Monday, October 29, 2007

Questionable Content

My place of employment, being a fairly large corporation, has many safeguards as far as the internet and email communication go. So it warmed the cockles of my heart the other day when I pulled up this site at work and saw this at the top of my screen, "Warning, this site contains questionable content."

To me really that's the best kind of content - the questionable kind. It's probably due to the profanity that's sprinkled around here. I'm a big fan of cussing. It's an outlet for frustration really and since I have to try and curb it vocally in front of the kids, (I will really try to do better Matthew dear) I like to let it run rampant in other modes of communication.

The fun thing about the email system at work is that it blocks incoming or outgoing messages with "questionable content" so I have to be creative and use a lot of "s hit" and "a$s" and "bi tch" spelling variations.

In theory - that is - because I'm not one to send personal emails from work. That would be a misuse of company time and resources.

Sunday, October 28, 2007

Grounded from the phone at 10 months old

I'm sure it happens to them quite frequently. "911, what's your emergency" and they're greeted by babbling and the faint cries of "Can we fix it? Yes, we can!". However, it was a first for me and I can't say that I enjoyed it.

Gwen was playing with the phone Friday night, as she's done on many occassion. It's very cute really, how she holds it up to her ear and says "Da, DA, ya, YA". She's a genius really I think - because she grasped the concept of the telephone at the tender age of about 8 and a half months.

Anyway, I was picking up around the house - or trying at least to stem the tide of toys and I noticed she had the phone so I grabbed it and pressed the end button and put it back on the charger. 5 seconds later it rang and it was the police. Yep, the little shit had dialed 911. I was mortified. I apologized profusely, and assured them that I'd keep the phone away from the infant. I could just envision my name being put on a list of 911 prank call offenders. It was awful and two days later I'm still mortified.

I feel like I got really lucky though because just mere moments before I noticed she had the phone I'd been yelling at the dog, who'd been barking all damn afternoon (she's a beagle, enough said) and I'd just said something to the effect of "I'm going to lock your butt in the basement so long that you'll forget what daylight looks like!" So it's a miracle that the Police just called me back rather than showing up at my door with armed officers and a Department of Human Services liason. Oh and by the way, Beagles don't really respond to idle threats any more than children do.

I tell you this kid is trouble. She scales bookcases, climbs stairs, falls head first into the bathtub, and just this afternoon I caught her playing with the knobs on the stove. Well, at least if she maims herself she'll know how to call for help.

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

Toddler anatomy 101

"How can you pee with your butt?"

That was the burning question Aaron posed to me this afternoon as I sat down to take a piss. He's recently become extremely puzzled as to why I sit down on the toilet when I pee, while he employs the vertical position. And he should be puzzled, sometimes I wonder if it's possible myself and dream of a world where I wouldn't have to rest my ass cheeks on a disgusting public toilet seat - I can't do the hover squat, I've tried many times in vain.

Anyway, so I chose to hit the issue head-on with the cold hard facts. I said, "because Mommy doesn't have a penis like you do." and I pointed to the general area to give him a hint of what one of his body parts I was referring to, and he gave me this exasperated look. The same look that he gives me when I refer to a whale as just a whale and not a humpback whale or when I say, "look at that pretty bird" and he says, "that's not a bird, it's a scarlet macaw" like I'm some kind of ignorant clod (Thank you Diego). Then he says "That's my belly", because pretty much in his mind anything between the nipple and the knee is his "belly".

After three failed attempts I still couldn't get him convinced that it was anything besides his belly, and he got bored with the conversation and went off to do something else. Hopefully we'll get it all straightened out at some point in time. I'd hate for him to one day say to a girl, I'll show you my belly if you show me your butt.

Monday, October 22, 2007

"Mom" - like a PB & J on whole grain WITH the crust, plain old Mom

Aaron has always called me Momma. I don't really know why. I don't know if I referred to myself as Momma when he was learning to talk or what but I always loved the fact that I was "Momma". I wasn't Mom or Mommy - how trite, how cliche, how unoriginal!

However, the last couple of weeks he's been calling me "Mom" and quite frankly it's breaking my heart. My first inclination was to ignore it. I wouldn't answer him when he called me Mom, I'd say, "I'm sorry, were you talking to me? My name is Momma." and he'd just giggle and continue to say Mom. I was, and still am, hoping that it's just a phase and that one day he'll start calling me Momma again.

I mean, Mom, it's so plain, so uninspired! It's like coloring inside the lines, it's like pancakes with no syrup, it's like riding on a plane and never looking out the window. The name itself is like a stale saltine on my tongue and I've got nothing to wash it down with except my tears.

Okay, maybe I'm being slightly overdramatic. I mean I call my mom, Mom and she's anything but plain. But it's just that being Momma made me feel special in its own little way and frankly I'm kind of sad about the prospect of that going away. Plus it's one of a million reminders that my little boy isn't quite so little anymore. But I'll get over it I'm sure. Maybe, . . . eventually, after years of therapy.

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

The olfactory joys of parenthood.

Conversation when opening the minivan door 2 days ago:

Me: "Do you smell that?"

Matt: "What?"

Me: "It's like something rotten"

Matt: "It smells like citrus."

Me: "No, but it's definitely a fruit - is there a rotting apple core in the wastebasket?"

Matt: "No, I think it's a citrus smell."

Me: "What would be citrus in here?"

Yesterday we finally found the culprit. The fermenting remnants of an open bottle of apple juice in the back seat. Score one for me! I knew it was an apple.

