter the black hole of my life, the time between the end of the World Series and the start of Spring Training (yes, on my planet, Spring Training is important enough to deserve capitalization). Once college football ends I REALLY have issues. You know those two days a year - before and after the baseball All Star Game, the only two days where there are NO professional sports played whatsoever??? Worst two days of my year. It's like tomboy PMS.
* Molly's new phrase this week is "dat doo," which for those who do not speak babble-ease, means "thank you" -- I know this because she says it after you hand her something (or she gives you something -- whatever, we'll get the etiquette logistics worked out later). Apparently at daycare this week she has been talking up a storm -- she said "snack" yesterday -- great, now maybe sometime she will want to EAT food rather than just talk about it.
* Molly has been on an eating strike lately, and when you only weigh 22 lbs, "you've lost weight!" is NOT a positive comment. She has a bizarre affinity for pizza and garlic bread though, and has been wolfing down Ensure shakes every morning to add calories. So far her caloric intake each day is about 800 calories, and her output is about 167, 453. NEVER. SITS. STILL. Unless Melmo is on TV.
* Halloween is quickly approaching, and we have a very uncooperative little bunny on our hands who does NOT want to wear her cute bunny ear hood/headpiece thing under any circumstances. We took her to Zoo Boo last weekend to go trick or treating at the Detroit Zoo, and she spent much of the time waddling around like an overstuffed marshmallow since 1) she did NOT want that hood on and 2) she did NOT want ride in the wagon we lugged down 5 flights of parking lot stairs -- she wanted to WALK, thank you, and also did NOT want to hold our hands. None of the scenarios we presented to her were met with much enthusiasm (i.e., be carried, ride in the wagon, or hold our hand - ewww, responsible parenting sucks!!!) so we'll see how we do with the rest of our trick or treat adventures. And to those parents who think that taking young children out for trick or treating is a devious, underhanded way for parents to eat candy while exploiting their children --
Yup. Sure is. Payback time from our own childhoods. I think my dad convinced me that I HATED Snickers bars as a kid, solely so he could swipe them out of my pumpkin pail. If anyone talks to Molly, pass along that she can't STAND peanut butter cups and M&Ms. Please reiterate that dislike early and often so it's stuck in her head for all eternity, and I am 13,000 calories richer because of it this weekend.
I told you I had nothing interesting to write about, so I'll sign off. Went to the doctor yesterday and yes, I am still certifiably crazy -- nope, they haven't developed a cure for irrational emotional nutcakiness yet. Damn.
Friday, October 21, 2005
Banned Books
I am stealing this post directly and shamelessly from my friend Heather's blog -- the 100 most banned and challenged books from 1990 through 2000.
The ones in bold are the ones I've read. Some of the things people ban or challenge are just incredible. I mean seriously. "How to Eat Fried Worms"????? Who does this offend?!?! Are fried worms too tempting for those on Atkins that we should remove all traces of them from our kids' bookshelves in an attempt to cure childhood obesity? Would "How to Eat Zero-Trans-Fat Worms" be more acceptable?!?
"Anastasia Krupnik"??? Seriously???? I have no problem banning Howard Stern's "Private Parts," only because he is a moron and no one should have to be subjected to reading anything about him. But anyway, I hope this encourages others to steal this list and evaluate their reading history as well...Sadly, for an English major, there are many I should read/should have read already -- kind of pathetic that half of the banned books I've read on this list are courtesy of Stephen King or Judy Blume.
1. Scary Stories (Series) by Alvin Schwartz
2. Daddy’s Roommate by Michael Willhoite
3. I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou
4. The Chocolate War by Robert Cormier
5. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain
6. Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
7. Harry Potter (Series) by J.K. Rowling
8. Forever by Judy Blume
9. Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson
10. Alice (Series) by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor
11. Heather Has Two Mommies by Leslea Newman
12. My Brother Sam is Dead by James Lincoln Collier and Christopher Collier
13. The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
14. The Giver by Lois Lowry
15. It’s Perfectly Normal by Robie Harris
16. Goosebumps (Series) by R.L. Stine
17. A Day No Pigs Would Die by Robert Newton Peck
18. The Color Purple by Alice Walker
19. Sex by Madonna
20. Earth’s Children (Series) by Jean M. Auel
21. The Great Gilly Hopkins by Katherine Paterson
22. A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle
23. Go Ask Alice by Anonymous
24. Fallen Angels by Walter Dean Myers
25. In the Night Kitchen by Maurice Sendak
26. The Stupids (Series) by Harry Allard
27. The Witches by Roald Dahl
28. The New Joy of Gay Sex by Charles Silverstein
29. Anastasia Krupnik (Series) by Lois Lowry
30. The Goats by Brock Cole
31. Kaffir Boy by Mark Mathabane
32. Blubber by Judy Blume
33. Killing Mr. Griffin by Lois Duncan
34. Halloween ABC by Eve Merriam
35. We All Fall Down by Robert Cormier
36. Final Exit by Derek Humphry
37. The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood (Mel's note: this is FANTASTIC)
38. Julie of the Wolves by Jean Craighead George
39. The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison
40. What’s Happening to my Body? Book for Girls: A Growing-Up Guide for Parents & Daughters by Lynda Madaras
