12 05 2009

You know how they say

that “old people” are invading

social networking sites?

I just finished

a conversation with my mom.


the topic of


came up.

I mentioned

something about someone

to which she replied,

“Oh, yeah,

I knew that.

I follow him on Twitter.”

What the what?

Here are some things that I did not say:

I did not say,

“You know what Twitter is?”

Nor did I say,

“You tweet?”


(that is combo “nor” and “further”)

(yes, you can use it too, if you like;

it is a neat word)

did I say,

“You follow people?”

Norther did I question,

“Do you drop Twitter lingo

in conversation?”

I didn’t even ask

“How many followers do you have?”

“How many people do you follow?”

“Do you tweet often?

Are you one of those

who will post something random one day

and then not tweet again

for 3 months?


Are you more of the

“Now I’m eating lunch- turkey w/ cheese on rye, YUM.”

“Just went pee- we r out of TP!”

“What should I make for dinner tonight? Any 1 got any suggestions 4 me?”



No no.


I said,

“You have a Twitter account,

and yet

you aren’t following me?”

It’s like that time

I offered my umbrella

to a woman caught in the rain.

She declined.

And I was all,

What’s wrong with my umbrella,

wet lady???


What’s wrong with following me?

Her response was


that she didn’t want

to be all up in my grill

and invade my space.

Uh huh.



It was not until hours later

that it hit me.


she was not following me

because she didn’t want


to invade




she didn’t want


all up in




I was never meant to find out

about her


Twitter account.



too bad.

I know now.

And now I’m following you.

And I will always know

exactly what


things you are doing.




Not Me!

11 05 2009


Welcome to Not Me! Monday! This blog carnival was created by MckMama. You can head over to her blog to read what she and everyone else have not been doing this week.

•I have not abandoned all hope of Oliver ever calling me “Mommy.” I have not just started answering to “Daddy” instead.

•I certainly did not wonder where the Obamas live.

•I did not purchase a big ol’ bag of in ground soil when I meant to buy potting soil. I did not then return to the store to get the right kind, only to come home with two more big ol’ bags of in ground soil.

•I did not feed Oliver Baby’s First McDonald’s one desperate night when Jeff was gone. Eeeeeyuck. No way. He did not lick his greasy McNuggetey hands clean, either.

•I did not spend my Saturday night raking and bagging mown grass while my husband was out hobnobbing with the rich & famous (Steven Spielberg! Tyra Banks! Ashton and Demi! George Lucas! Jimmy Fallon!). I was not at all jealous. Not even when he dared tell me how hot Mariska Hargitay looked. Nope. Not even a little bit.

In the White House, GENIUS.

8 05 2009

I didn’t mail my mom her Mother’s Day card until Thursday; chances that it’ll get delivered to her before Sunday are pretty slim, right? Oops. That’s okay, though; as my mom likes to say, “Always make sure you’re wearing clean underwear!” Wait, that’s not the one I meant. “Don’t talk about my mother or I’ll talk about yours!” Nope, not it. “Better late than never!” Yeah, that’s the one. (She’s used a lot of sayings over the years.)

Besides, she’s the type of mom to insist that you don’t need to get her anything or make a fuss over her. And she means it, too; that isn’t some front that really means get her something, and while you’re at it, make a fuss over her, too. She’d much rather have one of her children show their appreciation with kind words, or a meaningful gesture. Yeah, she’s cool like that.

I’m happy to say (at the risk of sounding full of myself) that I think I inherited this trait from her. While expensive jewelry and other fancy shmancy gifts are definitely nice (I wouldn’t, for example, turn this sucker down if it magically showed up on my doorstep…), I don’t desire or expect those kinds of things. As sappy as it sounds, I’d rather someone say something nice to me. Or show me in some small, random and unexpected way that they were thinking of me. That’s it. I’m a true believer in that cop-out line that “it’s the thought that counts.”

