Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Potty Art

Reason #112 why my son is the coolest: his art.
This is the picture he drew yesterday.

"Tell me about your picture," I said.  I have read that this is the way you are supposed to talk to your child about their artwork.  I guess if you ask them "What is that?" they have meltdown and they think that you think that they have no talent and then they resent you for the rest of their lives because they became an accountant instead of the artist they had always wished they had become had you not squashed their dreams.  Something like that anyway.

"That's a train," he said pointing to the bottom of the picture.
"That's great! Tell me about these people at the top."
"They're all Daddy."
He pointed to the stick figure in the upper left-hand corner.
"That one's Daddy wearing his work hat and that's a wrench."
Then he pointed to the stick figure in the upper right-hand corner.
"That one's Daddy without a hat and that's a shovel."
"What about this one?" I asked pointing to the figure in the middle.
"That one's Daddy on the potty."

My husband is quite proud that this is how my son sees him: working or pooping.

Me?  I think it's the best potty art I've ever seen.  But I've also read that you aren't supposed to give generalized compliments because it stifles their creativity and becomes meaningless after a while.   So I will heed the experts' advise. Instead I will tell him that I can see that he really put a lot of time into drawing that potty.  I will tell him that I really like the shape he chose for that toilet seat and how he captured the expression on Daddy's face.

Monday, April 29, 2013

Something You May Not Know About Ladybug Pee

“Do you know what color a ladybug’s pee is?” asked Hudson on the way to school one morning.

I, you know, read and stuff, but I can’t say I’d ever come across this little factoid. Maybe it was covered in a more current copy of Star not found at the Eternity Bar nail salon.

“It’s white…and green,” he announced with authority.
“How do you know this?”
“I just know.”

Sometimes I worry that he has some secret lab in his closet that I don’t know about.  Hopefully it is not filled with a collection of insect urine.  I thought finding dirty underwear was bad.

“Zoe told me,” he elaborated, “She knows these things.”

Well, that settles it.  If his preschool friends say it is so, then it must be so.

We may need to have a talk about making sure his information is coming from a reliable source.  Like Star magazine , which I am expecting will come out with a fact-check article on ladybug pee any day now.

Saturday, April 27, 2013

My Kid is a Goat

Things I have had to stop my daughter from eating: a rock, a hair clip, dirt, mulch, and a fortune cookie fortune.  I've recently had to tell her not to lick the car door.  I should have been happy to see her eating orange slices.

Not so much.

Thursday, April 25, 2013

Porridge Please

I have some issues with this nursery rhyme.    First of all, what the F is pease porridge?  I don’t think I know a single person who has said “I could really go for some pease porridge right now.  I don’t care if it’s hot or cold, I just want some goddamn pease porridge.”

Secondly, I’m calling bullshit on the claim that some people like it in the pot, nine days old.  That’s just disgusting.  I’m pretty sure porridge does not work like wine or cheese.   I don’t think my dinner guest would be blown away by serving a fine 9-day aged porridge.  I’m also pretty sure 9-day old porridge would give you explosive diarrhea and that’s a whole other nursery rhyme.

Tuesday, April 23, 2013

Ain’t Nobody Got Time For Pink Eye

Is there some rule that says “Thou shalt not get pink eye after 30”?  If not, there should be because this is just stupid.  But alas, I have it.  I was at the zoo with my children when it started feeling like I had sand in my left eye.  By the time I got home, it was bright red.

I blame my husband.  He had pink eye a few days ago.  He works in an emergency room so I’m sure he brought it home to me.  That or he farted on my pillow.  If you don’t get that joke you a) need to watch Knocked Up and b) be happy about the fact that your sense of humor is more high brow than mine.  Me?  I still like a good fart joke every now and again.

I thought when I hit my 30s I would finally feel like an adult.  Instead, I still look like a 16 year-old.  The pink eye is not helping.  Hell, why don’t you just throw in a little chicken pox too, Life?  It’s not fair.  I grow up and no longer get to take naps every day, but pink eye…that’s still a go.  Real nice, Life.  I paid good money for my lash extensions and they don’t look so nice with green gunk all over them.  Being in my 30s with a good credit score and decently priced car insurance is not going to make up for that.

Who do I protest too about this?  I need to complain to someone in charge that I am too old for this shit.  If I’m going to get pink eye I at least want the fun stuff of childhood to go with it.   If I have to have pink eye somebody better get me a Kinder Egg, a Capri Sun, and build me fort out of couch cushions pronto.

I gots pink eye.  Ain't nobody got time for that!

Monday, April 22, 2013

The Tale of Eric vs. Ninja Squirrel

I already told you the story about the squirrel that eats daily from our bird feeder that Eric hates with a passion.  The bird feeder is squirrel-proof, but that doesn’t slow him down one bit.

At the end of that story the score was Squirrel 1: Eric 0.   Well, the saga continues…

Eric decided that he would put an end the free-loading squirrel by hanging the birdfeed from the edge of the patio.  There are no trees nearby so he figured the squirrel could not jump over that far.  That would normally be correct, if it wasn’t for the fact that we have a ninja squirrel.  Because there he was the next morning, eating away in his usual upside down position.  I suggested maybe he had a little squirrel jetpack.  Eric didn’t find it quite as funny.

Ninja Squirrel 2: Eric 0

Eric now decided that he would buy one of those metal hooks that you just put in the ground.  It’s just a slick metal stake that should be impossible to climb.

Unless you’re ninja squirrel.

Ninja Squirrel 3: Eric 0

He thought that maybe it was just to close to the tree so he moved it.

Ninja Squirrel 4: Eric 0

It was sometime around this point that I believe my husband truly lost his mind. Actually, I know the exact moment.  It was the moment that he went out to the bird-feeder hanger with a can of WD-40.  I was driving my son to school when I received this text message, “Gotcha fucking squirrel.  Lmao at him sliding down the pole.  Hahahahahahahahaha!"  Ninja squirrel had successfully infiltrated his mind.

That and he managed to climb to the bird-feeder anyway.

Ninja Squirrel 5: Eric 0.

How about spraying the bird-feeder down in Crisco?  That’s neither normal behavior from a grown man nor effective.

Ninja Squirrel 6: Eric  0.

I believe that my poor husband has now been broken.  If you look closely while that squirrel is eating you can see him extend his tiny, furry middle finger right at a sobbing Eric.

Well played, Ninja Squirrel.  Well played.

Friday, April 19, 2013

Photo Friday: Dogs and kids

Guest Post from Ann

A photo of a kid and her best four-legged pal (or pals) is a great way to celebrate spring!

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

From Boys to Skulls

It happened.  My son has officially outgrown the toddler section.  One of my first ventures into the boy’s section was to buy pajamas.

Preferably without skulls.  I mean just because he’s in the boy’s section doesn’t mean everything has to have skulls on it.

Or apparantly it does.

I’m not ready for this.  Isn’t there some sort of transition section?  Maybe a ‘toddlers that are really boys but their moms just aren’t ready to let go’ section.
And is it really necessary to go from Thomas the Tank Engine to symbols of death and carnage?  Apparantly there’s no middle ground here.  I might as well go get him his first tattoo and set him up with a Roth IRA.

It’s all happening too fast.  I think the day that he outgrows footie pajamas, I just might cry.  As long as I can still see his cutie-patootie hiney scamper up the stairs in Batman footie PJ’s, he’s still my little boy.  I guess I have to let go sometime.  It would be nice for him to be grown up enough to actually clean his room and floss his teeth without help…maybe throw together a meal in the CrockPot.  I guess I will just have to learn how to let go.  But does growing up have to involve so many skulls?

Monday, April 15, 2013

We Met Santa at Red Lobster

Last night we went to Red Lobster with my in-laws.  We noticed that Hudson kept glancing over to the same table.  The man he was looking at, if he wasn’t playing Santa at the mall already, really needed to consider a career change.  He had white hair, a white beard, was wearing a red thermal shirt, and had a belly that shook when he laughed like a bowl full of jelly.  Really, I can’t speak to the jiggliess-ness (yeah, it’s a word) of his belly as he was sitting at a booth but if this man was something like an accountant I would be really disappointed.