41.To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
42. Beloved by Toni Morrison
43. The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton
44. The Pigman by Paul Zindel
45. Bumps in the Night by Harry Allard
46. Deenie by Judy Blume
47. Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes
48. Annie on my Mind by Nancy Garden
49. The Boy Who Lost His Face by Louis Sachar
50. Cross Your Fingers, Spit in Your Hat by Alvin Schwartz
51. A Light in the Attic by Shel Silverstein
52. Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
53. Sleeping Beauty Trilogy by A.N. Roquelaure (Anne Rice)
54. Asking About Sex and Growing Up by Joanna Cole
55. Cujo by Stephen King
56. James and the Giant Peach by Roald Dahl
57. The Anarchist Cookbook by William Powell
58. Boys and Sex by Wardell Pomeroy
59. Ordinary People by Judith Guest
60. American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis
61. What’s Happening to my Body? Book for Boys: A Growing-Up Guide for Parents & Sons by Lynda Madaras
62. Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret by Judy Blume
63. Crazy Lady by Jane Conly
64. Athletic Shorts by Chris Crutcher
65. Fade by Robert Cormier
66. Guess What? by Mem Fox
67. The House of Spirits by Isabel Allende
68. The Face on the Milk Carton by Caroline Cooney
69. Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut
70. Lord of the Flies by William Golding
71. Native Son by Richard Wright
72. Women on Top: How Real Life Has Changed Women’s Fantasies by Nancy Friday
73. Curses, Hexes and Spells by Daniel Cohen
74. Jack by A.M. Homes
75. Bless Me, Ultima by Rudolfo A. Anaya
76. Where Did I Come From? by Peter Mayle
77. Carrie by Stephen King
78. Tiger Eyes by Judy Blume
79. On My Honor by Marion Dane Bauer
80. Arizona Kid by Ron Koertge
81. Family Secrets by Norma Klein
82. Mommy Laid An Egg by Babette Cole
83. The Dead Zone by Stephen King
84. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain
85. Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison
86. Always Running by Luis Rodriguez
87. Private Parts by Howard Stern
88. Where’s Waldo? by Martin Hanford
89. Summer of My German Soldier by Bette Greene
90. Little Black Sambo by Helen Bannerman
91. Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett
92. Running Loose by Chris Crutcher
93. Sex Education by Jenny Davis
94. The Drowning of Stephen Jones by Bette Greene
95. Girls and Sex by Wardell Pomeroy
96. How to Eat Fried Worms by Thomas Rockwell
97. View from the Cherry Tree by Willo Davis Roberts
98. The Headless Cupid by Zilpha Keatley Snyder
99. The Terrorist by Caroline Cooney
100. Jump Ship to Freedom by James Lincoln Collier and Christopher Collier
The ones in bold are the ones I've read. Some of the things people ban or challenge are just incredible. I mean seriously. "How to Eat Fried Worms"????? Who does this offend?!?! Are fried worms too tempting for those on Atkins that we should remove all traces of them from our kids' bookshelves in an attempt to cure childhood obesity? Would "How to Eat Zero-Trans-Fat Worms" be more acceptable?!?
"Anastasia Krupnik"??? Seriously???? I have no problem banning Howard Stern's "Private Parts," only because he is a moron and no one should have to be subjected to reading anything about him. But anyway, I hope this encourages others to steal this list and evaluate their reading history as well...Sadly, for an English major, there are many I should read/should have read already -- kind of pathetic that half of the banned books I've read on this list are courtesy of Stephen King or Judy Blume.
1. Scary Stories (Series) by Alvin Schwartz
2. Daddy’s Roommate by Michael Willhoite
3. I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou
4. The Chocolate War by Robert Cormier
5. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain
6. Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
7. Harry Potter (Series) by J.K. Rowling
8. Forever by Judy Blume
9. Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson
10. Alice (Series) by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor
11. Heather Has Two Mommies by Leslea Newman
12. My Brother Sam is Dead by James Lincoln Collier and Christopher Collier
13. The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
14. The Giver by Lois Lowry
15. It’s Perfectly Normal by Robie Harris
16. Goosebumps (Series) by R.L. Stine
17. A Day No Pigs Would Die by Robert Newton Peck
18. The Color Purple by Alice Walker
19. Sex by Madonna
20. Earth’s Children (Series) by Jean M. Auel
21. The Great Gilly Hopkins by Katherine Paterson
22. A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle
23. Go Ask Alice by Anonymous
24. Fallen Angels by Walter Dean Myers
25. In the Night Kitchen by Maurice Sendak
26. The Stupids (Series) by Harry Allard
27. The Witches by Roald Dahl
28. The New Joy of Gay Sex by Charles Silverstein
29. Anastasia Krupnik (Series) by Lois Lowry
30. The Goats by Brock Cole
31. Kaffir Boy by Mark Mathabane
32. Blubber by Judy Blume
33. Killing Mr. Griffin by Lois Duncan
34. Halloween ABC by Eve Merriam
35. We All Fall Down by Robert Cormier
36. Final Exit by Derek Humphry
37. The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood (Mel's note: this is FANTASTIC)
38. Julie of the Wolves by Jean Craighead George
39. The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison
40. What’s Happening to my Body? Book for Girls: A Growing-Up Guide for Parents & Daughters by Lynda Madaras
41.To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
42. Beloved by Toni Morrison
43. The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton
44. The Pigman by Paul Zindel
45. Bumps in the Night by Harry Allard
46. Deenie by Judy Blume
47. Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes
48. Annie on my Mind by Nancy Garden
49. The Boy Who Lost His Face by Louis Sachar
