Over the past few days, with Cutezilla teething pretty badly, I have on numerous occasions cursed the legal community for their position that tranquilizer guns should not be used on young children. Well, up until I had a moment of realization. The scenario went a little something like this:
CUTEZILLA, halfway through her third hour of screaming: "WAAAAAAHHHH!!! WHAAH!!!! WHAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!"
HUBBY: "What is it, sweetheart? Do you want a cracker? How about some milk?"
CUTEZILLA: "WAAAAHHH!!! WHAAH!!!! WHAAH!!!! WHAAAHHH!!!"
HUBBY: "Yogurt? Cheese? Juice???"
CUTEZILLA: "WAAAAHHH!!! WHAAH!!!! WHAAH!!!! WHAAAHHH!!!"
HUBBY: "Are you tired? Are you hungry? What do you want? TV? American Idol???"
CUTEZILLA: "WAAAAHHH!!! WHAAH!!!! WHAAH!!!! WHAAAHHH!!!"
HUBBY: "ARGH!!!!?! I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!!!"
THUMP THUMP THUMP!
CUTEZILLA: "WHAAA...Whaahh..wha....zzzzzz....."
HUBBY: "Oh thank God. Finally some silen--"
WIFEY, Entering: "Honey? Did you go through the mail yet? I've asked you four times to look at this bill, now, and it's still here, exactly where I left it for you the last time I mentioned it. Is that my gym ID on the bureau??? Did you put it there??? I've been looking for this thing for a month now--"
HUBBY'S EYE TWITCHES.
WIFEY: "How many times have I told you not to move my stuff!!?! I can't find anything when you--"
HUBBY: "ARGH!!!!?! I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!!!"
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP!
WIFEY: "Was that a tranq gun??? Where the hell did... did you... get a... zzzzz...."
HUBBY: "Oh thank God. Finally some silence."
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Monday, February 23, 2009
Random Pictures!
Seriously, why won't she let me do this to her again???
Ava helped put away the dishes a few days ago. Too bad they were dirty!
Overheard at B&N Tonight...
MOM: Okay, we need to find out where the Dr. Seuss books are.
KID: But mooOOOoommm, I don't want a Dr. Seuss book!
Mom: Well, that's just TOO BAD, because YOU DON'T HAVE A CHOICE!
---------------------
My friend and I laughed until we almost cried. The mom really sounded like this was a life or death matter, and a Dr. Seuss book was critical somehow.
I'm sort of hoping I missed something, though, like the kid failed the Hooked on Phonics course and was doing independent study or something...
KID: But mooOOOoommm, I don't want a Dr. Seuss book!
Mom: Well, that's just TOO BAD, because YOU DON'T HAVE A CHOICE!
---------------------
My friend and I laughed until we almost cried. The mom really sounded like this was a life or death matter, and a Dr. Seuss book was critical somehow.
I'm sort of hoping I missed something, though, like the kid failed the Hooked on Phonics course and was doing independent study or something...
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Project Post!
Okay, so I've been getting some good things done lately. The first item was a diaper cake for a friend of mine's baby shower. I loved the one I had had at my shower (thanks again Torie!) so I thought I'd try one myself! I thought it turned out pretty well, actually. No idea how the shipping treated it though...
These were a couple of bracelets I made for my little niece and my soon-to-be-niece! (My brother-in-law is getting married to a girl who has a little one the same age as his little one.)
These were a couple of bracelets I made for my little niece and my soon-to-be-niece! (My brother-in-law is getting married to a girl who has a little one the same age as his little one.)
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Art Projects Are Deadly
My daughter colored today at her Parent's Day Out program... and I got a paper cut. I was carrying her, and she decided she was getting DOWN, and while I was juggling her, it swiped across my wrist, and now it looks like I tried to off myself.
This thing stings too. All freaking day, and probably tomorrow, too. It keeps rubbing against the new bracelet I got for Valentine's Day (THANK YOU, BABY!!!) but I don't want to take the thing off, so with my luck, it'll get infected and somehow I'll end us with a tetanus shot, I'm sure. Leprosy, if I'm really unlucky. And I don't even have any cool pink camouflage bandaids in the house.
