times like these...

Sweet Dreams Are Made of...Irony

2011-12-08T04:33:00.000-05:00

Bad parent admission #456 - Charley sleeps in our bed. Judge me. I have never in my life been as tired as I have been since this kid was born. When I see college students complaining about all-nighters and no sleep, I want to drive to their dorms and puke on them, "Here try not sleeping and cleaning up vomit." But I don't...because I'm too tired. So when I'm exhausted, I give in and let her sleep in the bed.

I will say that I've protested this horrible habit MUCH, MUCH more than her daddy. Oh! Her 'daddy'. The good guy. The guy that counts to three in 45 seconds and is famous for his 'This is the last time, I mean it' warnings that come 12 times before mommy steps in and means it. Apparently, the cord needs to be cut from her father when it comes to bedtime.

Last night I had the kid in her room...in her room...and in her bed. Sure sounds easy. Have you ever successfully convinced a puppy to sit still when it is surrounded by chew toys, treats and the possibility of a squirrel just in the other room? That is what putting a three year old to bed is like. The adult people, hell even the dog, are all tired - she is still ready to run through all of her toys and books, NEEEEEEEEDS a drink of water and needs to know what's going on in the other room even if it is just her dad sitting on the couch exactly how we left him 5 minutes ago.

So she is in the bed. I go lay down in our bedroom. Charley does her normal stall visits: I just have to tell daddy something, What is this (carrying a random part of a toy), I need some water...it could go on all night. She is eventually in her room. I hear movement, but confining her to one area is a master feat so I'm not complaining. However, her father is complaing.

Dear old dad can't stand it. Sheepishly admits he wants to Charley to sleep in our bed and gives me the 'She's only this little once' speech. He calls for her and asks her to come lie in bed with us despite my warnings:

When does it stop, Gary?

When she's four? Five? I don't know.

Okay, well...fine...when she and her 25 year old boyfriend are lying in bed with you because you let her do whatever she wants just because she says 'daddy' - you let me know how that works. (Extreme, I know, but this is how it all starts. Lohen's parents probably let her sleep in the bed with them, too).

How old is she then?

Seriously? Does that even matter? Twelve? Thirteen? Not my point.

And at that Charley is crawling in the bed with two pillows, a bear and a baby doll, "Here's my things" she announces as she dumps the load at her daddy's feet.

I roll over and let the bosom buddies tuck in the babies and cuddle with pillows. Okay - so I smile a little when she sighs and says, "We are the bestest family." Damn that sociopath.

Do you want to know just how good that little crazy is? It's 4 AM. I get up and realize that it is just me and the kid in the bed.

Yeah, that's right. Dear old dad got kicked out at some point and Mr. Cuddlebear himself is asleep on the couch, while the little princess is asleep in the bed.

Oh yes. This definitely is a moment where I wake up Gary and ask him if he is comfortable. Of course he claims it was 'too hot' in the bedroom - Oh, darling that wasn't the heat that was smothering you - it's the tight, chubby arms of manipulation strangling you.

Sweet dreams.

Miniature Disasters and Tiny Catastrophes

2011-11-24T08:56:00.000-05:00

I hoped yesterday would be a nice, relaxing fun day home with Charley. Apparently, when I pray for these things I really need to be more specific. Very specific.

From infancy, I prayed that Charley would be full-of-life and bring our family joy. Um. Again - too vague. There is joy all right. Complete and utter, manic-madhatter, if-you-don't laugh-you-will cry kind of joy. And as for being full of life? Sheeez. These days I just want her to stop spinning and prancing long enough to cloth her properly, which is something I have to attempt frequently seeing as how she NEVER wears clothes. I feel like I am dressing a marionette puppet whose strings are being controlled by a Tilt-O-Whirl.

From Tuesday afternoon until about midnight last night (quite frankly, I'm fuzzy on the details for yesterday evening because I am pretty positive I was dozing off before her ---- don't judge me) the kid has been one disaster after another. Nonstop destruction. And truly it is not like she isn't being closely supervised. I'm not talking about me lying on the couch painting my tails, chatting on the phone and catching up on my stories, while my daughter is in the east wing juggling knives. We have a trailer, people. Albeit a doublewide, but our walls are practically a few pieces of card stock layered with wallpaper. In fact, Gary is asleep in the other room right now ('down the hall" if you will) and I can hear his every snore.

