Friday, August 31, 2007

Aggravated Misdemeanor

Sooooooooo. I can't begin to tell you how validating the comments were in my last post. I try not to live for comments---but we all know they are blog crack. They are. Don't kid yourself. But yesterday, comments were just what I needed. I was sort of feeling like I couldn't possibly be doing it right if such a script is how my day is going. When most of you responded as if I were quoting you directly, it just seemed to make everything all better. So thank you.

Next item of business; I'd like to take you back to my arrival in Iowa. It was early in August. The first, to be exact. I was bereft from having left my friends and Texas. I loved the space and layout and location of where we lived. I knew that no matter what move we made, there would be compromises.

So, when I got here, I braced myself, so not be disappointed, even though I knew it wouldn't be as good. I tried really hard not to hate it. And the feeling would come and go. I'd say to myself, "This is going to be great, look at all this space." And then 20 minutes later when I had 5 bruises on each hip from turning around in the tiny kitchen to put things away, I was cursing the place.

All in all, this place is great. It has some definite perks that I am grateful for. The doorbell is not one of them. :) After two days of unpacking and discovering the different perks, I plopped into bed exhausted and fell immediately to sleep.

BANG BANG BANG BANG!!!!!!!!! I sat upright in bed, shocked. Oh please don't be trying to break into my house. My husband will sleep through a tornado and I'm in no shape to beat you with a bat. Plus, we don't have a bat. My heart was racing. I stood up and looked out our window that overlooks the back patio area and where our car is parked. There was a police officer circling our van. Next to the van was the Penske truck that would be returned in the morning. I looked at the clock. 2:24 AM. If that police officer was there to tell me we couldn't park a moving truck there at TWO THIRTY IN THE MORNING I was seriously going to maim someone. Seriously. I opened the window and yelled down, "Yeeeesssss?" Because I'm couth like that. He looks up at me and asks, "Is this your van?" I tell him that it is. "Well, there have been some break-ins, I need you to come down here and tell me if anything has been taken from your car."

"I'll be right down," I say. What I mean is, "ARE YOU KIDDING ME!!??!? Uhhhhh, I need to find some pants. Crap. I can't wake up J, he's impossible to wake up. I am SO not coming down there without a bat or my husband..."

I start to brave it and head down there and then my mind flashes of all the damn CSI episodes I've watched and a couple of America's Most Wanted and I yell up the stairs for J. "I don't know if this is a cop impersonator, I need you to come outside with me." He hadn't heard the conversation I had from the window, but he comes downstairs trusting that what I just said meant something.

Outside, our van door is ajar. I had bought groceries and left the van unlocked so J could unload some heavier things. He didn't think to lock it when he was done and neither did I. We may as well have rolled out a red carpet for the thief.

Fortunately there was only a diaper bag left in the van. 12 hours before, my niece had cleared all our junk out from our travels. He would have scored a couple of portable dvd players, wallets, rotten fruit, half a dozen baby einstein videos, and some melted gum.

The dude got busted while breaking into our car and that's why our door was ajar.
He pilfered through my diaper bag. I am SO leaving poopy diapers in there for the next crook.
I couldn't think of a single thing in my diaper bag that he would have made off with, but the officer kept pressing me to check if anything was missing. I was mostly glad he'd been caught and not too worried, I knew I hadn't left anything valuable. And AGAIN (this is the third time my car has been broken into---two other times were in Provo, of all places) the crook wanted nothing to do with my CDs. They were left alone. I guess people are right, my taste in music is awful. Who cares, me and Joseph and his amazing technicolor dream coat will still be rocking---his loss.

The officer dumped out an envelope full of loot they'd reclaimed. A small hairbrush that was well-used and two pairs of women's sunglasses. I was really surprised by this---who steals hairbrushes? Is there a black market for used 88 cent hairbrushes that I just don't know about? Nothing of mine, everything seemed to be intact in my car.

The officer took our names and said if I found anything to be missing, give him a call.