We reminded him it was not polite to stare.  When he asked questions we suggested that maybe it was his brother.  Or maybe it was his cousin that kind of went of the deep end and now lives in a bunker with 20 cats and no one sees him except at the annual family reunion where Santa forces them all to wear cheesy shirts that say “The Clauses Have Come To Town”.

“Santa” noticed Hudson staring and gave him a friendly smile.  We saw him wave a waitress over.  Shortly after the same waitress came over to our table to chat with the kids.   “What’s your name?” she asked Kenzie.   We told her and then she asked her, “And who’s this?”
“Dat Hudson.  Dat my big bruder,” answered Kenzie.
She chatted with the kids some more and then went back to work.

Fast forward about 5 minutes and “Santa” was at our table.
“Hello, Hudson and MacKenzie!”  Ok, so he didn’t quite get her name right, but you gotta admit that was pretty clever.  Hudson just stared, barely able to get a word out.
“You guys have been very good.  I’ll see you at Christmas, ok?” he said and handed them each a business card with a picture of Santa that read, “You have just met Santa.  You must have been good this year” and went on to another table with children.

Now, most kids would have been over the moon.  They would have been giddy, and talking about telling all their friends, and updating their Facebook statuses.  Not Hudson.  There’s a reason we call him The Little Professor.
“Where’s his sleigh?”
We all looked at him.
“I only saw cars in the parking lot.  Where’s his sleigh?”
“It’s probably on the roof don’t you think?” I answered.
“Why isn’t he at the North Pole?”
“Well, Santa is very busy.  He needs a vacation sometimes too, just like you take vacations from school,” answered my mother-in-law.
“Why isn’t he wearing his suit?”  This kid is relentless.
“The suit is his work clothes.  He doesn’t wear it if he’s on vacation,” answered my husband.

 Meanwhile, Kenzie was tearing her card in half and dipping it in ketchup.

I’m not sure how much longer the Santa thing is going to last with Hudson.  I think now that he’s time to think about it he really is excited that he met Santa last night.  I’m sure it’s just a matter of time before he updates his Facebook status to “Who’s got two thumbs and just met Santa at Red Lobster?”  along with a iPhone picture of himself in the mirror.  Kenzie, however, will be busy dipping last years Christmas presents in ketchup.

Saturday, April 13, 2013

TMI Mom: Oversharing My Live-A Review

You know how you have that friend that you’ve known forever and you tell each other everything?  That friend that you calls you up and says things like “I know you’re at work, but I just have to tell you about how I just accidentally wiped jalapeno juice on my lady parts…”?  Ok, maybe you haven’t had that specific story about ill-placed jalapeno juice, but my friend Heather Davis has and she will tell you all about it in her new book TMI Mom: Oversharing My Life.

TMI Mom: Oversharing My Life is a book about motherhood, marriage, and funny stories about life in general.  It is the book version of the best friend that tells you everything.  The friend that’s not afraid to say soccer moms can just be plain freaky or that she’s not wearing underwear.  From keeping the romance alive Carmen Electra style to lip tattoos to thongs ending up in unfortunate places, it’s all in her book for you to read.  You’re never quite sure where Heather will lead you next, but you can be sure it is a windy road filled with hilariousness, awesomeness, and maybe a strip tease or two.

Find her book on Amazon and don’t forget to follow her on her blog Minivan Momma for even more oversharing.

About the Author
Heather Davis has a finely-tuned snarky side which she uses on a daily basis to save her sanity. She is married to a very patient husband, and together they have two very entertaining daughters.   Oversharing My Life, a collection of humorous essays, is her debut book. She and her family live in Bartlesville, OK, where she chronicles her life at www.Minivan-Momma.com.