But this kid is relentless. Charley can go from 0-90 in a millisecond. This has to be some stage or development change, because it has never been like this before. I can literally be inches from her, turn my head for a second and she is wreaking havoc. It's like supervising a junkie who is waiting for me to turn my back so she can go score a fix - her disaster fix.

Here's the timeline:

11/22: (Sometime before I got home) Charley grabbed the baby powder and covered herself and our bedroom in white dust. Her response to Gary, who could've sworn she had fallen asleep: "I was itchy." (btw-Ive already discussed with Gary the importance of taking pics of these moments - he says he will do better).

11/22: (11:00PM) Charley was in bed with me and I thought we both were asleep. Her eyes were closed. She gets up out of bed and proceeds to put my mascara on her eyes. Thank goodness Gary comes in and catches her in the act. You instantly wake up when you hear, "Go show your mother what you did."

She was apparently filling in her eyebrows.

11/23: (10 AM) I leave Charley in the bedroom while she is eating and watching Scooby Doo movie. Food and subpar animation - her two most 'still' occasions, so I'm confident I can plug my phone in the other room while I talked to a friend. Less than 10 minutes later she comes prancing - I mean she is in full hip-swaying, catwalk stride- into the living room. "Look mommy! I'm ready for my concert!" Epic. Fail.

My favorite is the Snooki-style self tan she's got going on her chest.

11/23: (11AM) Charley is convinced she can get her own drinks now and I applaud the independence. But for about the next 30 minutes every time I go into another room to pick laundry, I hear the fridge door open. Always report to the kitchen immediately when you hear this - too many massive ounces of spilled red Kool-Aid are my motivation. She keeps saying she is thirsty or hungry. I finally get her settled in and give her a glass of milk. I walked to the back of the house, start sweeping and look around to see her walking in behind me with a new topped, off 24oz glass of chocolate milk and a plate of donuts (that were being store on top of the fridge). Alright - it's official. She is a donut crazy ninja who goes into stealth mode when she needs sugar.

11/23: (3ish): At this point she is on lock down and by my side every. However, I let her go to the potty by herself (Look, after years of diaper changes hundreds of bathroom trips with her at my feet - I'm going to indulge myself a little and let the kid potty alone if she can. Imma big girl, we have a small bathroom and now that she is self-sufficient in there, I'm going to sit this one out.) Welp. Another bad decision. Though we didn't see it until later - she had unrolled the toilet paper and was clearly using it as ribbon stick for a dance routine.

11/23: (4PM) Gary is home by now and privy to the toilet paper/rhythm gymnastics fiasco. While he is dealing with that I am in the bedroom cleaning with Charley in my sight. I am on one side of the bed. She is on the other. I simply bend over to pick up the dust pan. She go-go-gadgets her arms and has swiped the SpicNSpan in order to spray down our computer screen. Seriously? I'm right here!!!!!

The poor kid jumps when I yell at her, as she is most definitely happy with her helping-mommy moment.

Not so much.

11/23: (5PM) I am cleaning the bathroom and Charley is in the living room with her dad. She comes in every so often to check on me, tell me a story or ask for something her dad has said 'No' to. At some point her little crazy eyes catch a glimpse of the tub of glitter I found while cleaning. I'd set it aside and forgot about it. Oh, don't worry. ADHD caught sight of the shiny object and went straight in for the kill. I hear, "Oh, pretty" and then "Oops." By the time I can get to her - she is tossing the glitter in the air and doing snow angels.

At the sound of my cussing, Gary comes stomping to the bedroom. He has the nerve to say, "This kinda stuff never happens on my watch."

Really, powder boy?

And then questions my classroom management - "How do you take care of a classroom full of kids?"

"I don't know? They are older and obviously not out to destroy me? Our kid is crazy. And is taking me down while sitting inches away!" (Keep in mind throughout this conversation Charley is squealing and thinks she is jumping in a pile of leaves.)

I conclude that I can't take it anymore, so I decide to take our freak show on the road. Put your panties on, Pearl! We're going to Walmart.