If any of you question that line of thought with the leprosy, you might want to check the blog title again, because nowhere does it say, "Memoirs of Someone Who's Got Their S**t Together," or "Memoirs of a Girl With Her Head on Really Straight." Nope. Afraid not. Mostly I started my blog as a place to let my crazy out, without scaring the living bejeezus out of my neighbors. It's also a nice buffer zone for my friends who can't quite handle ALL the crazy.
I'm also really exhausted today, and I'm pretty sure blogging about how proud I am of doing the folding I should have done over two weeks ago could be construed as, well, SAD. But it's true. I did finally get it done. Three days short of three weeks to get it done, too.
However, I did throw out four or five months worth of old coupons and filed away all of our bills from last year, so I feel pretty productive today. Since Cutezilla was at her daycare program, I didn't want to waste it all at the gym, so... I had myself a little party. Just me and the laundry. I cranked up the music, and spent over two hours hopping around like an idiot in the living room, howling my heart out to Sir Mix-A-Lot, The Monkees, The Bangles, Santana, Chubby Checker, Godsmack, Harry Belafonte, and Gwen Stefani, among others. Yeah, it's an odd mix.
It was wonderful! I hate to say this, because I spent last week feeling like the worst mother ever, and this does nothing to help that out... but... if one day a week feels like a vacation, then kindergarten must be like EDEN. Seriously for the last few days, my beautiful little daughter and I have done nothing but scream and argue with each other. Some feat, considering her vocabulary is a handful of spoken words, and some sign language and hand gestures she's put together herself. I feel terrible, though, not enjoying every minute of this short time when she's small and adorable and learning so fast. But today, aside from letting me know exactly how much she hates being confined in the car seat, we had a pretty enjoyable day, for which I am immensely grateful.
But back to where we started: so if her art projects are dangerous now, with just paper and a crayon, what happens when she gets to use actual tools, like scissors, a hole puncher, or God forbid, a hot glue gun. I just hope the house survives.
This thing stings too. All freaking day, and probably tomorrow, too. It keeps rubbing against the new bracelet I got for Valentine's Day (THANK YOU, BABY!!!) but I don't want to take the thing off, so with my luck, it'll get infected and somehow I'll end us with a tetanus shot, I'm sure. Leprosy, if I'm really unlucky. And I don't even have any cool pink camouflage bandaids in the house.
If any of you question that line of thought with the leprosy, you might want to check the blog title again, because nowhere does it say, "Memoirs of Someone Who's Got Their S**t Together," or "Memoirs of a Girl With Her Head on Really Straight." Nope. Afraid not. Mostly I started my blog as a place to let my crazy out, without scaring the living bejeezus out of my neighbors. It's also a nice buffer zone for my friends who can't quite handle ALL the crazy.
I'm also really exhausted today, and I'm pretty sure blogging about how proud I am of doing the folding I should have done over two weeks ago could be construed as, well, SAD. But it's true. I did finally get it done. Three days short of three weeks to get it done, too.
However, I did throw out four or five months worth of old coupons and filed away all of our bills from last year, so I feel pretty productive today. Since Cutezilla was at her daycare program, I didn't want to waste it all at the gym, so... I had myself a little party. Just me and the laundry. I cranked up the music, and spent over two hours hopping around like an idiot in the living room, howling my heart out to Sir Mix-A-Lot, The Monkees, The Bangles, Santana, Chubby Checker, Godsmack, Harry Belafonte, and Gwen Stefani, among others. Yeah, it's an odd mix.
It was wonderful! I hate to say this, because I spent last week feeling like the worst mother ever, and this does nothing to help that out... but... if one day a week feels like a vacation, then kindergarten must be like EDEN. Seriously for the last few days, my beautiful little daughter and I have done nothing but scream and argue with each other. Some feat, considering her vocabulary is a handful of spoken words, and some sign language and hand gestures she's put together herself. I feel terrible, though, not enjoying every minute of this short time when she's small and adorable and learning so fast. But today, aside from letting me know exactly how much she hates being confined in the car seat, we had a pretty enjoyable day, for which I am immensely grateful.
But back to where we started: so if her art projects are dangerous now, with just paper and a crayon, what happens when she gets to use actual tools, like scissors, a hole puncher, or God forbid, a hot glue gun. I just hope the house survives.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Nap Defense 101: The Nap Feint or Nap Fake-Out
*Editor's Note: I take no responsibility for the content of this post, nor do I condone the use of information included herein. Read at your own risk.