50. Cross Your Fingers, Spit in Your Hat by Alvin Schwartz
51. A Light in the Attic by Shel Silverstein
52. Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
53. Sleeping Beauty Trilogy by A.N. Roquelaure (Anne Rice)
54. Asking About Sex and Growing Up by Joanna Cole
55. Cujo by Stephen King
56. James and the Giant Peach by Roald Dahl
57. The Anarchist Cookbook by William Powell
58. Boys and Sex by Wardell Pomeroy
59. Ordinary People by Judith Guest
60. American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis
61. What’s Happening to my Body? Book for Boys: A Growing-Up Guide for Parents & Sons by Lynda Madaras
62. Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret by Judy Blume
63. Crazy Lady by Jane Conly
64. Athletic Shorts by Chris Crutcher
65. Fade by Robert Cormier
66. Guess What? by Mem Fox
67. The House of Spirits by Isabel Allende
68. The Face on the Milk Carton by Caroline Cooney
69. Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut
70. Lord of the Flies by William Golding
71. Native Son by Richard Wright
72. Women on Top: How Real Life Has Changed Women’s Fantasies by Nancy Friday
73. Curses, Hexes and Spells by Daniel Cohen
74. Jack by A.M. Homes
75. Bless Me, Ultima by Rudolfo A. Anaya
76. Where Did I Come From? by Peter Mayle
77. Carrie by Stephen King
78. Tiger Eyes by Judy Blume
79. On My Honor by Marion Dane Bauer
80. Arizona Kid by Ron Koertge
81. Family Secrets by Norma Klein
82. Mommy Laid An Egg by Babette Cole
83. The Dead Zone by Stephen King
84. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain
85. Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison
86. Always Running by Luis Rodriguez
87. Private Parts by Howard Stern
88. Where’s Waldo? by Martin Hanford
89. Summer of My German Soldier by Bette Greene
90. Little Black Sambo by Helen Bannerman
91. Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett
92. Running Loose by Chris Crutcher
93. Sex Education by Jenny Davis
94. The Drowning of Stephen Jones by Bette Greene
95. Girls and Sex by Wardell Pomeroy
96. How to Eat Fried Worms by Thomas Rockwell
97. View from the Cherry Tree by Willo Davis Roberts
98. The Headless Cupid by Zilpha Keatley Snyder
99. The Terrorist by Caroline Cooney
100. Jump Ship to Freedom by James Lincoln Collier and Christopher Collier
Thursday, October 20, 2005
Experts Announce New, Highly-Effective Method of Birth Control!!
It's called "stay at home with your sick child." I guarantee it'll knock the potential future reproductive vibes right outta your procreation tool of choice (it is effective for both male AND female users).
Molly has been sick since, roughly, the 4th of July -- just had a sinus infection and a week later ended up with a nasty virus of some sort that decided to manifest itself in her lower eyelid. What? You didn't know this was possible? Oh, indeedy. You learn all kinds of wonderful medical mysteries when your child is ill.
The other night she woke up crying, and when I touched her, the mommy-hand-thermometer instantly registered in the "DANGER, WILL ROBINSON!!!" range. I took her temp using the handy dandy ear thermometer, which at any other time she likes to chew on - we knew she was legitimately sick when she didn't try to gnaw on the probe or club one of us to death with it.
104.3, which is too close to the end of the radio dial for my comfort. We knew we had a dreaded task ahead of us, one that would require all of our colletive fortitude, strength and cunning.
We had to use the rectal thermometer.
For those of you who don't have kids (and therefore probably still harbor a desire to have sex again, at some point), ear thermometers are accurate, but rectal thermometers apparently are the pinnacle of precision. Children who still chew on crib slats like a deranged beaver cannot be trusted to hold a poison-filled glass mercury stick in their mouths, so to get the most accurate reading and see if that 104.3 is really HIGHER than you think, thus necessitating a trip to the ER or at least a panicked phone call to Grandma, you have to resort to the ol' butt stick method.
The "What to Expect: The Toddler Years" mush-covered lovey version of how to do this is like: "Gently insert one inch (ONE INCH!?!?! The kid is 33 inches tall!!! You are not sticking something 1/33 of the way into ME via that particular orifice!!!!) of the thermometer into the rectum, using a generous amount of lubricant (yes, because that makes the baby MUCH less likely to want to disintegrate you with its laser baby death ray eyes)...hold for TWO MINUTES, applying gentle pressure to the buttocks to keep the thermometer in place."
TWO MINUTES?!?!?!!? This is a child who will not stand still and watch (M)Elmo for more than 11 seconds at a time. And you want me to shove a cold stick of glass covered in Vaseline a fair amount of space into her butt, knowing WHAT COMES OUT OF SAID BUTT at any point in time, and HOLD IT THERE for TWO MINUTES?!?!?!?!?! The book suggests singing to the child, or rubbing its back.
At at time like this, when you are trying not to lose your grip on the little glass stick of death and accidentally ram it far enough in to cause another belly button protrusion, you are NOT thinking "hmmm, I wonder what that 4th verse of 'If You're Happy And You Know It' is??" I can tell you it is NOT "If you're happy and you know it, stick a thermometer up your ass and THAT'LL wipe the smile off your damn face!!!!" Although it should be.
Molly was sick enough that honestly, she really didn't put up that much of a fight during this ordeal. Dan and I were more traumatized than she was. Over the next 3 days she developed an eye infection and coughed up half a lung (which I'm sure she subsequently fed to the dog, as regurgitated Molly food is one of his favorites), and was forced to stay home from daycare for three whole days.