Monday, October 15, 2007

One morning without the butt button search

I get ready for work between 5:45 and 7 a.m. and since both my daughter and my husband, who just got home at 2 a.m., are still sleeping in the bedroom at the time, it's impossible for me to turn on the light without waking one or both of them. Therefore, over time I've gained the skill of being able to get dressed in the dark. It's really not all that big of a skill especially when you realize that I only have 2 pairs of work pants, 6 shirts and 2 pairs of shoes that I rotate throughout the week.

The tricky part is that the pants are black, and dark brown so the only way I can tell one from the other in the dark is that the black pants have a button missing on the back pocket. So I grope them every morning to discover which pair is which. The heel on my right brown shoe is almost falling off and that's the only way I can tell them apart. The shirts are easily distinguishable by texture and sleeve length.

However, one day last week Aaron slept on the hide-a-bed in the living room. He likes to do that every once in a while. He calls it "camping out" and I indulge him occassionaly. Well when Matt got home he decided to just join him and he slept on the hide-a-bed in the living room as well. When I got up for my shower, Gwen stirred so I placed her in the living room with Matt.

So after my shower, I walked into the bedroom . . . and . . . I flipped on the light. Not just the bedside lamp - oh no! I was taking full on advantage of the situation, and as the room became bathed in the soft glow of the 40 Watts from the butt ugly ceiling fan, I just stood there for a moment and basked in it. I was like a prisoner who'd been locked in a dungeon and was experiencing his first sunrise after years of confinement and darkness. I could literally feel the tungsten produced warmth on my face! I opened the closet door and actually chose my clothing by sight! I even got a little cocky and pulled out 3 shirts and laid them out on the bed so I could choose which one would look best. I could hear birds chirping, possibly a distant harp . . . it was beautiful!

Then Matt woke up and wanted to get into bed with the kids so I was left choosing my socks by the dim light of a keychain flashlight. Oh well, it was nice while it lasted.

Thursday, October 11, 2007

New Look

I hope none of your were unnaturally attached to my quote of the week section. I gave it the old college try but it really was doomed from the beginning. I mean how many unique and entertaining quotes can you really find before you start to forget which one you've used and which one you haven't. I would always forget to change them too so it was more like "Quote of the lunar cycle" that got updated every full moon.

So the site's got a new look. A new header - artfully created by yours truly, and I'm going to be rotating some of my favorite funky retro pics on the side. Mostly these are magnets and cards and stuff I've seen online and thought were funny. I'm a big fan of the retro stuff, as are a lot of people right now so feel free to jump on the retro wagon with me.

Tuesday, October 9, 2007

Think Kwik Star for all your hypodermic disposal needs.

So last weekend we took a day trip up to Matt's hometown in Northern Iowa. Along the way we made several stops at convenient stores - mostly because we have a 3 year old with the bladder capacity of a squirrel.

The predominant convenient store in that area of the state is Kwik Star - formerly known as Kwik Trip until they got sued by the other franchise that can't spell the work "Quick" correctly either. I was a little caught off guard when I went into the restroom and found this: A syringe disposal unit.
Now obviously, as you can see it's labeled "for the convenience of our Diabetic customers" Now that sounds all well and good. Noble perhaps however the problem was that the first town we stopped in had a population of maybe 900 people - and that was probably counted when there was a kegger and a bonfire party going on that pulled some folks over from neighboring towns.

How many diabetics could there be in town? Is it an epidemic? And let's say the town is riddled with people suffering from this disease - do they all go to the Kwik Star bathroom when they need an insulin shot? Do they keep their used needles in one of those Ziploc or Glad tupperware knockoff containers at home for a couple weeks and then run them to the Kwik Star for safe disposal? Do traveling diabetics dispose of their hypodermics in convenient store bathrooms?

I can't claim to know any diabetics and I don't want to be insensitive to their disease or claim that I know what they go through on a daily basis to manage it. But I find it unlikely that they go around nonchalantly tossing their syringes in public bathroom trashcans.

What point am I trying to make? I don't really know - just that it was strange I guess. And it kind of struck me as perhaps a thinly disguised attempt to offer someplace for all the meth addicts to drop their needles. This suspicion was strengthened when I entered the bathroom of the convenient store in the largest city we entered. They of course had a disposal box, but it didn't say a word about Diabetics.

Wednesday, October 3, 2007

Is that a hint of self deprecation I taste or just a pinch of reality?

Martha Stewart eat your heart out.

Check out these cookies that I made for a party I had last weekend.

Okay so maybe Martha shouldn't be all that envious since it was her recipe I used. And the fact that only 3 people showed up probaby wouldn't make her feel all that inferior either.

It's a good thing I had plenty of pretty cookies left over to fill the gaping hole in my sense of self worth.

You know I had started this post to brag about my cookie decorating skills and now I've just knocked myself down a notch. Nobody does self-loathing like I do. It's a gift.

Monday, October 1, 2007

That's my boy!

Shawna and I were out shopping this past weekend and we'd taken the kids with us. Shawna was in the dressing room and I was sitting on a bench just outside it. Aaron was happily running back and forth from one 3 way mirror to another and when I turned my head again to check on him after giving my opinion on the pants Shawna just had on there he was, stopped dead in the middle of the dressing room lobby area - which is open to the rest of the store - his shirt hiked up to his shoulders, rubbing his nipples.

Somehow, while laughing, I managed to tell him to put his shirt down. We went up to pay and they had some Diego and Dora toys at the checkout, which of course he wanted to play with. One of them made music and my little boy, being a fan of all things bootyliscious wanted to rock out. Shawna and I look over as he says "Dance, Shawna, Dance!" and there he is, his little hips swaying to the music, his shirt lifted up and his fingers rubbing those nipples. The kid's got style!

It went a little something like this: