Sunday, June 29, 2008

You can buy hair on HSN, yes you can!

Nothing I can write about this subject can top Shakenmama's recent blog entry regarding our brilliant daughters' imaginative play . You know where this is going. Needless to say my little darling is sporting a combover and we won't be putting it up in a high ponytail anytime soon. My mom offered the correct answer immediately when I asked her "guess what WK and her friend Chebbles played last night?" "Barbershop" answered Whoozyergrandma, without skipping a beat, "every kid plays that game." I guess not just the high-IQ'ed ones. Damn, that woman always hits the nail right on the head. Speaking of which, if you are in need of hair, Chebbles, Jessica Simpson has the answer just for 3 easy flexpay installments of $29.17. You have options. Just thought you should know.

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Happiness is...

When someone else folds your laundry.... while you are sitting on your ass doing nothing.
And no, you can't have Whoozyerbabysitter's phone #. It's mine, all mine---mwha-ha-ha-ha-ha!

OK---maybe, just maybe. If you are suffering I will take pity on your tired, disheveled self. But you have to be wearing mismatched socks and a tomato-sauce stained tee to qualify. But I have first dibs...
Ooooooo---Whoozyerbaby is awake. and here she is.

And I didn't have to go and get her. I'm still sitting on my baby-fat butt. But I am back to work--doing some QC testing. Oh the drudgery...

Oh---and I forgot to mention---Whoozyerbabysitter reminded me to drive with my wallet to make sure I had my driver's license. And she is packing the diaper bag today for tomorrow when I have to take Whoozyercar to get rear back-up sensors installed. They're going to hang out at the mall while I go into the office. This is a creature who says she folds her blanket into diamond shapes "just for fun". What did I do to deserve her?

Monday, June 23, 2008

Angels and Demons...

My kids clearly already adore one another. I hope. This festive background is the carpeting at "Pump it up"---a bouncy-house extravaganza for young and old; Whoozyerkid was invited to a birthday party for Little Miss R.

In the midst of all of this excitement Whoozyerkid decided to love up Whoozyerbaby. Either this was genuine love or:
Whoozyerkid overheard a conversation I had with another mom in which she noted that ALL of her kids get RINGWORM EVERY TIME they go to "Pump it Up" and so Whoozyerbigsister decided that she would make Whoozyerbaby suffer at all costs ( I highly doubt this but one never knows...).

My firstborn is super-affectionate. When parents at Whoozyer Montessori School pick up their own progeny Whoozyerkid is the first one to greet that parent---with a big hug. Whoozyerkid told some random lady at Trader Joe's that she loved her and asked ever so sweetly if she could give her a kiss. Her hugs are ferocious and fervent. Her declarations of love and like are heard by those who are close to her throughout every day. My kid loves hard.

My first born is usually a sweet little angel OR a little demon. On the same day as the "Pump it Up" party we were invited to the "after party" at the birthday girl's house. I was pushing it on the whole bedtime thing and Whoozyerkid had that wired, tired energy. I took her kicking and screaming to the Odyssey and she was jostling to bite me the whole way so we were playing some kind of mid-air Twister. I got her in the carseat and once I had her restraint harness buckled I told her "don't even THINK about biting me." With a crazed "Bride of Chucky" growl she demanded "Give me your arm mom, I am GOING to BITE YOU!!!"

So---let's hope that Whoozyerkid's love for her sister stays fervent and and beautiful and innocent and the magical stuff of bosom buddies--and that Whoozyerbaby keeps her sweet disposition and her high physical energy (so that she can run when she sees Miss. Hyde).

Thursday, June 19, 2008

Baby bar (not of the soap variety)

So basically after you have kids you make well-intentioned dates with your mom friends via phone. Sometimes all you can muster is a phone call. Sometimes you just don't care and you need to get out. It usually goes down like this:

  • Kid takes nap---call friend. At least one end of the conversation is usually peaceful in this scenario. Exception; child wakes up prematurely (translation: before you are ready to deal with reality). Loudness ensues on both ends of call until it escalates to the point where a mom simply cries "Uncle" and ends the call. Kind of like the game "chicken" where the first party who bails loses. Except in this situation little Noisemaker wins. Every time.

  • Kid is driving you INSANE--call friend. Lock self in bathroom. Hope to self that it doesn't occur to child that she can bang on bathroom door and scream at the top of her lungs to great effect. Although the nice thing about that at least is I can be in another room and still know that she is safe. It's the "sound" part that doesn't jibe with Momma's master plan.