That's three whole days of Mommy and/or Daddy watching endless amounts of "Franklin" and "Little Bear" and "Regular Bear" and a whole lot of other bears, and Sesame Street, and Disney movies, and so on and so on. None of that sounds like a particularly bad gig in and of itself, but throw in a snot-covered, temper-tantrum-throwing, pick-me-up-no-put-me-DOWN, food throwing, Mommy-slapping little firecracker whose sleep schedule is off and who just feels YUCKY, DAMMIT, and Mommy's magic wand can't fix the problem -- well, it's not a good time.
This morning when Daddy and Mommy AND Molly left the house, on our way back to work and daycare as usual, I am certain that Murphy breathed a huge sigh of relief to have the house back to himself and no one chasing him around trying to wipe their drippy nose on his tail. Molly wasn't very nice to him, either.
Molly has been sick since, roughly, the 4th of July -- just had a sinus infection and a week later ended up with a nasty virus of some sort that decided to manifest itself in her lower eyelid. What? You didn't know this was possible? Oh, indeedy. You learn all kinds of wonderful medical mysteries when your child is ill.
The other night she woke up crying, and when I touched her, the mommy-hand-thermometer instantly registered in the "DANGER, WILL ROBINSON!!!" range. I took her temp using the handy dandy ear thermometer, which at any other time she likes to chew on - we knew she was legitimately sick when she didn't try to gnaw on the probe or club one of us to death with it.
104.3, which is too close to the end of the radio dial for my comfort. We knew we had a dreaded task ahead of us, one that would require all of our colletive fortitude, strength and cunning.
We had to use the rectal thermometer.
For those of you who don't have kids (and therefore probably still harbor a desire to have sex again, at some point), ear thermometers are accurate, but rectal thermometers apparently are the pinnacle of precision. Children who still chew on crib slats like a deranged beaver cannot be trusted to hold a poison-filled glass mercury stick in their mouths, so to get the most accurate reading and see if that 104.3 is really HIGHER than you think, thus necessitating a trip to the ER or at least a panicked phone call to Grandma, you have to resort to the ol' butt stick method.
The "What to Expect: The Toddler Years" mush-covered lovey version of how to do this is like: "Gently insert one inch (ONE INCH!?!?! The kid is 33 inches tall!!! You are not sticking something 1/33 of the way into ME via that particular orifice!!!!) of the thermometer into the rectum, using a generous amount of lubricant (yes, because that makes the baby MUCH less likely to want to disintegrate you with its laser baby death ray eyes)...hold for TWO MINUTES, applying gentle pressure to the buttocks to keep the thermometer in place."
TWO MINUTES?!?!?!!? This is a child who will not stand still and watch (M)Elmo for more than 11 seconds at a time. And you want me to shove a cold stick of glass covered in Vaseline a fair amount of space into her butt, knowing WHAT COMES OUT OF SAID BUTT at any point in time, and HOLD IT THERE for TWO MINUTES?!?!?!?!?! The book suggests singing to the child, or rubbing its back.
At at time like this, when you are trying not to lose your grip on the little glass stick of death and accidentally ram it far enough in to cause another belly button protrusion, you are NOT thinking "hmmm, I wonder what that 4th verse of 'If You're Happy And You Know It' is??" I can tell you it is NOT "If you're happy and you know it, stick a thermometer up your ass and THAT'LL wipe the smile off your damn face!!!!" Although it should be.
Molly was sick enough that honestly, she really didn't put up that much of a fight during this ordeal. Dan and I were more traumatized than she was. Over the next 3 days she developed an eye infection and coughed up half a lung (which I'm sure she subsequently fed to the dog, as regurgitated Molly food is one of his favorites), and was forced to stay home from daycare for three whole days.
That's three whole days of Mommy and/or Daddy watching endless amounts of "Franklin" and "Little Bear" and "Regular Bear" and a whole lot of other bears, and Sesame Street, and Disney movies, and so on and so on. None of that sounds like a particularly bad gig in and of itself, but throw in a snot-covered, temper-tantrum-throwing, pick-me-up-no-put-me-DOWN, food throwing, Mommy-slapping little firecracker whose sleep schedule is off and who just feels YUCKY, DAMMIT, and Mommy's magic wand can't fix the problem -- well, it's not a good time.
This morning when Daddy and Mommy AND Molly left the house, on our way back to work and daycare as usual, I am certain that Murphy breathed a huge sigh of relief to have the house back to himself and no one chasing him around trying to wipe their drippy nose on his tail. Molly wasn't very nice to him, either.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Finding Melmo
Sheesh, the pressure! I'm starting to feel like Marlin the clownfish in "Finding Nemo" -- "Hey, you're a clownfish? Say something funny!!"
Write something funny, WRITE SOMETHING, DAMMIT!!!! I didn't realize how many of my friends and loyal readers (all three of them) depend on this blog to entertain themselves during horrendously boring meetings and conference calls. Alright alright, I'll try to do better.
HALLELUJAH, we finally found something else Molly will eat for dinner besides chicken nuggets EVERY DAMN DAY OF THE WEEK PLEASE GOD MAKE THEM STOP HAUNTING MY DREAMS!!!!!!