The Nap Feint or The Nap Fake-Out is first step to basic Nap Defense. Kids and babies still forced to undergo this tortuous process known as "The Nap" would be well-advised to start taking notes. The Nap Fake-Out, while still in its evolution stage, continues to be my strongest strategy for avoiding The Nap.
Step 1: Before Naptime, follow your normal procedures. Eat, play, eat more, poop. Whatever you do, don't let anyone onto your plan. Just business as usual.
Step 2: Around Naptime, when the parental units beginning to institute Nap Enforcement, make sure you start at a location other than your crib. This is critical. Pretend to close your eyes, just as you would during any other normal day. Should you happen to be in the car, feel free to let your head loll to one side or the other. Drooling is encouraged. When the Parental Units have been fooled into thinking that you are in fact asleep, they will then move you to your normal NapTime Location. Just before they have the satisfaction and relief of placing you in said NapTime Location, begin screaming as you open your eyes and arch your back upwards while flailing your arms and legs in whatever direction available.
Step 3: Continue screaming. This is the most arduous part of the entire process. But keep faith, my brothers and sisters, and remain strong, because if you keep at it, your Parental Units should surrender in just over an hour and freedom shall be yours!
At time of publication, this happens to be my second week of full implementation and my own Mother Unit looks somewhat like a zombie from a B-movie. Any given whine or cry from yours truly sends her into a frenzy that any baby would be proud of. She is currently at my beck and call, and will continue to be until I deem otherwise, as long as Operation Nap Avoidance is in place. While the Father Unit is not as exposed to the procedure, it seems that the state of the Mother Unit has a strong impact on the state of the Father Unit as well. It keeps their nerves frayed and their minds easily influenceable.
I say to you again, my brothers and sisters under the yoke of The Nap, take back your lives! Keep the faith! Freedom can be ours!
--Cutezilla
The Nap Feint or The Nap Fake-Out is first step to basic Nap Defense. Kids and babies still forced to undergo this tortuous process known as "The Nap" would be well-advised to start taking notes. The Nap Fake-Out, while still in its evolution stage, continues to be my strongest strategy for avoiding The Nap.
Step 1: Before Naptime, follow your normal procedures. Eat, play, eat more, poop. Whatever you do, don't let anyone onto your plan. Just business as usual.
Step 2: Around Naptime, when the parental units beginning to institute Nap Enforcement, make sure you start at a location other than your crib. This is critical. Pretend to close your eyes, just as you would during any other normal day. Should you happen to be in the car, feel free to let your head loll to one side or the other. Drooling is encouraged. When the Parental Units have been fooled into thinking that you are in fact asleep, they will then move you to your normal NapTime Location. Just before they have the satisfaction and relief of placing you in said NapTime Location, begin screaming as you open your eyes and arch your back upwards while flailing your arms and legs in whatever direction available.
Step 3: Continue screaming. This is the most arduous part of the entire process. But keep faith, my brothers and sisters, and remain strong, because if you keep at it, your Parental Units should surrender in just over an hour and freedom shall be yours!
At time of publication, this happens to be my second week of full implementation and my own Mother Unit looks somewhat like a zombie from a B-movie. Any given whine or cry from yours truly sends her into a frenzy that any baby would be proud of. She is currently at my beck and call, and will continue to be until I deem otherwise, as long as Operation Nap Avoidance is in place. While the Father Unit is not as exposed to the procedure, it seems that the state of the Mother Unit has a strong impact on the state of the Father Unit as well. It keeps their nerves frayed and their minds easily influenceable.
I say to you again, my brothers and sisters under the yoke of The Nap, take back your lives! Keep the faith! Freedom can be ours!
--Cutezilla
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Can't Laugh At The Dog Anymore
I think I just ate a piece of glass. No, I'm not kidding. I wish I was.
The Story, Long Version:
A friend calls me a few minutes ago and says, "Hey, I found a great deal on Boston Butts, but our freezer is slam packed. You got any room?" I tell him I can see what I can do, and start cleaning out the fridge. I reach back where I've got some Minute Maid Juice Bars, and for some odd reason, they're sticky. I don't think much about it, because I have frozen juice back there, and, hey, things happen, so maybe one got a little melty or exploded, right?
Something small, cold, hard and slightly sticky sticks to my finger, and, assuming that it's a piece of frozen fruit juice or the frost from the juice bars, I do what I normally would, and lick it off my finger. I crunch down on the ice, and think, "Hmm, this is some weird ice."
