| Toni 的个人资料FIGHTING INSANITY照片日志列表 |  工具  帮助 |
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11月19日 Everyone Else Is Doing ItToday I am thankful for this stuff:
11月17日 ObservationsMemo to me: Know where the heck you're going before you roll into downtown Oklahoma City like you own the place. Wait until you are officially out of ghetto-ville before you start blasting 80's tunes, and before you start belting out Peter Cetera's "The Glory of Love" at the top of your lungs, check to make sure your back windows are all the way up. And when scary Mexican gangsters are pointing and laughing at you, it's safe to assume that maybe--just maybe--your windows are not as tinted as you originally thought they were--stop making "music videos" in your rearview mirror.
Of Peter Cetera's "The Glory of Love".
Really.
It's not like it's even one of the cool 80's songs.
Some other things I've learned this week:
Neurosurgeons? Not a particularly fun bunch.
The smell of formula is foul, but the smell of formula combined with the smell of cigarettes creates a fume more vile and noxious than a family of skunks farting in a sulfur pit.
Caleb has impossibly large thumbs.
Christmas shopping is dangerously fun.
I can't take 5 seconds to go to the bathroom unless someone is home to keep an eye on Merrick.
If I can't see Merrick, he is almost guaranteed to be doing one of 5 things:
This is a goblin cookie:
That is all.
11月12日 Campbell's Soup Label ConspiracyI consider myself an expert slacker. I've mastered the art of putting off until next month what I know I won't get done today. But when I come up with genius ways to slack off and the universe comes around and bites me in my procrastinatin' butt, I get upset. For this reason, I got beef with Campbell's Soup.
Once or twice a year, or maybe more than that--I don't know because I don't pay attention--the local elementary school collects what is known in soccer mommy circles as "soup labels" or, to the rest of the world, "trash". On the back of every can of Campbell's Soup, there is a tiny yellow label, and for every label your school turns in, Campbell's pays the school a certain amount of money. The school holds contests, kids get all batshit and want to eat soup 24/7, Campbell's gets rich, and the school earns some cash. Great idea, right? WRONG. I can back up this rationale with solid evidence: Although I don't think to collect these labels throughout the year, I didn't see the harm in letting Mia get in on a little soup label action. When I proceeded to cut the labels off all 24 cans of Chicken Noodle O's that we had without opening the soup, I knew it wouldn't be easy. What I didn't expect was that Campbell's just so happened to glob glue right underneath the little yellow labels--thus making it almost impossible for me to carry out my brilliant plan.
It should have worked.
I sent 11 intact yellow labels in Mia's backpack today. I had to trash the rest. Stupid Campbell's Soup. Yes it might seem like an honorable and righteous company to the person who collected tons of labels in a gallon-sized ziploc bag randomly over the course of 365 days, but I can just see those corporate bums laughing their heads off all the way to the bank: "Silly school children! Sure we'll give you your money, as long as your labels are all in one piece, and we would just like to see you try and peel them off without ripping them! Muuhhhhaahahaha!" I know the truth.
It almost makes me madder than my Walmart fish conspiracy theory. 11月10日 IfIf I were Merrick I'd sleep. Instead of banging my head against the crib rail for an hour at naptime, I'd pass out. And I'd be ready to go to bed again at 7:00 p.m. seeing as how I would spend my days running around the house at the speed of sound, taking no less than 12 massive dumps, and screaming bloody murder whenever the mood struck me.
 And if I were Mia, I wouldn't need an elaborate bedtime ritual involving a bubble bath, 3 library books, 2 made-up stories, 2 good-dream wishes blown into each ear, and a 20-minute secret handshake--followed by a temper-tantrum that ends with both child and parents in tears.
If I were Cheyenne, I'd lose the eternal scowl, and I pull my hair back out of my face, and I'd love my life since all I'd have to do is make good grades and have my own cell phone.
If I were the weather I'd stay just like I am now; cool, breezy, and sunny and cloudy at the same time--makes for some beautiful fall days.