Last night we had Noodles and Company for dinner because, well, it being a day that ends in "y" meant that I was not going to cook anything. I had my usual healthy staple, buttered noodles with parmesan and chicken, extra cheese thank you very much. Molly finally decided that pasta might not be such a bad thing (phew - I was starting to doubt she was mine. Thank God for the mother-daughter resemblance or people would REALLY wonder) and took a tentative bite of my greasy, butterific noodles.
And another.
And another.
Did I mention that in addition to signing for "more," she can now SAY "more"?? In the span of 15 minutes she ate half my bowl of noodles and yelled "more" so many times she sounded like a broken record of "Oliver."
Except that in "Oliver," the cute little urchin says very politely, "Please, sir, may I have some mohhhhr?" in a very proper British accent; and my cute little urchin says "MAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!" and points at the object of desire with more precision than a champion German shorthair on a duck hunt.
Her vocabulary has been growing by leaps and ba's lately, which is dangerous considering she is getting much more adept at parroting what people say and she does, unfortunately, live in a home where her two parents have spectacular linguistic range when watching sports -- none of it suitable for children under 25.
My friend Kathy could tell you all about this danger, as her little miss A was the delight of many a party as she was learning to talk, and her daddy yelled at a Michigan football player named McClintock who screwed up some play or another (as Michigan players are increasingly wont to do) -- "Way to go, McClinCOCK!!!!"
Miss A gleefully piped in, "Cock. COCK!!" and repeated this ad nauseum (fueled, no doubt, by the rest of the grownups who kept asking her to say it -- none of us parents yet at this point, so none of us realizing this behavior would one day come back to bite us in the ass. Butt. Heinie. See, I am incapable of censoring.)
Much to the dismay of several probably-much-better-at-this-than-me mommies I know and love, Molly loves to watch TV (specifically Sesame Street), and LOVES the Sesame Street characters. Of course, making Mommy want to put her head in a nutcracker and smash it to bits, her favorite Muppet is Elmo. Mommy wonders how she made it through her own entire childhood without this annoying pronounically challenged interloper popping up all over Sesame Street, but alas, he is now a regular fixture and, alas even more, (alasier?) he is firmly ingrained in Molly's limited vocabulary.
"Melmo. MELMO? MELMO!!!!!"
Sigh.
She is also a big fan of Ernie ("Heinie!") and Grover ("roh-rov?" not sure about that one yet), and -- gasp, horror or horrors, her favorite thing to play with at daycare? DOLLS. WHO IS THIS KID AND SERIOUSLY, HOW DID SHE COME FROM MY DNA?!?!?! Of course, every doll regardless of age or gender is "Baby."
To those who scoff at the notion of kids learning from TV, yesterday, while watching Sesame Street, the letter of the day was "B" and there was a segment where a big yellow schoolbus drove across the screen. Molly looked up at me and said "busssssss." Kind of in a tone like "God, you big dummy, see that thing?? It's a BUS. Catch up, mommy."
I thought maybe I was high from the chicken finger fumes so I ran to get her plastic school bus, sat it in front of her, and said "Molly, what's this?"
"BUSSSSSSS."
Well, thank God we can watch Jerome Bettis now and she'll know what to say.
I'm off -- I have to go find Melmo. Elmo. Nemo. My sanity. Whatever.
Write something funny, WRITE SOMETHING, DAMMIT!!!! I didn't realize how many of my friends and loyal readers (all three of them) depend on this blog to entertain themselves during horrendously boring meetings and conference calls. Alright alright, I'll try to do better.
HALLELUJAH, we finally found something else Molly will eat for dinner besides chicken nuggets EVERY DAMN DAY OF THE WEEK PLEASE GOD MAKE THEM STOP HAUNTING MY DREAMS!!!!!!
Last night we had Noodles and Company for dinner because, well, it being a day that ends in "y" meant that I was not going to cook anything. I had my usual healthy staple, buttered noodles with parmesan and chicken, extra cheese thank you very much. Molly finally decided that pasta might not be such a bad thing (phew - I was starting to doubt she was mine. Thank God for the mother-daughter resemblance or people would REALLY wonder) and took a tentative bite of my greasy, butterific noodles.
And another.
And another.
Did I mention that in addition to signing for "more," she can now SAY "more"?? In the span of 15 minutes she ate half my bowl of noodles and yelled "more" so many times she sounded like a broken record of "Oliver."
Except that in "Oliver," the cute little urchin says very politely, "Please, sir, may I have some mohhhhr?" in a very proper British accent; and my cute little urchin says "MAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!" and points at the object of desire with more precision than a champion German shorthair on a duck hunt.
Her vocabulary has been growing by leaps and ba's lately, which is dangerous considering she is getting much more adept at parroting what people say and she does, unfortunately, live in a home where her two parents have spectacular linguistic range when watching sports -- none of it suitable for children under 25.
My friend Kathy could tell you all about this danger, as her little miss A was the delight of many a party as she was learning to talk, and her daddy yelled at a Michigan football player named McClintock who screwed up some play or another (as Michigan players are increasingly wont to do) -- "Way to go, McClinCOCK!!!!"
Miss A gleefully piped in, "Cock. COCK!!" and repeated this ad nauseum (fueled, no doubt, by the rest of the grownups who kept asking her to say it -- none of us parents yet at this point, so none of us realizing this behavior would one day come back to bite us in the ass. Butt. Heinie. See, I am incapable of censoring.)