45 minutes later... she is finally dressed and ready to leave: PJ pants, skirt, hoodie, straw hat, sunglasses and plastic mismatched pumps and her microphone.

Somehow my mom ends up harboring the the little heathen while I go stare at ribbon in the craft aisle at WalMart. And by stare at the ribbon, I mean sit and gawk at all the awesome crazies that parade by. WalMart holiday season is a Godsend.

11/23 (9PM) We finally make it back home and I start digging in the craft cabinet. For my pet lover friends. You know that moment you dig into the food bin for your dog and they coming running at you and whine and waller practically on top of you while you try to pour their food out? Well, THIS is exactly the same reaction my kid has when she senses the presence of glue and construction paper. So I compromise and take out her Colorwonder paper and paint. This is the stuff that lets kids paint their precious fingers off, but the color only reacts to the special paper. The thing is, it is only foolproof if you are sure you have really, really hidden the real finger paint. Five minutes later, five feet away from Gary and me. Your girl:

What you can't see it the 14 items behind her she decided to touch with her Smurf paws..

11/23 (10PM): I'm finishing up her ribbon turkey shirt that Pinterest has convinced me I could make. She comes over to look. I give her clear parameters as to what she can and can not do while sitting beside me. She wants to "draw letters" (I'm a writing teacher for God's sake- she knows my weakness) to which I approve. In the time it takes me to reach over and grab the glue gun, Picasso has decided to change mediums. She went from paper to her brand new white shirt that is practically in my lap - all in 2.5 seconds. Cue angry-mom-yell #264. She runs to the couch and cries. Gary and I just stare at each other.

Clearly I caught it before she completed a full Sistine Chapel - but, c'mon?!

We finally get her to the bedroom. She is flanked by both Gary and me, like CIA bodyguards and we are begging her to stop talking, stop moving and just close her eyes.

So here I sit. As the holy terror sleeps soundly, I'm rethinking my nice, fun, relaxing day at home. Pondering if it's inhumane to put a bell around your 3 year-olds neck and....laughing.

My friend, Cathy, says, "I'd rather tame shrew, than breath life into a corpse." Yeah - I get it. (But seriously though...good grief...did I get the queen shrew??)

In light of all the miniature disasters, I am thankful for the vibrant and healthy little girl. Who IS full of life. I am thankful for the way God interprets my prayers (I'm telling you - He is a funny, funny guy). And I am thankful for the memories that come from fun, relaxing days at home.

But before I have anymore children - I am thinking about a house with an open floor plan, alarms on cabinets, and not one damn crafting supply within ten miles from our home.

Cool-Hearted Snake

2011-11-15T21:34:00.001-05:00

3 years, 6 months, and 9 days. The milestone that most parents must wait for their children to reach well into their teen years, was knocked out of the park tonight by my precious, darling toddler. What did the gifted (clearly) tot accomplish at such a young age? Well, she confidently and emphatically declared to the household (and, in reality, the rest of the neighborhood) that I, her mother and giver of life, was 'not cool'. Her exact words, through the tears and snot: "Not cool, mommy. Not cool."

Oh, really?

This would almost offend me - had I not lost every ounce of 'coolness' from the time I conceived this little gem. Cool left me the day I had to use my toes to pick up objects off the floor because I was too ~~fat~~ pregnant to bend over. Cool walked out on me the day I decided that fabric infused with the constricting powers of a tropical anaconda was suitable for underwear. Cool is sucked out of me every day I sing along with Justin Beiber while driving my mid-size, 'crossover' SUV that is one sliding door away from being a mini van. Cool was long gone the second I became interested in various methods of turning average vegetables and snacks into fun insect and/or animal shapes. So tonight - the pint-sized, vocalized affirmation that I was 'not cool' brought me distress ONLY because I had to fight back the urge to burst out in laughter.

So, what was 'Joe Cool' doing to earn the badge of lameness? I was forced to remove the 1,498 toys from my daughter's possession for 7 days. Not my raddest moment. So as I jammed dress-up clothes and potato heads into the closet, my daughter totally wigged out. As each toy left the shelf Charley wailed a heart wrenching, dissertation as to who got her the toy and how it was her most favorite. She snapped when her 'best-favorite-purse-her-Lulu-bought-for-her-forever' was tossed into the closet. (I think she was going with the nonsense-filled sentences to try and build an 'insanity defense').