During either of these two scenarios both moms are wistful. They crave adult conversation, commiseration and something to ease the pain of a nerve-wracking day. They crave cocktails. In each case they make a date. Eighty per cent of the time one of them flakes and the other is slightly relieved because she didn't want to face the mirror, get out the crusty old MAC and apply it to her wan and tired face. But when things work out it's never long enough that we can simply coexist with a person who "gets" us.

Whoozyerfriend and I lucked out tonight. We were able to slip away for a cocktail with one caveat; Whoozyerbaby came with. I wasn't about to subject Whoozyerbaby to a tired Daddy who can crash on any surface and in any temperature-- despite umpteen decibels-strength auditory assault from any conceivable direction or other discomfort that would wake a mortal man.

Yes, my friends, Whoozyerbaby was delightful company as I had my rum punch and Whoozyerfriend sipped her lemon drop. She was stunning in her strapless black top which, she confessed, was the only thing that was clean. Whoozyerbaby smiled a wide, knowing smile as if she too undertood the difficulty of finding a clean and flattering outfit--she's witnessed the Great Hunt For Clean Clothing. Her momma conducts the search on an almost daily basis. This all-knowing happy little Buddha is welcome most anywhere. Must be 21 to enter? Pshaw... Were we desperate? Probably. But who isn't? For a mama-- empathy is the most intoxicating potion of all.

Monday, June 16, 2008

Don't say "never"

When I was a wee little tween there were many things on my list of verboten acts experienced only by adults. I didn't ever want to go there and I couldn't ever imagine that this would change at any point in my life.The reasons were:
  1. They sounded painful and included: surgery, having a baby, having wisdom teeth pulled, wearing contact lenses, piercing something that isn't an ear, going to the chiropractor, smoking anything.
  2. They involved the exchange of bodily fluids via: french kissing, sexual intercourse, giving oral pleasure, getting a spit bath, and I'm gonna stop there because I can think of some things that will make your ears blush and I'm thinking about them right now.
  3. They were things I myself had recently experienced the recieving end of and they were unpleasant. Spanking, telling a kid "no", setting boundaries with children, giving adults preferential treatment (e.g. booting the kid out of her own bed for adult guests). Making my kids go to school when they don't want to; saying "just one bite and you can get up from the table." Having adult conversations about things like work around kids (what a bore...).

If the kid me were here I am sure she would have some choice words (not allowed near adults but perhaps in the privacy of her room in a conversation between a blonde Barbie and a Brunette Barbie). I am doing most of the stuff on my list and I feel like I have betrayed my inner tween. I have become the person I didn't understand; I'm a grown-up who does things her own kids can't fathom yet. I have to be the Sen-Say. I have to understand that sometimes there are just no words to explain just exactly how life is going to go down; our experiences are different and yet woven with same splendid string. We understand when we begin to unravel more and more and take a new shape.

Independence Day

Tomorrow is a glorious day. One that will live in infamy in my mommy-microcosm. 3 things are happening that make me want to burst out into celebratory freedom songs.

  • Whoozyerkid's status at preschool is FULL TIME. No more Barney-the-babysitter. I can drop her off as early as 7 AM EVERY MORNING M-F. Not that I would, or anything. We don't get up that early. I've got my children trained that way. (Oh God, I hope I didn't ruin it for myself just now.) I will spare you the You Tube video of a chorus of angels. Because "Hallelujah" is running through my auditory memory---and I'm a heathen.
  • Whoozyerhighschoolbabysitter--"C" for short starts tomorrow at 8:30. Which means I'll have glorious stretches of time between breastfeeding-- in which I can focus solely on work--and maybe squeeze in a workout--or--GET THIS---SHOWER ALONE!!!!! Maybe I can even organize my closet...
  • A few minutes ago Whoozyerkid awoke from a sound sleep to pee-in the toilet!!!! She's been going commando at night (sans pull-up) and hasn't sullied her sheets once. Unlike me this child has a bladder of steel. I inherited my grandmother's bladder--which holds roughly the equivalent of a Nyquil dosing cup. When pregnant I should have a catheter and an attendant--with a six pack (not of beer, apparently) who forgets to wear a shirt to work and is at my beck and call. But I digress. Hurray for awesome horse-like bladders! Hurray for Whoozyerkid for having one! And hurray for not having to buy pull-ups! (For now.)

Thursday, June 12, 2008

Bon Voyage, Miss I !

The Hunter is on full blast and the poo is taking flight at my place of employment. Which totally sucks because I like it there. People I have seen--really--as family are either jumping ship, relocating or feeling ambivalent about their employer as a result of being left hanging yet again after several rounds of layoffs a few years ago. There are a few of us who would like to stay but we've also made amends with the fact that things will never be the same again. Tomorrow a former manager of mine, a confidante, friend, big sister and mentor all rolled into one is leaving the company and she's got a great new job. I hope she never looks back. Today she would have gotten the option handed to her---go & stay or go & go. She's leaving on her own terms and tomorrow we're gonna drink a few to the beautiful, intelligent, kind, down-to-earth and very soon-to-be missed Miss I and a few other souls who are getting the package or literally, moving to the desert; then, now and tomorrow.

