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Posts Tagged ‘kids’

I made sloppy joe’s for dinner last night, yes it’s a veritable cornucopia of gourmet treats at my house.  While browning the ground turkey, it occured to me that other people might not pound the crap out of their meat with a wooden spoon like I do to make sure there is not one bit larger than a pea and god forbid there be a ‘string’ left.  You know how the meat comes out of the grinder in long strings and if you don’t, well, pound the crap out of it with a wooden spoon, it will brown in those long strings and that just makes me want to gag.

So I started thinking about the fact that I’m kinda OCD about stuff, but they are very random, which keeps things interesting.  It’s like I have some distant relative of OCD who comes to visit my brain once in a while at completely unexpected times and yet, when he’s here, HE’S HERE TO STAY.

I’m completely compulsive about the pillows on my couch.  The hub unit will throw them on the couch in any order and while I applaud him for the effort, IT MAKES ME INSANE that they are not all straight and in a particular color order.  I don’t mind that they get used, but for goodness sake, PUT THE ZIPPER SIDE DOWN!

Actually I’m pretty compulsive about how my house looks in general, as it must be NEAT.  However, I really couldn’t give two figs about whether it is CLEAN.  So thank you to Cathy for sending me EVA, our saviour 🙂

Then there is the difference between hub & I.  This morning he made a big show of putting on his Santa Clarita Choppers t-shirt, which came with the Harley we brought home a few days ago.  We got one for the monkey as well and as hub was putting his on, I kept shaking my head NO NO, cause the little guys t-shirt was in the laundry.   OOPS.  Meltdown. 

Hub:  How dirty is it?

Me:  Well, he wore it all day, and then he slept in it.  He’s eaten in it and played at the park in it.  Since then, it’s been in the hamper, under other dirty clothes for two days.

Hub:  Only two days?  Kid come here, let’s put your SCC t-shirt on.

Different standards.  Made my hair stand on end, but the smile on monkey’s face helped me keep the bile down.  Of course, I can’t hug him, but whatever. 

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My big sister is here visiting from northern California.  She is this fabulously creative, supportive, nurturing, giving and incredible woman (who by the way, doesn’t see any of that in herself, sheesh, maybe we set the bar too high for ourselves??) and I love her unique perspective on the little things in this world.  The following conversation took place while we all sat at the dinner table watching a recording of the Discovery Channel show about the Endeavor Space Shuttle launch, which my three year old is completely fascinated with.  Yeah, he’s smarter than me, so what?

After watching all the astronauts get suited up and hearing a little personal history, including the list of degrees each of them have, my sister turned to me & the hub unit and said:

Sis:  ‘Jeez, these are really smart guys.  It makes you wonder if these are the kind of people we SHOULD be sending into space.  I mean, what if something happens again, like it did with Columbia?  All that knowledge and experience would be lost.’

A moment of silence.

Hub: ‘Weeeell, if not these really smart guys, who should we be sending up?’

Me:  ‘PERHAPS we should send up some guy named Earl.  After all, the inside of the space shuttle probably doesn’t look all that dissimilar to the inside of a double wide.  Actually, if you could just make the controls look like a TV remote, we might have a shot . . . ‘

Let’s take a vote.  Really smart astronaut guys or Earl?? 

Just a glimpse into the profound thinktank that is my house, where we delve into the pressing problems of the day and come up with viable solutions. 

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I used to think I was a patient person.  Actually, if I’m being honest with myself, perhaps patient isn’t the correct word.  I was, um, easygoing.  And possibly just easy, but that is definitely another post.

Being an older mom, I really started out feeling like I had patience in spades.  After all, we waited so long and went thru so much on our infertility, hysterectomy, adoption journey just to bring the kid home – why would I ever YELL at him????

Then he started wanting to do things for himself.  Freakish. 

Do you know how long it takes a three year old to brush his teeth?  WELL, let’s see.  He must walk to the bathroom, climb up on the stool, climb down from the stool, open the drawer, take out the toothbrush, close the drawer, climb back up on the stool, climb back down from the stool, open the drawer, take out the toothpaste, close the drawer, climb back up on the stool, put down the toothbrush, turn on the water, open the toothpaste, squeeze the toothpaste onto the toothbrush, close the toothpaste, tip over the toothbrush and smear the toothpaste all over the counter and the clean shirt I put on him only one minute ago before he walked to the bathroom, cry, cry, yell at me for trying to help, say ‘I do it,’ open the toothpaste, squeeze more toothpaste onto the toothbrush, close the toothpaste, set down the toothpaste, pick up the toothbrush, put the toothbrush in his mouth, swallow the toothpaste without it ever having touched a tooth, move the toothbrush back and forth three times before saying ‘I all done, mama,’ point to his teeth and say ‘white teeths,’ climb down from the stool, open the drawer, put in toothbrush and toothpaste, close the drawer and leave the bathroom.

Perhaps this is why I may need a few more sessions with his holiness, the Dali Lama. 

But hey, things are looking up.  I read today that the Catholic church is going to allow confessions via the INTERNET.  Talk about a blog I wanna read . . .   That would be a real timesaver if I were Catholic.

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I tried to post yesterday and I sat in front of the computer and thought to myself, “what will I post about today?”  Nothing came to mind … just the sound of crickets.  Huh. 

It reminded me of years ago in college in an English class I was in.  I had this great teacher that looked like a droopy dog from a cartoon that I can’t recall the name of right now.  He taught us to meditate on the first day.  Now I lived in Visalia and really, meditation was FAR from what was the norm.  In fact, I believe a lot of the kids went home and told their parents who promplty filed complaints with the school.  I wasn’t one of them because I saw that it actually worked.  He walked us through relaxing our bodies and minds while we sat in that chair and then taught us to just write whatever came from our head.  Kind of like our intuitive painting class a few weeks ago.  So that’s what I’m doing this morning … letting it fly – haha. 

I have so many topics in my head right now but none that seem very clever or witty (which is what I like to write on most). 

I read a blog this morning that inspired me.  I found it through the tag surf feature and it showed up because of the common “friends” tag.  It’s written by a guy that has a great voice in his words.  You know what I mean … when you feel you that you can hear their voice as you read their story.  He wrote about friends today, but in digging through his blog a bit more, I learned about his real story.  He and his wife are adopting two children from Haiti – Amos and Story.  If you have some time, take a look at his blog … I think you’ll dig it.  

I remember years ago when my ex and I decided to adopt.  It’s a scary and exhilarating journey.  You have so many naysayers to contend with, yet you know in your heart that you are on the right path.  The first time I saw the picture of Zac, I knew that he was meant for me.  In a weird way, I’m grateful to my ex for opening that door for me (even though he didn’t stick around for the long haul).  If I hadn’t met him, I wouldn’t have adopted so early.  There is a lot more to that story, but I don’t feel like getting into that now.  I love the journey that Zac and I (and now Ron too) have been on together.  There are days I freak, days I yell, days I cry and quite a few days where I laugh a lot. 

I can’t wait to hear more about their journey too. 

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It was a really bad day for my marriage when our three year old stopped taking naps, since the hub and I always enjoyed our own afternoon playdate (sly boots wink) while he slept.  Or at least we had the OPTION to enjoy it.  Now our only options are early, early and I repeat, early in the morning, which has never been my best sexy kitten time.  Or late.  And by late, I mean past 8 pm after which the hub staying awake becomes dicey, but which is when the little guy goes to bed perchance to sleep, perchance NOT.   He is still awake in his bed as I write this at 10 pm, while my husband is peacefully snoring in our bed, see earlier post ‘fluffy review’ for the medical explanation for snoring.  And if monkey is still awake by the time hub & I miraculously do manage to both be awake and in our room at the same time, I’m terrified he’s going to tiptoe in and startle us by asking ‘What doin’ mama??’ complete with hand gestures and quizzical look on his face.  This also does not lend itself to sexy kitten behaviour.

So I had to enroll the kid in a class during the week just to get some alone time.  We have about a one hour window, so I figure we can clean the house with the other 55 minutes.  This morning hub unit dropped kid off with the understanding that he would return to our house forthwith where I would be waiting for him.  Waiting.  For.  Him.  Meow.

I miscalcuated.  Now, I’ve never been one to worry about other women.  Sure that 19 year old may LOOK hot, but eventually she will have to speak, which, thankfully, would result in my man losing immediate interest.  When I start to notice him spending time with a young, attractive mute I may need to pay attention.

Nope, the mistake I made was to not scout the businesses surrounding said school.  My bad.  While the candles burned down to puddles and the Showtime after dark special languished on hold, I sat alone drumming my fingers.   Should I just go ahead and clean the house?  Nah.  I’M GONNA CALL HIM.  So I did.  And ya know what?  Turns out there’s a little place called SANTA CLARITA CHOPPERS right across the street from the school.  Perhaps there should be a law about that, requiring all motorcycle shops to be registered with the WOA (wives of america) and housed at least a mile from any type of family establishment where husbands might be distracted by something shiny.  Put them in an orange light district to at least give us a little warning.  

Seems the other woman is a 2002 Harley Davidson Softail, with 10,000 miles.  Yeah, she’s used.  Yeah, she needs some work.  Yeah, he’s gonna spend money on her.  And he’s taking me to meet her tomorrow morning. 

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Now I’m singing “The things we do for love kids” – haha.

Zac turned 13 today – yikes. 

He was in trouble so we didn’t do the BIG party with a ton o’ kids this year.  He wanted to take five other teenagers paintballing and then do a sleep over.  Instead, we decided to make it a family birthday dinner (not officially a party – haha). 

My sister-in-law was here helping me get the MLP jewelry line ready to sell at shows last November and we were all talking about fun things like tp’ing a house.  Zac’s friends had recently threatened to egg our house and we were explaining that a good old fashion tp is just clean (somewhat) fun but that when you do things that could damage property it was a totally different thing.  Zac said it’d be funny to saran wrap a car and we thought it was a funny thing so Renee said she’d come down and we’d do that for his birthday.

We invited our neighbors over to hang out with us for dinner and cupcakes (thanks Jody – they rocked).  After our friends went home, all the kids got ready to go tp their house (three doors down).  Of course, I had already gotten the adults a little lit :: gasp :: after four bottles of wine and then we split a bottle of port with yummy chocolate – OMG.

Lisa is pregnant and went home a little early.  Chris and their three year old son stayed with us for a bit longer.  They have a baby girl in the oven – due in Sept. and we keep joking that they should name her Esmerelda.  It’s a GREAT name and we all want to call her Ezy – haha.

::Back to the action in the story::

Renee and I proceed to make little tinfoil letters to spell out a special message to them.  Unfortunately we didn’t make the Smart N Final run to get the industrial roll of saran wrap though 😦 … so we only did a little wrap job on the car.  We put trash bags over the wheels of Chris’ car, tp in the tree, forks in the yard and our special sign.  We thought it’d be fun to do leprechaun foot prints, but didn’t feel much like doing it when the time came (and the wine set in – haha).  The kids had a BLAST and every time a car would come the adults would play up the drama a bit and whisper … freeze hide behind something – hahahah.  It was quite comical really and something I will NEVER forget.  We told the kids that they’d be cleaning it up in the morning and they had so much fun that they said that was totally fine with them (although they didn’t have to because Chris did it for them – haha). 

That morning when Chris went out to get the paper, he said to Lisa, “what teenager did we piss off“?  Then they saw our clever sign – haha.  They came out to look and see if anyone else got tp’d … and saw Zac tip toeing out to see if they had been discovered yet – hahaha. 

I’m sure paypack will be a bitch with them as their kids grow up too … but it is all in good fun and it was great to see the kids learning what is ok to do in fun and what will damage the property of someone’s house, car, etc. 

toilet papering 

Esmerelda was here

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So me and the Hub took our little guy out for ice cream the other day (pre tacos, pre stomach flu, yech). 

I watched the chocolate fudge ice cream melting off the cone he was holding, seeing it smeared all over his hands and his sweet little face, and I couldn’t help but think of the following story.

On the east coast, ice cream is a really big deal.  There are many little ice cream stands that are only open during the ‘season’ which is usually Memorial Day thru Labor Day.  So when it’s available, people go in droves, daily.

Now on this particular day last year, I happened to be at our local ice cream stand in upstate New York with several parents and their children.  It was a warm day and we were all feeling mellow and enjoying the sun and the sound of the kids playing in the field, watching the airplanes taking off from the airport right next to the big open field behind the stand.  I watched as one dad came over to help his young daughter with her dripping ice cream cone.  He smiled and asked her if her cone needed a maintenance lick.  She said yes and he proceeded to lick off all the drips before handing it back to her.  I had never heard that expression before, but thought it was so cute and clever.  That’s what we as parents do for our kids all the time, right?  We clean up the drips on their ice cream cones, we spit polish the dirt from their face, we brush the dust from their clothes, etc.  What a sweet little family moment.

A few minutes later, I found myself sitting next to one of my friends, who shall remain nameless but her picture is sitting on my bedside table, (ha) and relaying this warm, touching moment.  My friend has three young sons and is possibly the funniest woman I know.  She listened to me tell this story and then stopped and gave me a long stare.  I’m all ‘WHAT?’ And this is what she said:

‘You know Linda, when I hear the term ‘maintenance lick’ it really brings something completely different to mind.’  Suddenly it clicked – OMG that is soooo funny.  We both started giggling.  Then we were laughing so hard I realized the bladder tuck I got as an added little bonus to my hysterectomy, miiight need a refresher. 

Blushing bright red, she continued:  ‘Here is what I think of some poor woman saying:  Ya know honey, I realize it’s been seven years, but I could really use a MAINTENANCE LICK!’ 

Yeah, it gets me right there too, every time I think of it 🙂

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