Much to the dismay of several probably-much-better-at-this-than-me mommies I know and love, Molly loves to watch TV (specifically Sesame Street), and LOVES the Sesame Street characters. Of course, making Mommy want to put her head in a nutcracker and smash it to bits, her favorite Muppet is Elmo. Mommy wonders how she made it through her own entire childhood without this annoying pronounically challenged interloper popping up all over Sesame Street, but alas, he is now a regular fixture and, alas even more, (alasier?) he is firmly ingrained in Molly's limited vocabulary.
"Melmo. MELMO? MELMO!!!!!"
Sigh.
She is also a big fan of Ernie ("Heinie!") and Grover ("roh-rov?" not sure about that one yet), and -- gasp, horror or horrors, her favorite thing to play with at daycare? DOLLS. WHO IS THIS KID AND SERIOUSLY, HOW DID SHE COME FROM MY DNA?!?!?! Of course, every doll regardless of age or gender is "Baby."
To those who scoff at the notion of kids learning from TV, yesterday, while watching Sesame Street, the letter of the day was "B" and there was a segment where a big yellow schoolbus drove across the screen. Molly looked up at me and said "busssssss." Kind of in a tone like "God, you big dummy, see that thing?? It's a BUS. Catch up, mommy."
I thought maybe I was high from the chicken finger fumes so I ran to get her plastic school bus, sat it in front of her, and said "Molly, what's this?"
"BUSSSSSSS."
Well, thank God we can watch Jerome Bettis now and she'll know what to say.
I'm off -- I have to go find Melmo. Elmo. Nemo. My sanity. Whatever.
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Addendum from yesterday....
I remembered some more songs that I routinely butcher.
Bobby Brown's "My Prerogative" -- "Don't get me wrong, I'm really not sick. Eagle chips is not my thing."
Well hell, they wouldn't be my thing either. I much prefer vulture chips. Eagle chips DO tend to make you a little nauseous.
Rage Against the Machine, AKA Rage Against Anything Intelligible -- "Bulls On Parade" -- "Rarry rarry rarry, with a pocket full of shells. Ra-rarry ra-ra-rarry, with a pocket full of shells." Sounds like Scooby Doo trying to sing about Sargeant Larry.
Pearl Jam -- "Can't Find the Velamints"
Bon Jovi -- "Livin' on a Prayer" -- for many years I sang "Gina wants to die of old age..." and -- frighteningly, I JUST LOOKED THIS UP -- did you know the lyrics are actually "working for her man, She brings home her pay for love...for love." ???? Well slap me upside the head with a deaf rubber chicken. Until 14 seconds ago I thought it was "Workin' for 'the man,' she's free to work back for love...for love" Hey, who knows? "The Man" can be very demanding!! And here all this time I thought he was pimpin' Gina, and Tommy just let him get away with it. Phew. So good to know the truth.
Bobby Brown's "My Prerogative" -- "Don't get me wrong, I'm really not sick. Eagle chips is not my thing."
Well hell, they wouldn't be my thing either. I much prefer vulture chips. Eagle chips DO tend to make you a little nauseous.
Rage Against the Machine, AKA Rage Against Anything Intelligible -- "Bulls On Parade" -- "Rarry rarry rarry, with a pocket full of shells. Ra-rarry ra-ra-rarry, with a pocket full of shells." Sounds like Scooby Doo trying to sing about Sargeant Larry.
Pearl Jam -- "Can't Find the Velamints"
Bon Jovi -- "Livin' on a Prayer" -- for many years I sang "Gina wants to die of old age..." and -- frighteningly, I JUST LOOKED THIS UP -- did you know the lyrics are actually "working for her man, She brings home her pay for love...for love." ???? Well slap me upside the head with a deaf rubber chicken. Until 14 seconds ago I thought it was "Workin' for 'the man,' she's free to work back for love...for love" Hey, who knows? "The Man" can be very demanding!! And here all this time I thought he was pimpin' Gina, and Tommy just let him get away with it. Phew. So good to know the truth.
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
There Goes My Hero...Sergeant Larry
For someone whose entire education and subsequent career have focused on language and communication, I have a frightening lack of comprehension when it comes to hearing and repeating song lyrics. Frightening, also, because of the sheer volume of song lyrics I KNOW - ranging from early broadway to whatever Kanye West is muttering through his latest jaw operation. If you could actually clear out the portion of my brain that contains obscure song titles, artists and lyrics from 1980-1990, I might actually be able to comprehend and store other useful knowledge -- like, math. Or logic.
But as it is, there is no room for such triviality in a mind cluttered with idiotic and usually completely inaccurate song lyrics. And while I can freely admit those songs whose lyrics escape me, I still sing them anyway -- loudly and proudly and wrongly and lots of other adverbs.
Hearing a Foo Fighters song in the car today reminded me of this affliction -- the song is "There Goes My Hero" -- and the line right after that in the chorus is "He's ordinary." Or so my husband says. But as we all know, enunciation is not cool when you are an alt-punk-quasi-mainstream-band-with-a-nonsensical name, so I firmly believe that what I am hearing are the correct words -- "There goes my he-rooooh, Sergeant Larry."
And then we have Bonnie Tyler's "Total Eclipse of the Heart," which for the last 20-odd years has contained the lyrics (at least in my head) "livin' in a pony keg and giving up sparks." All I can think of is a little electrified, short-circuited troll swimming around inside a shrunken beer container.
Abba's "Take a Chance On Me" -- why the hell would they be singing "Honey I'm still free?" I was like 5 when I first heard this song, so from there on out it has been "Ollie Oxen Free" and the song was, clearly, written about hide and seek.