Friday, April 12, 2013

Photo Friday: Sun times and goat noises

Here's a demonstration of a photography problem you are very likely to come across all the time.  The harsh sunlight in the first photo made for tough lighting conditions. Face her one way, you'd get some pretty extreme shadows on her face. Face her the other, you'd get her squinting into the sun. (I know, I tried them both.) If you're an amateur without a lot of equipment on you, you've got a couple basic options. One is to find some shade, which didn't work in this case because there was no shady area with bluebonnets. One is to use a fill flash, which I didn't try here. That's because I knew that I didn't have long to wait until there would be lots of pretty, indirect light before sunset. And that generally makes for a much better photos. Also, I made goat noises to amuse her for that second shot.

Even if your subjects are your bratty adult children, the same ideas would work. Especially the goat thing.

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Kids Love WWII

I admit it.  I love when my kids get excited about going to the bookstore.  It brings me joy when my son picks out a book we can sit on the couch with and snuggle and read about...WWII.

What, what?!  Yes.  This is the book that Hudson picked out at Barnes & Noble.  I don't know about you, but when I think of World War II I always think of the fashion. And how great stickers are.  And wouldn't it be wonderful if someone created a book based on all these things.

My friend Dayan asked if this was found next to the Cambodian Killing Fields Connect the Dots.  Yes, I believe it was.  Right behind this you could find the Vietnam Conflict Color By Number and the Iraq War Where's the Weapons of Mass Destruction?

I can't wait for the action figures to come out.  I think a tiny Joseph Goebbels would make a great stocking stuffer next Christmas.

Monday, April 8, 2013

Awkward Easter

You know how you can never get your kids to cooperate for pictures?  That doesn't change when your kids are grown.  Especially if they're assholes.  This is how my brother and I responded to her request for a picture of her children.
My brother's a 20-year old college student and therefore immature.  It was his idea. Ok, fine it was my idea.  I mean, we're the same people who thought buying footie pajamas to take these pictures was a good idea, so she shouldn't be surprised.

It was my mother's idea that we needed a picture without sunglasses. That's a lie. That was my idea, too.

This is what happens when you try to take a picture without sunglasses in glaring Oklahoma sun.  You burn your f-ing retinas.  That's what happens.

Just a little bit longer.  Work through the pain.  The sacrifice of vision is worth it for Easter pictures to show the world how damn happy we are.

Sorry mom.  Happy Easter.

Saturday, April 6, 2013

Do It Anyway

A little over a week ago, my friend Jenny and I formed the first Oklahoma chapter of Moms Demand Action for Gun Sense in America.  Before I go any further with this post, I was to make something very clear since I know a lot of my friends and family disagree with me on the whole gun control issue.  I’m not here to convert you.  I’m not going to preach so please don’t blow up my comment section with remarks about how stupid I am or how my logic is faulty.   I won’t lecture you if you won’t lecture me.

Even prior to the Newtown shooting, I thought our country’s obsession with guns was odd.  Prior to Newtown, I believed in stricter gun control laws.  But it wasn’t at the forefront of my mind.  You could have asked me if I thought we needed better background checks and I would have said yes and got right back to thinking about what I would have for lunch or why my child’s dirty underwear are lying beside my bed.

Then 20 children got murdered at Sandy Hook and it changed everything.  I cried daily.  I kept having the horrible mental image of someone walking into my son’s preschool class and gunning him down.  I screamed in silence every time I saw calls for more guns or more God.  But I didn’t say anything.  I read about bills to bring guns into the classroom and I thought to myself “This is insane!”, but I said nothing.

Then I got a little braver.  I corrected false information when I saw it and provided a source.  I sometimes voiced my opinion when I thought the other person was reasonable and wouldn’t call me names.  But I didn’t really do anything worthwhile.
My friend Jenny and I laughed because we were the only people that ever “liked” each others gun-related posts on Facebook.  I hoped someone in Oklahoma would speak up for sensible gun laws.  I hoped that people would rally and I could jump on board.  But that never happened.

Then it happened that we both looked around and said to ourselves, okay…I guess it’s me then.  Jenny saw a post on Moms Demand Action asking for someone to start an Oklahoma chapter, and here we are.