Background: Charley received a report today from preschool that she was sent to timeout more than once for not picking up her toys. Unfortunately for Charley her mother is a crazy, neurotic public school teacher who privately fears that her kid will grow up to be THAT kid in class, so said mother may slightly overreact to otherwise developmentally normal instances.

But don't worry my kind-hearted friends - in the spirit of the Christmas season that is upon us, the delinquent was allowed to keep 3 parent-selected toys that fit into a small basket. She outgrew her gold, frankincense and myrrh last year, so she was allowed to keep a ball, a book, and baby doll. I actually just needed a way for her to intentionally, practice putting away toys every night (That's right. I even have my three year old child completing daily formative assessments...Stiggins - the next Dobson).

Being told I was 'not cool' was slightly off-putting, however it can not compare to the comment uttered as the last toy was being put away and the tears had eventually stopped. With the biggest smile and sweetest voice, my kind and oh-so-innocent child walked over, wrapped her arms around my leg and said, "Mommy, you are so pretty."

Ah, there's my little sociopath. Good to know that the initial results from my earnest attempt at scrupulously doling out consequences, included mud-slinging, followed by manipulation. I bet Barbara took away all of George W.'s toys back in the day.

How much in therapy fees will this stunt cost me? Or will she be old enough to pay for her therapy herself?

Costume Mom

2011-10-23T10:50:00.000-04:00

I am making Charley's Halloween costume this year. Actually, we'll call it 'semi-homemade' - translation Duct Tape and hot glue will be involved.

I feel somewhat guilty about her costume choice since I really coaxed [forced] her into 'choosing' one. I know all the research about self expression and choice, but...the way I see it - I have just a few short years of making all the important decisions (like Halloween costumes, birthday party themes, etc) before I am forced into lame-kid world trademarked by Nickelodeon and Disney. She wanted to be a princess and/or a witch this year. C'mon!?! Cliche! I tried to tell her that she was a princess every day, so she needed to pick something different. Gary responded to this by saying to me, 'Well, with that logic I guess you can't be a witch for Halloween." Nicely, played dear.

Anyway, I pulled rank and picked her costume. There. I'm a bad mom. I'm not letting my kid explore her creativity...blah...blah...blah. I'm like the pageant mom of Halloween. But she's going to thank me for this later (I think). I mean knows this costume and loves watching the video...over and over and over and over. So it was sorta her idea...right? (This is the part on Toddlers and Tiaras when the mom says her daughter loves pageants, and then the camera cuts to the 4 year old sobbing and begging to not go on stage).

So she is a 90's icon of social outcasts. Or as I have told her - a bumblebee ballerina.

Give me a break. I drew the line when she asked to be Nicki Minaj.

"...if you don't like my point of view...you're insane..."

Pretty Little Liar

2011-06-30T12:59:00.000-04:00

See that face? That is the face of addiction. No, not my face; though I do appear to be a potential model for unfortunate souls addicted to Zebra cakes and self-tanner (if Snookie and the mid-90's version of Roseanne had a love child...). No, the face I am referring to is that sweet, little face of the sweet, little girl I'm holding in my lap. Yes, she is addicted. She is so addicted that she can't even tear herself away from her addiction for just one second to capture a sweet memory. My baby girl is a recovering TV addict. Look at how lovingly she is gazing at the soft glow of the big screen. She's got it bad.

I'm pretty sure the pre-parent version of myself would be totally disgusted with allowing this to happen, but the post-parent version of myself just wanted to take a damn shower where I could wash my body, hair and shave all in one session - so, I chose my battles and somewhere along the way Charley went from a hit here and there to an every day, all day habit.

There was no intervention, no surprise family gathering, no letters telling her how her habit was making us feel (we are saving that for her teen years). Gary and I just pretty much decided in May to kick our Dish Network habit cold turkey. The bill was getting on my nerves and Gary still may have been slightly rattled by Charley's three-year-old check-up where he received a tongue lashing from the pediatrician about our borderline morbidly-obese toddler. Oops.