Unfortunately for me, though, that isn’t the only trait I got from my mom. I’m, for lack of a more politically correct term, a dumb blonde. I do and say some of the ditziest things imaginable, and so does my mother. In the spirit of Mother’s Day and honoring her and such, I won’t tell you some of the crazy things she’s done or said. I have no shame, though, and therefore have no problem sharing with you some of my own little gems. Here are some things I have actually said (or done). Out loud. In front of other people. I’m not joking.

•I once spent a good 20 minutes trying to figure out how to rewind a DVD.

•In college, this kid tried to tell me that the word “gullible” wasn’t in the dictionary. Feeling 99% certain that it WAS in the dictionary, I looked it up to prove him wrong.

•After watching an actress who is not blind portray a person who was, I remarked, “I wonder if blind people get as annoyed as I do seeing someone pretending to be blind…?”

•Jeff was telling me about work the other day when he mentioned something about the Vice President and where he lives. Pondering on this a little further, I actually wondered aloud, “Where does Obama live?”

There are oh-so-many more, but my cheeks are red and I want to go hide under my blankets now. Thanks, Mom! And happy Mother’s Day!

This post was written for Parent Bloggers Network as part of a sweepstakes sponsored by Johnson’s.

Not me!

4 05 2009


Welcome to Not Me! Monday! This blog carnival was created by MckMama. You can head over to her blog to read what she and so many others have not been doing this week!


*I did not run away scared from an already dead teensy little spider. COME ON. I killed the MOTHER of all spiders, the Spider KING. A teensy weensy little DEAD ONE can’t scare me.

*I did not forgo cleaning the bathrooms (that really, really needed it) AGAIN in favor of napping. That is lazy. And I am never lazy.

*I did not have a conniption and completely LOSE IT when Jeff dropped all the raw chicken I had just spent HOURS (when I’m forced to deal with raw meat, time moves very slowly) cutting up into the sink. I mean, it’s not like he dropped them on the floor, or the ground, even. It was just the sink. A little rinsey-rinse and they’re fine, right? No, I didn’t overreact and yell and get angry over such a little thing. Also: I am not at all hormonal right now.

*I did not eat 3/4 of the bag of candy a neighbor brought over for Ethan. And it was not yummy. I wouldn’t know, since I, ya know, didn’t eat any of it.

*I did not feed my children dinner in the car a few nights ago. This did not prompt Ethan to ask if we were going to sleep in the car, too. I did not then respond, “Yes. We are going to sleep in the car. In fact, we are going to live in the car from now on!” just to see if he’d believe me. Heh heh heh he did. I mean, didn’t.

*I did not witness my younger son practicing his Amazing Feat (balancing atop a tiny, overturned snack bowl) in preparation to join the circus someday. I did not take pictures, either, instead of immediately removing him and placing him safely on the ground. A good mother would not condone such reckless behavior, not even if my little circus freak very adorably sang out, “Ta daaaaa, boom! Ta daaaaa, boom!” over and over again the whole time.



1 05 2009

Here’s a helpful little tip for you: Next time you want to wish for the magical disappearance of your toddler’s yucky rash overnight, DON’T, because instead what you will get is your 4-year-old waking up in the middle of the night with a fever and crazy dreams. And the rashy one? Will still be rashy.


Speaking of tips, I discovered something yesterday that you probably knew already (which would make complete sense, as I seem to be 2 steps behind the entire world when it comes to… everything): a way to trick myself into working out. I’ve been doing the 30 Day Shred again, after a brief really long hiatus, for about two weeks now. Yesterday I had zero motivation to do it, but I didn’t really want to admit it to myself, so I thought maybe I’d just pretend like I was going to do it, and then later on, when I still hadn’t done it, I could just make up some excuses (“I didn’t have time” is a favorite of mine, since I really usually don’t have time, what with children, housework, studying, and often single-parent status) (which could be true, except that I’m really good by now at making this sound believable, and so who knows?) and move on. I even went so far with my facade as to put on my “workout clothes” (which consist of capri sweats (which are one of the comfiest things ever and I would wear them at all times, dead of winter, even, if I could) and (surprise surprise) a beater (I told you I like beaters)).