If it seems at this point that I’m patting myself on the back a little, damn straight I am!  This was hard for me.  I’m anxious and timid and my voice shakes when I talk in front of people.  So yeah, this was a big deal for me.

But I’m not writing today to give myself a pat on the back.  I’m writing to say that if I can do it so can you.  Growing up, I always waited for the day that the fear would go away.  I hoped for the day that I would wake up and no longer be self-conscience or worry about what people think of me.  Now I’m 34.  In that time I’ve gotten married and had two kids.  I’ve lost baby weight, my boobs, a lot of sleep and some credit card debt from college, but not the fear.  That day never came.  I’ve learned to accept that.  I’ve realized that I can’t keep waiting for the fear to go away, but I must start acting in spite of it.

My message today, is for the people that do agree with me on the issue of gun control.  I know you’re out there.  This is a hard state to speak up on this topic.  The opposition can be loud.  That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do it anyway.

So if you’re reading this and you feel passionately about this but you’re scared to stand up.  That’s ok.  But do it anyway.

Friday, April 5, 2013

Photo Friday: The one with bunny ears

Guest Post from Ann

At our neighborhood egg hunt, my daughter called the Easter Bunny a dog (all animals are dogs at the moment). She got a chance to wear her Easter Dog ears over the weekend. And she wasn't terrified by something like this. 

Wednesday, April 3, 2013

They Need To Stop

“They really need to stop with these commercials,” announced Hudson during a commercial for Pillow Pets or one of their bastardized offspring Stompeez, Stuffies, Pillow Pet blankets, hats, thongs and speedos.  I may have made some of those up.
“Because every time I see one of these commercials, I want what’s on the commercial.”  This was followed by a dramatic slapping of the forehead.

It’s true.  Right before Christmas he decided that he wanted a tree decorating kit and a fortune cookie factory.  I’m not sure where he got the idea for either of them but I blame it on the advertising executives.   At least I don’t think we’re eating an obscene amount of fortune cookies around here.

I feel his pain though.  In college, my roommates and I once drove to Braum’s in our pajamas because we saw a commercial for their brownie sundaes.  And Dove deodorant commercials make me want to slap my forehead.  “Go sleeveless in 5 days.”  Are people not going sleeveless out of concern that their armpits just aren’t attractive enough?  I don’t think I’ve ever said to myself “I would wear that tank top but I’m just not having a good armpit day” or “Someday…when my armpits are in better shape.”  Thanks Dove for giving us one more thing to be self-conscience about.

So I’m with my son on this one.  They need to stop with these commercials.  Now I’m going to go put on my Pajama Jeans, use my Shake Weight to work off that sundae, and slather on some deodorant so I can feel attractive again.

Monday, April 1, 2013

That Baby Was Asking For It

It’s amazing to me sometimes how different my children have turned out.  Same parents, same parenting style, completely different personalities.  Ok, I may stretch the five-second rule a little more with my daughter, but you get the drift.

Hudson is my gentle, sensitive soul.  He wouldn’t hurt a fly.  His sister yes, especially if she looks at one of his toys funny.   But a fly-no.

Then there’s Kenzie.

“We had to put Kenzie in time-out today,” said the childcare worker at my gym.
“She got a little rough with another kid and she pushed a baby.”
What’s the proper response when you’ve just been told that your 2-year old is pushing babies?  It’s probably not “Well, was the baby wearing a stupid looking outfit?  Because if so that baby totally had it coming,” which is what I thought about saying.  Followed by “Look all I’m saying is if that baby didn’t want to be pushed, it should probably not dress like a dweeb.”

Don’t worry I didn’t say any of that.  It just threw me for a loop.  I always thought I had raised my children to be kind.  I tell them constantly that they should treat people how they want others to treat them.  Now I’m worried that my daughter will tip over some poor paraplegic blind kid in a wheelchair one day just for laughs.

And for the record, I don’t think babies should be judged by their outfit.  That’s so shallow and superficial.  They should be judged by how cool their hair is and what kind of stroller they’re driving.

Honestly, I don’t know where she gets this behavior from.

Totally cool baby hair.