So here we are - one month mostly TV-free. We still watch DVD's, but Charley's (and my) seemingly endless access to hundreds of channels is over. Her time in front of the TV has been significantly reduced (until she goes to my parents' house - the classic enablers - who have informed me that taking TV away from this precious girl is 'primitive bullshit'...thanks for the support on this one, folks).

If you read any legitimate parenting blog or research-based article, they would applaud this move (like, I almost feel I should buy her an organic T-shirt and give her some hummus for lunch) as I am saving her from the societal ills of violence, promiscuity, obesity, acts of disrespect...blah, blah, blah. I don't buy into all that. Now, I'm not a complete crazy radical who lets Charley watch South Park (mostly because I don't want to have to some day explain to her preschool teachers why she kicks babies), but I'm not so sure that TV is the root of all evil (ahem, Parent Television Council). In fact, folks, I would like to present a very compelling case for TV. Over the past month I have noticed some alarming and unhealthy behaviors that seem to indicate she needs TV. The truth is my darling, little addict has accelerated into a cold-hearted, compulsive liar since we have cut out television.

The first set of lies were kinda cute. They went something like this:

Me: (responding to a hateful tone in Charley's voice) Young lady, I can do without the nasty attitude.

Charley: (eyes get dewy and big) No, mommy. I no have attitude. I juss teesin'.

We even laughed when she came up with the following little fib:

Me: (looking sternly into my rearview mirror) Charley Anne, you best stop the whining and crying.

Charley: (immediately stops crying and throws on a big, fake smile) No mommy. I not crying. I juss coughing, see...(and she proceeds to hack into her hands like she has TB).

I gradually became a little more concerned when her pretend-play became extremely elaborate: she has a baby in her nose, she claims I am her daughter and Gary is the baby, there are monsters everywhere, and she is always typing furiously on the laptop before she hands us pieces of papers to review our 'trontracts' [contracts]. Then there are the hour-long tea parties she hosts while completely naked except for a pair of pink plastic pumps. This last one has me scared to death she may turn out to be a Republican.

Isolated, I am sure the above incidents should be shrugged off as just products of an overactive imagination, but when paired with the most recent event, I believe these have all been warning symptoms to her compulsive lying. I became extremely concerned last Monday.

As I was cleaning out her closet trying to figure out why the hell we still have unopened toys and clothes with tags on them, Charley played at my side delighted with all the new discoveries. At one point I noticed she dug got at all of her coloring pencils - my biggest concern is that she doesn't color on the walls or furniture (again) so I tried to keep an eye on her. It took me a few glances, but I finally noticed that Charley was propped against her desk and giving me some crazy smirk -obviously up to no good. I pretended to ignore her in an attempt to catch her in action (this is clearly the only way when dealing with liars). Then I saw it. My daughter, staring at me the entire time, taking a long, slow drag from her Passion Purple coloring pencil. She inhaled and exhaled with the slim pencil poised between her thumb and her index finger. I'm not certain, but I think squinted a little as she inhaled. This is where I suck as a parent. This is hilarious. I want to burst out laughing, text everyone I know, send out a tweet, write it in her baby book, take a pic...I am NEVER prepared to discipline. Seriously, what do you say when you see your tiny kid smoking?

After staring at the floor and a couple of deep breaths, I finally composed myself enough to slowly ask in my I'm-talking-so-calmly-you-should-be-scared-that-I'm-a-lunatic voice, "Charley, what did you just do with that coloring pencil?"

And at that, she jumps up, shoves the pencil behind her back a says, "Noffing." Holy crap! Are you kidding me? Not only is she SMOKING, but my three year old is trying to hide the freaking evidence. Good thing I confiscate cell phones and lame notes for my day job - I knew exactly what to do from here.
"Charley, what is the purple pencil you are holding behind your back?"
"It's noffing. I juss moking."
OMG. What do I do? Do I go into a presentation on the affects of smoking with a slideshow on lung disease? Plus, how does she know how to smoke? What the heck? Or do I address the fact that this little brat just lied to me?
I go for the lying - somehow in my head it's worse. However, as I am putting her in timeout I couldn't stop myself before blurting out, "Young lady, you will be in more trouble for lying than smoking." Well, that just tops the charts of stupid crap I've said as a parent.

I walked out of her bedroom leaving her to cry, knowing she doesn't have a flipping clue as to what just happened. I'm not so sure I know what just happened. I sat down and wondered how she suddenly became a calculated, lying delinquent who smokes in between her topless tea parties.

The only answer I could come up with is - she needs TV. None of this dishonesty ever occurred when she had Dora, Ming Ming, and Carly Shay in her life. She may have been a Nick Jr. junky but, by God, she was truthful. So there it is. The choice we must make as parents. Do we expose our children to the alleged hideous sins of TV or do we raise bold-face liars?

For now, I choose lying (obviously for selfish reasons - it cracks me up, it saves me money, and it's ten times more entertaining than watching those twin boys tell corny jokes on Disney). In the meantime, I'm going to call a few boarding schools to get their minimum ages for enrollment and pray that she doesn't start doing shots out of her princess tea cups after hiding the "juice boxes" under her bed.

And they Call It Puppy Love...

2011-06-21T07:27:00.000-04:00

My tenure as an 8th grade language arts teacher has secured me a place in the tumultuous lives of adolescents. I can't count how many conversations about my job prompt the outsider to sigh or stare at me with eyes wide open when I reveal what age group I teach. Almost every person immediately comments upon the wild and unpredictable 'hormones' associated with this particular age group, to which I just smile and think - "Man, you have no freaking idea."
Young love can be a very sweet and innocent experience - that is if Walt Disney is producing the plot and you have beautiful child actors dramatizing the antics in 30 minutes or less complete with life lessons and a musical number. In reality, young love is obnoxious, obsessive melodrama that always leaves one or both (mostly both) parties acting like ridiculous idiots. No gender is particularly more guilty than the other. I have watched girls as their conversations grow louder and hair flips almost dangerous when a certain fella walks by. Of course lest I forget the giggling. God. The giggling.
I have watched boys puff out their chests and take on strides through the hallway that beg an Animal Planet voiceover about awkward mating rituals.
There are those that display their love through pain: the locker punchers, ear piercers, and fighters. I am often annoyed by the artistic Romeos that scrawl names and hearts in Sharpee all over their arms and jeans or scribble on my desks, and God forbid, the really blatant fools who add their one-true-love's name to their homework.
Then there are the love sick fools who refuse to eat in front of their crush or are too heartbroken to consume a calorie because fasting like you are Gandhi will summon the love gods of peaceful protest and send him/her running into your arms.
Last but not least, the crying. If there is one truth to all the talk about hormones, it is the underdeveloped control these little love junkies have over their emotions. I have consoled both boys and girls through mascara smearing, sob sessions where I've handed them snot rags in between their adamant swears to the Lord above that they can love nobody else. I mean seriously, imagine if we all married our childhood sweethearts?! Um, wait a second...no comment.
But anyway, the beauty of my job is that I get (or shall I say, deserve) a short two month break from all the infatuation nonsense when summer rolls around. When spring hits and love is in the body-odor-plus-cheap-cologne-filled air, summer can not come quickly enough for middle school teachers. But not this year. No. It followed me home.
Here I sit, at 4:30AM awakened by never-ending whines of my once sweet and mild-mannered 'first born' who is beside himself in love. For the past three days Gary and I have been overwhelmed with a love drunk, 100 lb, 8-year-old Great Pyrenees. At this moment he standing in front of me whining, barking and intermittently throwing his heavy paw on my leg in a pitiful teenage-like plea to let him go outside and rendezvous with the love of his life. The object of his affection is 10 lb beagle-mix mutt that showed up at our house a few weeks ago. "Sally" (as Charley has named her) has my dog in fits. He paces through the house, digging his nails into our laminate floors and frantically moving from window to window hoping to get a glimpse of his mangy Juliet . He jumps onto the window barking and beating his paws on the glass as though he was Dustin Hoffman in the The Graduate. He will do this for hours. Hours. He has not slept and has stopped eating - at any minute I expect to walk in and see 'Gunner + Sally 4-ever' written in Sharpee on his white fur that has been doused in Axe body spray. In the brief moments when he actually lies down, the entire time he pants and whimpers a constant, sad cry - I think can make out 'Sally' from his groans. Occasionally, he will let out a long sigh - sorta like that hiccup noise Charley makes when she has cried too hard and long and is finally trying to get her breath.
I can't even take him outside to pee. We normally just leash him up to the porch for a bit throughout the day, but in his aggressive struggle to get to Sally he has stripped his leash to a breaking point. When he is outside it beyond hilarious to watch the huge beast prance around the little pup trying desperately to hook up. Drunk men dancing at bars have more swagger than poor Gunner. He throws a flirty paw and smashes Sally into the ground. He jumps to mount and gets nothing but air. Meanwhile, the little floozy flops over, displaying her goodies right before she sprints just beyond his reach. (I once had a female student who walked by a certain classroom daily and purposely plummeted to the floor right in front of her crush - now I kinda see the connection.)
By the way, Gunner is the dog who refused, on several occasions, arranged opportunities to express his affections with female Pyrs. After a handful of failed attempts to vend Gunner's 'stud services', I wrote him off as a confirmed bachelor and was ready to sign the family up for a pride march or two. I mean, Gunner doesn't so much as lift an eyebrow unless he hears you pouring food in his bowl or he notices that you are not paying attention to the food you just pulled from the oven. But clearly - he has a passionate hankering for straggly, little brunettes from the other side of the tracks.