The finally it dawns on me: friends of mine came down from Michigan for a baby shower I threw for some friends. They brought with them some sparkling fruit juice for me from one of my favorite wineries in Michigan, St. Julian's.
I put one in the freezer "for a few minutes" which actually turned out to be more like, um, well, a whole day. If you are unfamiliar with what happens to glass bottles of liquids placed in a freezer until they are frozen, let me fill you in, unless you really want to discover it for yourself: it goes BOOM. I don't know how I didn't hear the shattering glass, but since I've not heard much more stupendously amazing explosions, I guess it shouldn't surprise me.
But the next day, I reach into the freezer only to find the entire inside of it covered in sticky, frozen sparkling peach wine and green shards of glass. I thought I cleaned it out, but I guess I missed a few pieces. And I seriously think I just ate one.
I know, I know: what does this have to do with a dog??? We have a friend with a beautiful, lovable, but not overly bright dog named Einstein. (The name came first, I think.) Now don't get me wrong here: I do love the dog. In the words of Pulp Fiction, "Personality goes a long way!" He's also got his own brand of smarts in a way... but... well... he ate a light bulb.
Obviously up until today I had no idea how you could get past the crunch of the glass -- but now I know. From this point onward, I will be forever convinced the light bulb was coated in bacon, and he just didn't realize it until it was too late. Poor dog.
The follow up is that I'm now sitting here wondering how where this tiny shard is going to end up. I'm hoping I don't notice.
The Story, Short Version:
I ate a piece of glass stuck to my finger, and have been forced to classify myself as dumb as a Weimaraner. It's been a weird day for me.
The Story, Long Version:
A friend calls me a few minutes ago and says, "Hey, I found a great deal on Boston Butts, but our freezer is slam packed. You got any room?" I tell him I can see what I can do, and start cleaning out the fridge. I reach back where I've got some Minute Maid Juice Bars, and for some odd reason, they're sticky. I don't think much about it, because I have frozen juice back there, and, hey, things happen, so maybe one got a little melty or exploded, right?
Something small, cold, hard and slightly sticky sticks to my finger, and, assuming that it's a piece of frozen fruit juice or the frost from the juice bars, I do what I normally would, and lick it off my finger. I crunch down on the ice, and think, "Hmm, this is some weird ice."
The finally it dawns on me: friends of mine came down from Michigan for a baby shower I threw for some friends. They brought with them some sparkling fruit juice for me from one of my favorite wineries in Michigan, St. Julian's.I put one in the freezer "for a few minutes" which actually turned out to be more like, um, well, a whole day. If you are unfamiliar with what happens to glass bottles of liquids placed in a freezer until they are frozen, let me fill you in, unless you really want to discover it for yourself: it goes BOOM. I don't know how I didn't hear the shattering glass, but since I've not heard much more stupendously amazing explosions, I guess it shouldn't surprise me.
But the next day, I reach into the freezer only to find the entire inside of it covered in sticky, frozen sparkling peach wine and green shards of glass. I thought I cleaned it out, but I guess I missed a few pieces. And I seriously think I just ate one.
I know, I know: what does this have to do with a dog??? We have a friend with a beautiful, lovable, but not overly bright dog named Einstein. (The name came first, I think.) Now don't get me wrong here: I do love the dog. In the words of Pulp Fiction, "Personality goes a long way!" He's also got his own brand of smarts in a way... but... well... he ate a light bulb.
Obviously up until today I had no idea how you could get past the crunch of the glass -- but now I know. From this point onward, I will be forever convinced the light bulb was coated in bacon, and he just didn't realize it until it was too late. Poor dog.
The follow up is that I'm now sitting here wondering how where this tiny shard is going to end up. I'm hoping I don't notice.
The Story, Short Version:
I ate a piece of glass stuck to my finger, and have been forced to classify myself as dumb as a Weimaraner. It's been a weird day for me.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
I Swear I Have The Worst Luck
Okay, it might just be an insanely miserable immune system, but either way, the end result is not good. So last night I came down with yet another stomach bug. Where the heck do these things come from?? I just had one four or five weeks earlier! It's just not right, to say the least, especially on top of my Saturday Night Brush With Death. (Because it's not a REAL Saturday Night Out if you can't risk death at least once, right?)
On the lighter side, before I realized that I was about to be deathly ill, I took my daughter, Cutezilla, out for some running around and distraction at Lowe's and Hobby Lobby. Lately, Cutezilla has realized The Power Of The Door Clicker -- in other words, the key chain clicker thingy that opens the doors to the car. And sets off the car alarm. She's developed amazing skill with it.
Anyway, my brain must have been submerged in mud or something (and probably still is, since I can't actually think of what the key-chain clicker thingy is normally called) because when I put Cutezilla back in the car on our way home, I forgot that I had given her my keys -- and, by default, the clicker -- to keep her occupied while I buckled her in.
You guessed it. Half-a-second after I shut the door, I thought, "Oh shi--" Before I could put the T on that word, I heard, "CLICK." Yep. She'd locked all the doors. I started tapping madly at the glass and pointing at the keys, trying to get her to press the buttons more, making faces and clapping every time she set off the alarm and turned it off again. Unfortunately, the unlock button is in the middle. I can only hope that the people in the Hobby Lobby parking lot got some entertainment out of my predicament.
Cutezilla was having a blast though. She'd hit a button, set off the alarm, turn it off, and do it all over again, laughing and giggling, while she kicked the seat in front of her. Finally, finally, it happened. And it was at that moment that I realized she only hit the button once. Meaning, only the driver's door was unlocked. I scrambled over to the driver's side door, and just as I grabbed the door handle, (of course) I heard, "CLICK." More laughing and giggling from inside the car. More insane facial expressions, more hopping around and clapping for the car alarm going off, and then finally, she hit the unlock button again.
So at least that was somewhat amusing. Again, it doesn't qualify me for any Mother of the Year Awards, but that's okay. When we got home, and I finally got hit with the full-blown bug, Cutezilla decided I needed help in the bathroom, and kept handing me toilet paper, which was thoughtful of her. She also crawled up into my arms while I was laying in the fetal position on the couch and gave me a kiss and a hug, and that was about the sweetest thing I could ask for.
I'm feeling a lot better today, so hopefully tomorrow, it's back to the gym. And if I'm very truly lucky, I'll find a babysitter for Cutezilla while I'm at my dance lesson.
On the lighter side, before I realized that I was about to be deathly ill, I took my daughter, Cutezilla, out for some running around and distraction at Lowe's and Hobby Lobby. Lately, Cutezilla has realized The Power Of The Door Clicker -- in other words, the key chain clicker thingy that opens the doors to the car. And sets off the car alarm. She's developed amazing skill with it.
Anyway, my brain must have been submerged in mud or something (and probably still is, since I can't actually think of what the key-chain clicker thingy is normally called) because when I put Cutezilla back in the car on our way home, I forgot that I had given her my keys -- and, by default, the clicker -- to keep her occupied while I buckled her in.
You guessed it. Half-a-second after I shut the door, I thought, "Oh shi--" Before I could put the T on that word, I heard, "CLICK." Yep. She'd locked all the doors. I started tapping madly at the glass and pointing at the keys, trying to get her to press the buttons more, making faces and clapping every time she set off the alarm and turned it off again. Unfortunately, the unlock button is in the middle. I can only hope that the people in the Hobby Lobby parking lot got some entertainment out of my predicament.
Cutezilla was having a blast though. She'd hit a button, set off the alarm, turn it off, and do it all over again, laughing and giggling, while she kicked the seat in front of her. Finally, finally, it happened. And it was at that moment that I realized she only hit the button once. Meaning, only the driver's door was unlocked. I scrambled over to the driver's side door, and just as I grabbed the door handle, (of course) I heard, "CLICK." More laughing and giggling from inside the car. More insane facial expressions, more hopping around and clapping for the car alarm going off, and then finally, she hit the unlock button again.
So at least that was somewhat amusing. Again, it doesn't qualify me for any Mother of the Year Awards, but that's okay. When we got home, and I finally got hit with the full-blown bug, Cutezilla decided I needed help in the bathroom, and kept handing me toilet paper, which was thoughtful of her. She also crawled up into my arms while I was laying in the fetal position on the couch and gave me a kiss and a hug, and that was about the sweetest thing I could ask for.
I'm feeling a lot better today, so hopefully tomorrow, it's back to the gym. And if I'm very truly lucky, I'll find a babysitter for Cutezilla while I'm at my dance lesson.
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