And to my friend K who is moving to the desert; WTF?

Wii like it. Grandpa would've too...

Here is my Dad--Wii boxing with my sister. He is sounding more and more like Grandpa by the minute. Grandpa should have been a radio sound effect man with his orchesta of strange sounds. We'd sit on the couch and Grandpa would just make random noises for no apparent reason. Man, I wish I'd video'ed him. But not to worry, Dad channeled Grandpa just for your viewing pleasure.

Monday, June 9, 2008

On a Wii break...

This modern marvel is as addicting as Coca Cola before the 2oth century and Whoozyerbaby won't sleep so I have one hand with which to write this. And I won't share with you what the fit said about mii...

Can't you ask it to go easy on you after analyzing your BMI and calculating your "wii age" because an almost 8 pound watermelon just sprang forth from your loins and also your hormones are as wacky as Mario Kart? Where is the nice, understanding icon that says "don't be so hard on youself dear, you JUST had a baby"...?

Saturday, June 7, 2008

Candyland Burnout

Today Whoozyerkid thought it would be a great idea to get up at 5 AM. There was a big Candyland birthday party at the home of one of her classmates. I won't get into what an insane amount of sugar there was at this party--but I think this picture should speak for itself. Whoozyermama is off to get a glass of wine with Whoozyerdaddy and go to bed early. I'm going to be one of those NERDS who waits in line for electronics tomorrow. Toys R US is having a grand reopening and I was told to arrive 2 hours before opening for my big break. So I have to get up at 7AM and get my un-fit booty in gear. And I am NOT a morning person. Oh, the insanity! WTF is wrong with me?

Wii (are not) Fit

I really want to get the game that will say---when I get on the balance board "you're fat"; because I won't take it personally from a machine. I don't think the game will say "get off your fat ass and exercise" nor will it follow me around the house with a pair of Nikes and my Oprah-approved exercise bra. It doesn't do that. If it did I'd own it already. What this game does do is measure your weight and senses your form in a series of home workouts.

I am obsessed, have signed up for the email alerts of in-stock Wii's and I have become one of THOSE PEOPLE who are (guiltily, mind you) stalking the web for a piece of plastic that will become obsolete in 5 years.

I've had some measure of success. The Fit game and balance board are on the way to us. My friend C said that ordering the Fit without the Wii reminds her of the time she bought a whole TV series in VHS 2 years before she bought the VCR. But C doesn't quite understand that Whoozyermama gets what she wants and I also want this to aid Whoozyerbaby in acquiring her first laughter-induced side-stitch (I wonder how many times the Mom in the video accidentally hit the baby in the head. Note to self, buy baby helmet.)Nothing is better than the sound of your childrens' laughter.

So for Father's Day and my birthday Whoozyerdaddy and I are gifting ourselves with a Wii. We can't wait! We envision family bowling and pizza nights, inviting friends over to play and have vowed to only buy active games that are designed to improve the body and/or mind. Maybe this is the thing that will help me to get back my pre-Whoozyerkid body and mind. (Wishful thinking, that).

Stay tuned as I stalk the stocking. Retail is $249 for the console and we will not pay a penny more. This is the first time I have engaged in this type of market-driven frenzy and I will NOT meet Mr X in the Best Buy parking lot to make an extra-inflated purchase--nor will I camp out or call stores at opening. Or will I? Freaking Nintendo...

Friday, June 6, 2008


Am I being punished for the non-green chicken bags, Mother Earth?

My Rapture

Costco was good to me tonight. First, the greeter nodded with nary a glance at my membership card and then, spotting a cart in my path--she parted the way for me to enter. On the many screens right of the entrance choruses of crystal clear,close-up seraphim sang. But here's the highlight: In all my years of shopping at Costco---from scrounging up membership funds just to scarf free samples and pizza slices to two-carted "runs" I never, ever imagined that you could get a CARRY-OUT AT COSTCO!!!!!!! How many freaking times have I saved the excursion for the weekend--SATURDAY, or even SUNDAY AT COSTCO just to have my husband help me? And now---taking 2 kids to this horn o' plenty---even with the help of Whoozyerdaddy is like doing the breaststroke in the La Brea Tar Pits.