We went inside and I still wasn't sure he was a cop so I made J call to verify he was a real officer and he was where he was supposed to be. He was f'real y'all. So we went to bed.

As I lay my head on my pillow, I suddenly remember I had a wad of twenties that I had just haphazardly stashed in the outside pocket of my diaper bag two days before when we were driving up. Five of them. I did the math. I spent two of them driving up so that left $60. Then, I used one to fill the tank, and then....that left 2 twenties. And I couldn't remember if I had used my debit card or one of the twenties for lunch that day. I was too tired to go back out and check.

The next day I was driving around, had forgotten to check the diaper bag, but needed a quarter so I reached into my change drawer--aka ashtray and it was empty. Swiped clean of even the straw wrappers that sometimes get stuffed into it. That's when I new, the dude got away with my cash.

I called and reported it. The lady who took my information asked about how much change was in the ashtray. I told her, "Two McDonald's happy meal's change from a $10, times about 23." She was all, "I'm not a calculator ma'am, you're going to have to give me a total." They are there to protect and to serve, NOT to add up my stolen loose change.

Either way, I'm out some dough. I mean, does anyone know if the guy gets to keep it if in 24 hours no one claims it? And surely he was released from jail by then, right? Some things I'd like to know.

I'd actually even forgotten about this stinky welcome to the great state of Iowa, until I got a letter in the mail yesterday. From the county attorney. I am officially a victim. Well, right after I fill out the forms that say I am. They want a victim impact statement. And for me to be at his trial. Um, I'm not sure how I feel about that. I mean, the lazy part of me says, "meh, I don't have time for this." Then, the vigilante part of me (which is quite large, I must say) says, "Yeah, sucka, you messed with the WRONG minivan, you're going DOWN for your three aggravated misdemeanors and your one attempted aggravated misdemeanor on my sweet ride!" But I'm not feeling it too much.

On the upside, this place is feeling more and more like home every day. I guess it's true. Home is where the freezer that holds your Ben and Jerry's is.

Thursday, August 30, 2007

Parenting Script revisited

So, I'm having the kind of day where there's nothing really wrong, but I'm wondering what the heck I've gotten myself into. There really must be more to life...

I recalled a post I did after feeling this way once, and looking back, see that it was just about two weeks shy of being exactly a year ago I posted it.

Must be seasonal.

I'm reposting it. And maybe next year at this time, I'll feel need to post it again.

Get your shoes on!

Do you have your underwear on?

Finish your sandwich!

Why is your sandwich on the floor?

Get OFF of there!

Do you know what you want?

Well, what do you want!?

Then close the refrigerator!

You are BIGGER than her, just move away if you don't like it!

Are you kidding me? Toothpaste?! You really thought that was okay?

Why are you co----STOP coloring on the table top!



If I see that gum one more time....

Get your feet off the table!

If Dad saw that you would be in SO much trouble right now!

If I hear her squawk one more time because of you....





Give me a break, it's a BANANA for crying out loud.

Because you need a nap. Because I said. Because if you don't get in there I'm gonna blow my stack!

Stop playing with your food---I'm sick of wiping yogurt off the bottom of the table.

No more tv.

No more movies.

No more dvds.

No more videos.

No you cannot have the remote control.

I AM watching?!

What am I watching?

Because you always have to wear a seatbelt.

No, you aren't the police officer.

Please don't say 'dammit'.

No, she did not say 'dammit', she can't even talk yet!

Please stop yelling everything you say, I'm right here.

Yes! I know David kills Goliath every time, I don't need to watch it.

Because I don't.

That is not a toy!

Stop hitting that!
Stop tearing that!
Stop whining!
Stop touching that!
Stop wasting that!
Stop doing that!
Stop! Stop! Stop!