Britney Spears' "Toxic" (yes, I own more than one Britney Spears album) -- "it's the taste of a poison paragraph"
There are some songs I can't hear without laughing -- Alanis Morrisette's "You Oughta Know," in which I DO know what she's saying, but it's far more amusing to think about "the cross-eyed bear that you gave to me" than the "cross I bear." Picturing a deformed carnival prize here.
From "Live and Let Die," the line "this ever changing world in which we live IN" makes my English major sensibilities want to ball up into the fetal position.
I'm sure there are a zillion more but for now, I need to go see if there's already a fan club started for sergeant Larry.
But as it is, there is no room for such triviality in a mind cluttered with idiotic and usually completely inaccurate song lyrics. And while I can freely admit those songs whose lyrics escape me, I still sing them anyway -- loudly and proudly and wrongly and lots of other adverbs.
Hearing a Foo Fighters song in the car today reminded me of this affliction -- the song is "There Goes My Hero" -- and the line right after that in the chorus is "He's ordinary." Or so my husband says. But as we all know, enunciation is not cool when you are an alt-punk-quasi-mainstream-band-with-a-nonsensical name, so I firmly believe that what I am hearing are the correct words -- "There goes my he-rooooh, Sergeant Larry."
And then we have Bonnie Tyler's "Total Eclipse of the Heart," which for the last 20-odd years has contained the lyrics (at least in my head) "livin' in a pony keg and giving up sparks." All I can think of is a little electrified, short-circuited troll swimming around inside a shrunken beer container.
Abba's "Take a Chance On Me" -- why the hell would they be singing "Honey I'm still free?" I was like 5 when I first heard this song, so from there on out it has been "Ollie Oxen Free" and the song was, clearly, written about hide and seek.
Britney Spears' "Toxic" (yes, I own more than one Britney Spears album) -- "it's the taste of a poison paragraph"
There are some songs I can't hear without laughing -- Alanis Morrisette's "You Oughta Know," in which I DO know what she's saying, but it's far more amusing to think about "the cross-eyed bear that you gave to me" than the "cross I bear." Picturing a deformed carnival prize here.
From "Live and Let Die," the line "this ever changing world in which we live IN" makes my English major sensibilities want to ball up into the fetal position.
I'm sure there are a zillion more but for now, I need to go see if there's already a fan club started for sergeant Larry.
Monday, September 26, 2005
Closet Tag
ARRRRRRRGH!!!!!! I had this whole post typed out and then did some funky computer illiterate thing to it and lost it. So now I have to START OVER with only the first 3-4 paragraphs able to be recovered. If this gets unfunny FAST, it's because I already used up my allotment of wit on the first draft. RASSIN FRASSIN!!!!!
Let me start off by saying yes, I realize I have become an immense slacker on this blog -- I guess I feel that if ya don't have anything funny/witty/sarcastic/brilliant to say, don't say anything at all -- so you can guess how exciting I have been for the last week or so. I believe I am still in the throes of "post-show letdown," the bleggggh feeling we all get immediately after the last cast party wraps up whenever we do a theater production and realize that yes, indeed, our real lives DID wait for us, and so did our laundry, dishes, child who has learned to throw a 95 MPH fastball/fastblock/fastjuicecup, spouse, job, etc. Rats.
So anyway, as I was contemplating which aspect of my run of the mill life to tackle as I ease back into trying to make my friends expel carbonated beverages out of their nasal passages at least once a day (or, if you're Rachel, far more often than that), I was informed by one of my imaginary online friends (I have a whole posse of them. They are scary) that I had been blog-tagged or something along those lines -- kind of like those "fill out this survey and tell us about yourself, then copy and paste it and send to your friends" things that everyone bitches about getting but everyone does anyway.
The purpose of this "blog tag" is to share information that will probably interest -- well, no one -- about your closet (your real, physical one -- not the psychological one that several people I know are stuck between the bifold doors of -- "Am I in? Out? Drunk? All of the above?")
I have been tagged by my cyber pal Tess -- http://archwords.blogspot.com. For the record, I don't know how to make it so you click on the name and it links to their site -- I will work on that later. One thing at a time, folks. Here we go:
Three Random Facts About My Closet:
1) The sliding mirrored doors are covered from ground level to 32 inches above ground level in a delightful blend of fingerprints, dog slobber and baby snot
2) There are four sections of closet in our bedroom -- three of them are mine, as are the two separate closets in the extra room
3) I hate the mirrored doors
Three Items I've Never Worn But Still Haven't Tossed:
1) A DKNY wool suit that is unlined and ITCHY
2) A black corduroy skirt from Arden B. that collects too much lint to be useful
3) A tighter-than-it-looks-on-the-hanger black skirt from Express that I try on every few months in the feeble hope that my ass and thighs will have STOPPED looking like Snausages being held against their will. No luck so far.
Three Items I'll Never Get Rid Of, No Matter How Ugly They Get:
1) The Notre Dame sweatshirt I got during my first visit to campus when I was a junior in high school, despite having more holes than the theory of intelligent design
2) My stretched out obnoxious orange Tigers sweatshirt
3) My Jay Bell/Pittsburgh Pirates authentic jersey circa 1991
Three Items People Wouldn't Expect To Find In My Closet:
1) Sensible shoes. I DO own some, I just don't choose to wear them
2) A Michigan cheerleading outfit
3) A fuzzy fleece mom-looking robe
Three items that made me go, "Oh Lord, what was I thinking?":
1) A tight wool-blend sweater from Ann Taylor -- makes a mockery of my non-cleavage AND IT'S WOOL, which I hate. Not sure why, at the time, I was convinced that particular blend of wool would be the first ever to not annoy the crap out of me. It wasn't.
2) Anything with a plunging neckline
3) A red mini-skirt suit from the Limited that would work on "Ally McBeal" but not in any real corporate setting unless I was the paid all-male happy hour entertainment
Three things that I have a surprising number of:
1) Suits -- 25 or 30? Despite the fact that I have not had a job that required wearing a suit every day since -- well -- ever. Guess I am prepared for a string of 25 interviews or funerals in a row.
2) Scarves, considering I only wear them during theater shows onstage
3) Shoes, although it doesn't surprise anyone to hear that. Probably 50-60 pairs.
Three dominant colors in my wardrobe:
1) Orange. Lots of it.
2) Black
3) Notre Dame
Three items that never fail to put me in a good mood whenever I wear them:
1) Great fitting jeans
2) One of my favorite sweaters on a 50 degree fall day
3) Suck-it-in brief thingies, which, along with a water bra, make all outfits look better and are the answer to "how can you EAT like that and still be that size???"
Three people I will tag:
1)Heather because she needs a kick in the blogging booty
2)Aerin although she has much better things to be doing right now -- like, having a child -- than blogging about her closets
3)Kara -- because she is funny and probably has some weird skeletons in there
Let me start off by saying yes, I realize I have become an immense slacker on this blog -- I guess I feel that if ya don't have anything funny/witty/sarcastic/brilliant to say, don't say anything at all -- so you can guess how exciting I have been for the last week or so. I believe I am still in the throes of "post-show letdown," the bleggggh feeling we all get immediately after the last cast party wraps up whenever we do a theater production and realize that yes, indeed, our real lives DID wait for us, and so did our laundry, dishes, child who has learned to throw a 95 MPH fastball/fastblock/fastjuicecup, spouse, job, etc. Rats.
So anyway, as I was contemplating which aspect of my run of the mill life to tackle as I ease back into trying to make my friends expel carbonated beverages out of their nasal passages at least once a day (or, if you're Rachel, far more often than that), I was informed by one of my imaginary online friends (I have a whole posse of them. They are scary) that I had been blog-tagged or something along those lines -- kind of like those "fill out this survey and tell us about yourself, then copy and paste it and send to your friends" things that everyone bitches about getting but everyone does anyway.
The purpose of this "blog tag" is to share information that will probably interest -- well, no one -- about your closet (your real, physical one -- not the psychological one that several people I know are stuck between the bifold doors of -- "Am I in? Out? Drunk? All of the above?")
I have been tagged by my cyber pal Tess -- http://archwords.blogspot.com. For the record, I don't know how to make it so you click on the name and it links to their site -- I will work on that later. One thing at a time, folks. Here we go:
Three Random Facts About My Closet:
1) The sliding mirrored doors are covered from ground level to 32 inches above ground level in a delightful blend of fingerprints, dog slobber and baby snot
2) There are four sections of closet in our bedroom -- three of them are mine, as are the two separate closets in the extra room
3) I hate the mirrored doors
Three Items I've Never Worn But Still Haven't Tossed:
1) A DKNY wool suit that is unlined and ITCHY
2) A black corduroy skirt from Arden B. that collects too much lint to be useful
3) A tighter-than-it-looks-on-the-hanger black skirt from Express that I try on every few months in the feeble hope that my ass and thighs will have STOPPED looking like Snausages being held against their will. No luck so far.
Three Items I'll Never Get Rid Of, No Matter How Ugly They Get:
1) The Notre Dame sweatshirt I got during my first visit to campus when I was a junior in high school, despite having more holes than the theory of intelligent design
2) My stretched out obnoxious orange Tigers sweatshirt
3) My Jay Bell/Pittsburgh Pirates authentic jersey circa 1991
Three Items People Wouldn't Expect To Find In My Closet:
1) Sensible shoes. I DO own some, I just don't choose to wear them
2) A Michigan cheerleading outfit
3) A fuzzy fleece mom-looking robe
Three items that made me go, "Oh Lord, what was I thinking?":
1) A tight wool-blend sweater from Ann Taylor -- makes a mockery of my non-cleavage AND IT'S WOOL, which I hate. Not sure why, at the time, I was convinced that particular blend of wool would be the first ever to not annoy the crap out of me. It wasn't.
2) Anything with a plunging neckline
3) A red mini-skirt suit from the Limited that would work on "Ally McBeal" but not in any real corporate setting unless I was the paid all-male happy hour entertainment
Three things that I have a surprising number of:
1) Suits -- 25 or 30? Despite the fact that I have not had a job that required wearing a suit every day since -- well -- ever. Guess I am prepared for a string of 25 interviews or funerals in a row.
2) Scarves, considering I only wear them during theater shows onstage
3) Shoes, although it doesn't surprise anyone to hear that. Probably 50-60 pairs.
Three dominant colors in my wardrobe:
1) Orange. Lots of it.
2) Black
3) Notre Dame
Three items that never fail to put me in a good mood whenever I wear them:
1) Great fitting jeans
2) One of my favorite sweaters on a 50 degree fall day
3) Suck-it-in brief thingies, which, along with a water bra, make all outfits look better and are the answer to "how can you EAT like that and still be that size???"
Three people I will tag:
1)
2)
3)
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