It was heaven to go this evening to Costco with just the baby. No Saturday crowds, no Whoozyerkid, no Whoozyerhusband (who, by the way has to have a shot of vodka to assuage his nerves prior to THE TREK) muttering hopefully "OK, let's go noooooow" every five minutes. No Whoozyerkid whining because I won't buy polyester princess pajamas.

And---was this a normal night or was I in the Kingdom of the Omnipotent when they loaded my wares onto the conveyor belt for me and INSISTED that I get a carryout?
And when, piece, by piece, item by item the orange-vested cart-duty guy loaded WhoozyerOdyssey I started to plot his kidnap so that when we arrived home-- item by item, piece by piece-- he would be THE GUY to unload the double-pack of Optifree and the 2lb bag of sundried tomatoes. He would oh-so gingerly-- wrap the organic chicken breasts, careful to ensure no air touched the baby pink flesh nestled in the Ziplog Freezer bags (of which I can say, I own 1000--note to self--there has GOT to be a greener way to wrap meat). Ev-er-y perishable would be hustled to the refrigerator in record time to inhibit any bacteria growth while I could linger at the lounger to feed and glance lovingly at my infant. But alas, with a brace-laced grin and a wave Manuel returned my cart, that sacred vessel of my blessed journey, to the clouds of the Costco Kingdom and I was left to my descent to Earth. A mortal mom, in a mortal world. Where I must toil.

Thursday, June 5, 2008

A New Mommy!

What is it with my family and deep conversations in the car? On the way to preschool this morning Whoozyer kid states oh-so-matter-of-factly, "Mom, if you die, I won't have a mama. I'll have to get a new mama."

And on the way to school you and Daddy can stop at Mom Depot and this time you can find someone who cleans and sends Christmas cards. Great. Now would be a good time, Whoozyerkid, to stop emulating Cinderella! Apparently pretending your mother is dead in the playhouse is the make believe scenario du jour at preschool according to one of Whoozyerkid's teachers--who also happens to be a student's mom; who also would not like to be dead. Kids...REALLY. Can't it be the dog? Time to get out Old Yeller.

Wednesday, June 4, 2008

Parkin' it.

Now the city is parked in my neighbor's new flowerbed. AND they won't move. Nice...

Stop means "Stop", Dumbass.

The law requires you to stop at the corner by my house. The law will not change even if you crash into the sign and it bends to your car's will-- rendering it a cool sign to have next to a kegerator in a basement over Aunt Flora's brown velour couch--the designated "manplace" of the guy who steals it.

Moreover---after you lost your bumper and fled the scene--it probably wasn't a good idea to come back for it.

I love a good police chase at midnight.I guess it's hard to "stop" when you're a tweaker.

Throwing Romas at Helen of Troy.

That stealthy little bug...he knows how to hide.

First it was chicken. Then came the eggs. Up next? Spinach. Poor Popeye. And don't deign to undercook Porky. He's got it too.

What about... hey---surely cereal is safe? Think again, your childhood favorite (NOT!), Malt 'O Meal can claim it's caused it.

Today raw tomatoes have been tossed into the fray. Can someone please tell Helen to keep her wooden nag out of the tomato vines? He's pooping on my palate. Craprese anyone?

Sneaky, sneaky Salmonella. Good stuff, Maynard.

Tuesday, June 3, 2008

Thanks Mom, I was getting kind of bored...

Happiness is using all of your baby crap the second time around. Man, I love the basement.It's like going to the store but better. No lines, no van ride, no bank account drain, no new deplorable acts against Planet Earth. We just got out Whoozyerkid's old exersaucer, hosed and wiped it down--it's ready for Whoozyerbaby and Whoozyerbaby is ready for it! The poor child is worn out now. That's the way Mama likes it! Take a loooong nap, Whoozyerbaby...
Nap, not pictured as the flash of the bulb could ruin it all for me and this blog isn't worth the loss of naptime. Nothing is as valuable as a nap in our household. Naps keep Mommy and Daddy from drinking...(OK, OK maybe that's not entirely the truth...)

Sunday, June 1, 2008

Whoozyerbaby-- and the neighborhood (teething) ring...

Whoozyerbaby's a born leader; I ask you--would you mess with this?

The neighborhood children are plotting against their innocent, hapless parents, Whoozyermama, Whoozyerdaddy and Whoozyernextdoorneighbors. Whoozyerkid knows something I don't know. I just know it...that kid sure has moxie--but not enough to stand up to the indomitable Whoozyerbaby!

Wouldn't you know it, Whoozyerbaby is the ringleader. I knew she was up to no good...she really has a vision and she knows how to get her point across.

Watch out kids, you don't want to see Whoozyerbaby lose her temper. It's gonna get ugly. She's gonna blow! Hand over the goods...