2007's additions

Please stay in your bed.
You can't go outside unless you put on some pants.
Please get off the baby.
No, it's not September yet.
No, it's not July either.
I don't care if batteries are included, I'm still not buying it.
I'm not holding you, you are in trouble right now.
I understand that Diego does it, but he's a CARTOON!
We do NOT pretend choke people!
Did you really think it was a good idea to put that acorn in your mouth?
Neosporin is NOT candy!
Because I am not a short order cook!
Who pulled the cushions off of the couch?
Please stop standing on my neck.
Close the shower curtain and get out of here!
I'm not going anywhere, I'm just combing my hair!

And the #1 phrase I say the most, "If you ________ one more time, I will __________.
Fill in the blank with any number of obnoxious and annoying behaviors followed by a semi-ridiculous threat that may or may not be followed through by me.

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

Not Just Overheard, Experienced!

This weekend we went on a little day outing to some Amish-like colonies nearby. They aren't Amish. But I'm ignorant about them, so I've resorted to calling them Amish-like. Sort of like how I'm educated-like, or smart-like.

We had a really great time. Everything we saw or did revolved around food, and that is a good day for me.

In one of the shops we were in, the chocolate one, to be exact, there was a chatty and young cashier. I was carrying Danyo in a sling and she pointed to it and said, "How old is your baby?"

Since his birthday is June 2nd, the very beginning of June, and it's the end of August, I said, "He's almost 3 months."

Then SHE said, "I have a little boy who's 3 months."

And I think, oh cool, wouldn't that be funny if our boys were the exact same age? So I ask, "Oh really, what's his birthday?"

Innocent enough, no?

She twists up her face, to show she's thinking really hard, she looks up with her eyes, as though into her mind to recall that date, that ever-so elusive date of the BIRTH OF YOUR CHILD. At this point, I was certain I had mis-heard her and she hadn't said SHE had a child, she'd said something else.

Then she starts guessing, "Juuuuune, uh, June tweeeeennnnnnnnnnty, um, June twenty something." I just nodded. The connection was lost. It wasn't even her child. And a June twenty something child isn't 3 months old. Whatever.

But then she says, "Oh gosh, I just don't know. I was there! I just can't remember."

I smiled politely, my niece finished her transaction and we left. Outside I said, "I could have sworn she said she had a 3 month old but..." and Erica says, "She DID say that. That was so weird."

And then we laughed. Because it was weird and so entirely random.

I mean, there's striking up conversation and then there's---well, making up fictional babies.

At least I can be certain my baby is cuter than hers.

Sunday, August 26, 2007

Don't Mess With Texas

I grew up in Missouri. I think for all intents and purposes, Missouri is a fairly benign state. Oh, I know politically, and sometimes religiously one could find place to dispute that---but just work with me.

I didn't grow up being instilled with Missouri pride. In fact, I'm not sure there is such a thing. At least not among those of us born after 1935. Or who still have most of our teeth. I could be wrong though. Oh yeah, and I could be totally offending people too. **

Growing up, my mom worked tirelessly to keep us from talking like some of the natives in our area. "Ain't, cain't, I seen" etc. I think she did a good job.

So, when I went off to college and was exposed to people from different states, and even different countries, I was quite surprised to see the pride people had in their homeland. I heard songs like, "I'd rather be from Idaho than any other place I know, Idee-idee-idee-idee-Idaho!"

Yeah, I doubt Missourians have such a song. Or if they did, would sing it to anyone who would listen.

And then there's the Canadians. Wow, that's some serious pride in their country. It was all so new to me.

And then the Texans. Sometimes it was annoying. Everything's big in Texas. Everything's better in Texas. People acted as though it was the only state worth living in and if they weren't living there at the time, they had every intention of getting back there as soon as possible.

Totally foreign concept to me.

And then we moved to Texas. And lived there for 19 months. And then had to leave.

And I get it. I wish I had been born in Texas so I could say I was Texan. I wish we could live there forever. I totally understand those Texans mourning having to leave, or refusing to ever leave. I totally get it.

My sister got Bo a "Don't mess with Texas" t-shirt over a year ago. I was still fairly new to Texas so I thought it was just a funny thing to own. Now we live by it. He's pretty much outgrown the shirt, but every Saturday night we stretch it out as a family so he can wear it to high school if he wants. And if he doesn't grow much more.