And if I were my husband I wouldn't make my wife go to the store at 9:30 at night to pick me up some grody dip. And if I were me, I'd congratulate myself on buying 10 hardcover books on the cheap from the library. I'd try to remember to throw that rotting jack-o-lantern away once and for all, and I'd laugh at the dogs when they get sick from eating too much moldy pumpkin. I'd wash my hair. I'd wash my car. I'd get off this computer and get to work sewing some more kickass donuts out of felt. How genius am I? 
11月3日 Why My Kids Rock: Reason No. 487Mia's sick. I'm sick. We have wicked bad fevers and Merrick is sure to be next. Caleb's out of town. Cheyenne is still mad at me. And I hate my dog. Before 8:00 in the morning, Mia and Merrick were running around the house playing a new game called "Octopus Market." And here's a bit of advice: when you hear the pitter patter of little feet occasionally disrupted by the sound of a running faucet, it's probably a good idea to check on your kids. What was I doing? I was standing in the kitchen, willing the coffee maker to brew faster. Duh.
Things turned out alright. "Octopus Market" involves a play kitchen, fake knives, a couple of washrags, and a ton of water. Good times. As I sludged on out into the hallway (where we keep said play kitchen since every other room is already crowded with over-sized toys) with my coffee, Mia gleefully approached me with a plate of calamari and sushi. I had to stop and marvel at her creativity--the octopus was a dripping-wet, balled up hand towel that lay limply next to a neat little row of tightly rolled washcloths (the sushi, of course). I could totally see it, but I would've never thought of it on my own.
And I was going to get this kid an elaborate set of plastic play food for Christmas. New game plan: different-colored washcloths.
She was so wrapped up in eating fake octopus that she wasn't even hungry for the real raisin rolls I made for breakfast. We played the game for a little while until Mia decided we should switch to something a little calmer--the dreaded "Birds Laying Eggs" game. I hate sitting on balls. But eggs eventually hatch and flu-y little children eventually have to take naps...
11月2日 Making EnemiesNote to self: when you talk schmack about the flu, you get the flu, and then you are at the mercy of the flu.
Mia's got the funk...even though we stood outside in the freezing wind for an hour in a long and scary line full of crying children and miserable adults to get vaccinated (remind me why we went through that again?), even though we bought Germ-X in bulk and even though we've washed our hands until they've almost fallen off, and even though the only time any of us went into Cheyenne's room was to open the door and throw food at her every couple hours or so...Mia's sick. The cough, the fever--oh, it's tiny, but it's still a fever.
We were halfway to school today when I noticed she wasn't singing at the top of her lungs to the Tinkerbell soundtrack. I turned around, and there she was in the backseat, clutching her tummy with tears pouring down her cheeks. So I turned the car around and we settled in for a day of library books and old Disney VHS movies. It really doesn't sound too bad, does it? But I'll have you know that there's a whole bucket of Halloween candy that I've forbidden sickly little Mia to eat, and for that, I pay dearly. Honestly, I've never heard her whine so much. I'm thinking of benadryling her to sleep.
And if it works on Mia, I might as well go ahead and try it on Merrick, who refuses to nap today, I think because he knows there's candy to be eaten.
Stupid halloween.
And speaking of pissing off my kids, Cheyenne made it out the door today in an outfit that I wasn't completely comfortable with...but since she wasn't technically breaking any dress code rules--the skirt more than met the "fingertip" requirement, and the heels by themselves seemed very "13'--and since she walked out of her room all of 2 seconds before she had to leave, she got away with it.
But not for long. I watched her walk down to the bus stop with those ridiculously long legs of hers, all tricked out in strappy high heels and swishy little skirt, and I knew I'd be making a trip up to her school before her first class was even over. I grabbed some leggings and some tennis shoes--stopped, switched the tennis shoes for a stylish pair of flats (I'm not totally heartless)--rounded up Merrick, and took off to rain on her little jailbait parade. And no, she wasn't happy to be called out of class only to discover that mom was there to make her change clothes, but she'll get over it. When she's 25. |
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