But then, as luck had it, I randomly found myself with a little free time: Oliver was napping and Ethan was watching Sesame Street… I’d already cleaned up from breakfast… I’d already posted, even… and here I was, already in my workout clothes… well, all I had to do was turn it on. I couldn’t NOT not Shred. It turns out that I am really good at pretending. So good that I end up actually doing what I was pretending I would do. And I’m thinking that if I just immediately put workout clothes on when I get up in the morning, this might happen more often. We’ll see.

Or not. Because if you think my only excuse is the time one, well, you’d be wrong. I’ve got a whole rolling suitcase full of them.

Itchy and scratchy

30 04 2009

I’m taking a little break (from Googling “my baby itches what can I do for him that won’t make him worse”) (um, sorry, Ollie; mama promises to get right back on that in just a mi- stop scratching! stop scratching!). My break involves a cup of reheated coffee that I somehow managed to spill down my front on the second sip (luckily, I was wearing a t-shirt of Jeff’s* (um, sorry, Jeff), so it’s fine), the cleaning up of said coffee, and feeding Oliver some banana bread. Because my solution to stop him from itching so far has been to keep feeding him. As long as I keep the food coming, he doesn’t itch. I slip up, though, and he has his chunky little baby arm, pointing at the bumps, using all the words he knows to describe it to me (“satch” = scratch; “buh”= bump; “huur” = hurt; “oww”= OW THIS IS OW FIX IT MOMMY), before he begins to hack at away at all the little bumps with his tiny fingernails.

*I don’t normally wear my husband’s clothes, but I was getting ready for bed last night and couldn’t find a beater. I did, however, come across one of Jeff’s t-shirts as I searched the laundry basket of clean (unfolded- I am lazy) clothes. Is it weird that I wear beaters to bed? Is it weird that I started doing this when I was pregnant with Ethan? It is, isn’t it? You haven’t seen classy till you’ve seen a lady’s 9-months-pregnant belly hanging out of her husband’s wife beater, LET ME TELL YOU.

Oliver has acute something-something dermatitis of childhood. I know this because I took him to his doctor yesterday (not to the ER, as I’d tweeted I would, in case you caught that tweet; I ended up waiting (3 hours!) for a triage nurse to call me back, with whom I discussed the rash, leading to the decision to keep calling the appointment line in the event that someone had cancelled their appointment for that day; no one ever did, but by some stroke of luck, I was able to snag one for the following day). She at first thought it was chicken pox, decided it was not that, was perplexed for a little while, and then began calling other doctors in to have a look and discuss with her. Eventually they came to a consensus, and everyone was relieved: it wasn’t contagious! it should clear up in about a week! Awesome. But, um, there’s nothing we can do for him. (It’s viral.) ‘Cept watch him scratch, I guess.

The visit wasn’t entirely unproductive– I left Oliver’s appointment with a prescription for Ethan for Zyrtec (they have the same doctor). Ethan’s allergies and eczema have been RAGING the past week or so, thanks due largely to the 90 degree weather we’ve been “enjoying.” Oh, yes, AND we got to wait for that prescription in the pharmacy at the hospital with loads of other sickies for ALMOST TWO HOURS. It was GREAT.

So, Ethan is feeling much better today- less itchy and sneezy, rash clearing up- but Oliver is feeling AND looking worse. Google had better tell me something good, because that poor boy’s entire body has been overtaken by angry red, leaky sores (the picture below doesn’t capture their angriness, nor their leakiness, fortunately for you) (seriously, you can’t even see the ones on his eyelid, or his neck… wait, did I accidentally buy a magical camera? Going to take a picture of myself right now and see if I’m thin and pretty, brb) (NOPE, not magical; harsh, in fact) and he is pretty much miserable, and… aw, he’s dancing! He can’t feel THAT awful if he’s dance-partying with the Dixie Chicks, who are singing about the letter B on Sesame Street, right? He is swaying along to the song in his high chair. How cu… Oh. Nevermind. He’s grinding on the high chair so as to scratch at the unreachable parts of his back, neck and head. Hm… I recall Monica taping oven mitts to Pheobe’s and Charlie Sheen’s hands, to keep them from scratching at their chicken pox, on an episode of Friends once. Perhaps I shall give that a try?

In the meantime, I’ve banished clothes for the day in hopes that letting his skin… um… air out, or something… without the irritation of clothes constantly rubbing against it will somehow help. He’ll get a cool bath later, and tomorrow we’ll wake up and it’ll be all gone, right? Right. And I’ll never find another bug in this house again, either.


Yucky rash? No clothes? SO WHAT? Clearly, it is business as usual for Oliver.

Snap-crackle-squish: an update

24 04 2009

I’ll be brief here, because honestly, an entire post related to bugs, an entire comments section related to bugs, and DUDE I’ve had enough! I’m going to be feeling all creepy-crawly and shuddery for the next week. *shudder*

(AGH something just flew by my head! WHAT is going ON?)


So the uh, update. I put the baby gate up in the doorway this morning to keep the boys from knocking my Swiffer/Lipton-stand-in down, and they hardly even noticed it, so there were no problems there. But then after reading parkingathome’s comment about how she had a friend who used to trap bugs with overturned cups, and then went back to check AND THE BUG WAS GONE… Well. I couldn’t NOT go look after that, right? I mean, if it WAS gone, I had a very important decision to make: do I go on a spider hunt, or grab my boys and my nearly-completed disaster preparedness rolling suitcase (which will henceforth be known as my DPRS, pronounced “diapers,” because that title is 4 words too long, yo) and get the heck outta the house?*

Oh my goodness, people. I WILLINGLY crept up to the Swiffer, and I WILLINGLY very very very very slowly started to lift the handle, promising myself I’d stop IMMEDIATELY at the site of a leg… But it never came to that. Before I could see any evidence of it’s carcass, I heard the evidence. And if I wasn’t completely grossed out before, the combination crackly-stickyness sound it made did me in FO SHO.

So huuuuuge sigh of relief, it was still there. This was not only a good thing because it meant I didn’t have to make that important stay-or-go decision, but also because there was a pretty big part of me that wanted Jeff to see this thing. He is used to me going all girly over bugs and describing even the little ant-sized things as “enormous.” So me just saying to him that this one was big wasn’t enough. Its body, NO JOKE, was probably the size of a half dollar coin, but that did not even account for what the legs added. Including those, we are talking A BUG THE SIZE OF THE PALM OF MY HAND. That goes crackly-splooooshy-crack when you try to move it’s dead body EW.

Jeff got home around dinner time tonight, but due to some neighborhood drama (which I’ll tell you all about later), he did not get to see the body until he’d been home for awhile. I will remember his reaction always: “Holy cow. That’s freaking huge. Like tarantula size.”

I KNOW, right?

Also, I should totally be on the lookout for his brothers now, huh? Eeeeeeeeuck.

*Can I just say, how convenient is it that I started putting together my DPRS a mere day before this particular disaster struck? And also, I have to admit, in those 30 minutes I stood frozen in the face of “danger” trying to figure out what to do, I seriously considered grabbing the boys (who were asleep in bed, for goodness’ sake!) and grabbing my DPRS (hehehehe) and leaving. Even if it meant sleeping in the car with the two of them. Why stop there? Honestly, I actually entertained the thought that we’d have to move out. I wish I could say I was exaggerating, but no, for a solid 5 minutes, I was convinced that leaving the house was my only option. They were a chaotic, irrational 30 minutes, they were.