So, here I sit, in lil' ol' Iowa. I can't say anything bad about the place. It's just not Texas. That shouldn't be such a crime, but it almost is. I miss you Texas. You may have hardly noticed I was there, what with the hibernating for days at a time with nary a shower or change of clothes---but I was there. And I loved you.

I couldn't help but try to make Iowa my own little piece of Texas, in the midwest.
Pardon the shameless use of my children for my own amusement.
Be assured you will see more of this shirt. And you can be certain everytime you see it that I am laughing quite heartily and undoubtedly thinking I am the funniest girl evoh.

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

True Story

Recently we were at some friend's house and Bo decided to use the bathroom. In the furthest corner of their home, upstairs. He spent about 20 minutes yelling, "I'm dooooooooooone" over and over. I just happened to go looking for a scale to weigh my svelte self and stumbled upon my half-nekkid, toilet-seat imprinted, in need of a good wipe, yelling boy. I kind of felt bad. I mean, how long would he have waited to be rescued by a few squares and an adult hand? I don't know.

So I sat down and had a very important heart to heart with my son. One I'm sure every mother has had...

"You need to tell me before you are about to go to the bathroom so I can know you will need help in a few minutes. I'm not always where I can hear you say you are done, but if I know you are about to go, I can listen for it."

He agreed.

And follows the suggestion unfailingly. Like, when I'm in the shower. Or asleep. Or RIGHT THERE. He tells me. I appreciate his obedience.

However, today, it would appear to be too difficult of a task for him. So he came up to me, as I was sitting right outside the bathroom hanging a hook and says to me,

"I'm going to the bathroom now mom. But I don't really feel like calling you and telling you when I'm done. So, just listen for the last one to drop and then come wipe."

I'm not kidding.

I was instructed to wait for the last one to drop.

I need to get a better paying job for this kind of work environment.

Friday, August 17, 2007

The Girl Who Lived

Courtesy of The-Fireplace-That-Must-Not-Be-Named

Monday, August 13, 2007

Size Does Matter

So, there are 5 gazillion kids in this neighborhood. And they all have a magnetic draw to my doorbell. J's already disengaged it. That was yesterday after the 39th ring in an hour. Granted, half of the rings are Bo asking a question.

There are a LOT of children between about 2 and 6. There's a darling little redhaired girl, about 6 years old who wants Avee to come out and play and Avee isn't easily swayed. It's sort of funny to watch my 2 year old size up a 6 year old and hem and haw about whether or not she wants to play with her.

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhh, noooo. Saw-ee, not today, I watch Caillou!" She says that, even when Caillou isn't on. Two year old version of, "Tell her I'm in the shower!"

So, there's a darling boy across the street who is only about 4 months younger than Bo; but he's quite a bit smaller. With these teeny little eyeglasses. Yesterday he knocked on my door and asked to play with Bo. When I told him he couldn't, he politely said, "Oh, okay. Well then, could I draw on your house?" and held up a Bic pen. I laughed right out loud and scared the little dear away. Bet you've never been asked that.

However, next door, there's a big boy, about 6 or so. At least he's the size of a 6 year old. But he can't talk. He says the words, but I can't understand a blessed thing he says. I have to be very careful because if I pretend to understand him and offer a polite, but unknowing, "Uh-uh, sure!" he'll walk off with our DVD player. Because I said he could.

Bo prefers to play with him. He can't understand him either. But he's big. And that's all that matters. Today Bo told little "K", "I don't want to play with you, I want to wait for someone bigger to come home." I gave him a stern talking to for that.

We do not judge people by their size.
We judge them by their annual income.

Sunday, August 12, 2007

Sunday Morning

I was busily working in the kitchen, alphabetizing my spices and finding the last big box of kitchen stuff a home. No small feat in this ridiculously small kitchen.

J was playing with the kids in the living room and said, "Well, we better start getting ready for church now."

I sighed loudly. I can't be bothered with the salvation of my soul when I'm only to cumin in my spice endeavor.

A few minutes later he says something he's never said before and I'm certain will never say again.

"Do you wanna just skip this week?"

I looked around at the clutter and boxes and unusable kitchen but I played it cool and casually responded, "Oh, whatever you want sweetie..."

Then, about 15 minutes later J, playing horsey with the kids, decided the horse needed a drink. Bo walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. We were standing nearby, barely paying attention, but we heard the refrigerator door close and Bo casually mutter, "dammit" as he walks back into the living room for some more popcorn.

We weren't sure we heard him right. He seemed so nonplussed for having just flung out a swear word. I mean, everyone knows, around here, you have to have a REALLY good reason to say that word. Like, forgetting your purse in the house after getting the kids loaded in the car...

"Um Bo, why did you just say that?"
"Say what?"

"Uhh, dammit."

"Oh yeah. My cream soda was all gone."

I think we need to go to church today.

Monday, August 6, 2007

Meme time cuz the baby is sleeping

I got tagged for this meme by Luisa at Novembrance and it's been a while.
The other two, I stole, just flat out stole from Code Yellow Hot Mama

4 things that should go into Room 101 and be removed from the face of the earth:
fluorescent green

3 things people do that make you want to shake them violently:
when people say "alls" as though it's ACTUALLY A WORD
Smack their gum
make excuses or blame others

2 things you find yourself moaning about:
being overweight
taking care of a newborn

1 thing the above answers tell you about yourself:
Nothing too telling. I'm a snob and don't care for the newborn stage. :)


My roommate(s) and I... once left for Thanksgiving break and when we came back, a new roommate had moved in and put up "decorations" all over the house. They were pictures torn from calendars (you know, like what you decorated with when you were 10 years old) like, whales, foxes, horses, etc. AND printed out stories from her emails. Like, the one about one-legged Timmy the soccer star. That particular story was pasted right in front of the toilet for our reading pleasure when we had to take care of business. I finally convinced her to take some of them down when I told her I met a soccer player named Timmy and I wet my pants. Looking back, it seems like nothing, but we were all pretty shocked and dismayed that our hovel had lost even more value in such a short time.

Never in my life... have I wanted to get drunk.

High school was... forgettable, for the most part. I wish I had tried harder or understood the benefits in trying harder. ie, scholarships.

When I'm nervous... you probably can't tell. I rarely get nervous. However, I did notice while on my mission that I would start making fart noises with my hands when I got bored. When I'm nervous I get the usual butterflies and hot, but I think I hide it well.

My hair... is atrocious right now. I used to have great hair I could get to do whatever I want (except be fine). I usually had to do very little to maintain it. Each child has subsequently destroyed that. Now it's nappy and wings out in random places and I got a helacious hair cut and I really don't want to talk about it anymore.

When I was five I...probably had a mullet, speaking of hair. I was homeschooled. I had a fat lip. I was probably a busy body. I loved little kids. I threw a pair of wet underwear at my 12 year old brother who made fun of me for wetting my pants. Nailed him too.

When I turn my head "sweepy" bangs obstruct my view of Avee two inches from my face. I kid you not. Apparently she "needs" something.

I should be...finishing making dinner

By this time next year...I'll be older, wiser, slimmer, and not pregnant or nursing.

My favorite aunt is...huh. Don't really have one.

I have a hard time understanding...rude people. When we were visiting our friends in DC, we went into a metro station that was INSANELY crowded. One person in our group went to get a ticket, and the bulk of us waited to the side for him to return. While we were waiting, we found ourselves waiting next to another woman. After about 10 minutes of waiting and just seeing hundreds of people pass by, we were all commenting on how crazy busy it was. My husband turned to the woman standing near us and said, "have you been waiting long?" She was obviously doing the same thing we were. She stared at him and then said hostily, "Why do you need to know!?" Like he'd just asked her social security number. He was pretty shocked, as were the rest of us. He kind of recovered and said something about our friend getting us a ticket and wondering how long it would take. She said something even more rude and kind of stunned us all. My husband said, "Sorry to bother you," he was definitely being sarcastic, but the funny thing is, she said, "no problem." That actually made me laugh, but the whole experience made me just feel gross. It's rare that I've met a person that rude for no reason, but when I have, I just don't get it.

You know I like you if...I talk a lot. If I tell you. I email you. You send me things. :)

My ideal breakfast is...eggs benedict and perfect hashbrowns. Oh wait, that's usually what I order if we go out. I would love fresh fruit, all kinds, perfectly fresh, already prepared.

If you visit my home town...keep on a-driving. Just kidding. I don't care for it much, but that offends the people who still live there. There's lots of history there (here--I happen to be in my hometown right now...) and it's worth checking out. Once.

If you spend the night at my house...don't expect me to wait on you. I'm a much better guest than I am a host. If being a good guest means eating all your food and leaving messes everywhere. I'm excellent.

My favorite blonde is...Erica

My favorite brunette is...Sara

I shouldn't have been...wasting time on regrets

Last night I...nursed, laid down, and read Harry Potter all at the same time. Thank you very much.

A better name for me would be...Your Highness. My name is perfect for me, actually.

I've been told I look like...Molly Ringwald. My entire teen years. Darryl Hannah in my early twenties and more recently, Scully from X-files. Oh yeah, and a lady at Walmerts said I looked just like the baby. Really. She didn't say he looks like me, she said, "You look JUST LIKE heem."

If I could have any car, it would be...fuel efficient and seat many. Doesn't exist. But a girl can dream.

You should do this meme if you...have ever had stitches.

This is a one word meme
1. Where is your cell phone? couch
2. Your husband? far
3. Your hair? hell
4. Your mother? perfect
5. Your father? tall
7. Your dream last night? scary
8. Your favorite drink? alcoholic
9. Your dream car? paidoff
10. The room you're in? noisy
11. Your ex? marriedhim
12. Your fears? loss
13. What do you want to be in 10 years? Graduate
14. Who did you hang out with last night? nieces
15. What you're not? insincere
16. Muffins? fattening
17. One of your wish list items? TV
18. Where you grew up? Missouri
19. The last thing you did? combedAve'shair
20. What are you wearing? nothing
21. Your TV? off
22. Your pet? never
23. Your computer? temperamental
24. Your life? good
25. Your mood? mellow
26. Missing? J
27. What are you thinking about right now? water
28. Your car? Suhhhweet
29. Your work? neverending
30. Your summer? fast
31. Your relationship status? married
32. Tomorrow? stillmarried
33. When is the last time you laughed? today
34. Last time you cried? July27th
35. School? for lewsurs

Saturday, August 4, 2007

From the Midwest

I'm still living out of a suitcase.
I'm still completely overwhelmed and if we never move again, it will be too soon.
I still wonder HOW I accumulated so much stuff. And children.

I'm at my sister's house right now and apparently, the rule at her house, is, if I stay here, I have to blog. Only, what she doesn't know is, all the profound, insightful, unbearably funny things I blog about---I talk about in real life. So she's gonna get a bunch of repeats. Neener neener. That's what you get for giving me rules. I am a free spirit. Who answers to a 2 month old. And two year old. Oh yeah, and a 4 year old. Free, free, free!

I will leave you with a Bo quote, just to hold you over until I can sit down and write the two posts that are twirling around in my head. They are ever-so fascinating. They are as anxiously awaiting their typage, as you are their readage.

While driving down to my sister's last night, Bo fell asleep. He woke up suddenly and was distraught, crying, and saying "ow" over and over. I was immediately concerned and thought he might have been woken up by pain. I started asking with some urgency, from the driver's seat, "Bo, what's wrong, what hurts, tell me what is the matter, tell me what is hurting you."

He moaned and whined a little more.

I inquired more aggressively with the kind of compassionate, empathetic concern a mother has for her child and he finally answered.

"Your driving is what is hurting me."