As pitiful as it all sounds, I am about to go completely mad. He has kept us awake at night, ripped the curtains in my kitchen and panted until the slobber pours from his mouth; my windows and floors are covered in a foamy shine.

According to the Internet, this bitch (pun intended) could hypnotize my Gunner for the next 3-4 weeks, which is basically the rest of my summer. To which I say, "Hell no!" I will not be confined to the house with a hyperactive three year old and a lust-crazed beast (to be clear, I'm still referring to Gunner). My house will not become some brothel for dogs, which gives a whole new purpose to that nasty recliner that is STILL sitting on my front porch (ahem, Gary Thomas).

So please - I am taking any and all efforts to save my sanity and the rest of my summer break. Stop by and pick up Sally - other than being a little promiscuous she's a real sweetheart, my dog will confirm this. Gunner is available for adoption, as well - I think my little boy has grown up and is ready to leave home. Maybe even donations to board him until this bewitching passes?

In the meantime, I can only pass along the expert advice of our favorite former game-show host, Bob Barker: Help control the pet population, have your pet spade or neutered! And for the teenagers? We will just pray for the Ritalin equivalent for wanton adolescents...or boarding school.

enlightened by a blackout

2010-07-15T00:12:00.000-04:00

it is always interesting the variety of responses people have in different situations. whether it is a serious tragedy or a minor inconvenience, there is always a wide range of response. sometimes it is conditional and people may not react the same way to every situation - however, i think ultimately and for the most part our inherent nature will always rear itself in its truest form. there are a thousand quotes about adversity and showing true character, but i found some answers last night while experiencing what one may call a "minor catastrophe"

at about 11:30 pm. gary and i were jarred from sleep by our barking dog, people outside talking, and car lights shining in our window. after a minute or so we realized the electricity had gone out. not a big deal, especially in the middle of the night. however on a muggy night, with anticipation of waking up to another hot day - the small (very small) part of me that actually thinks ahead... started to panic. it was very mild panic, but enough to not let me go back to sleep right away. not to mention the creepy silence from everything being turned off - no ac hum, no fridge or fan buzz - was hard to ignore.

so how do people react in crisis? well in the microcosm of my neighborhood (obviously an excellent representation for the rest of society) this is what we had -

a. the aggressive alpha go-getters: meet my neighbors. within seconds they had car lights shining, cell phones in hand and cigarettes lit like emergency flares holding the philadelphia convention in the middle of the street. they were problem solving, hypothesizing, checking on people, and cursing the electric company. these people are going to protect the herd. i suggested that gary join them to see what was up, but he was clearly not breaking character....

b.the complete apathetic: meet gary: my man, my protector and my provider.......(ahem) the man barely woke up enough to process the fact the electric was out. he did the most important thing first, though, check for his iphone - and then crawled back into bed. being a hermit-vampire he was more than thrilled at the extra darkness he had going for his 10 hour snooze, but was somewhat annoyed that i didn't share his optimism...

c. the knee-jerk irrational: you guessed it - that's me! people can react irrationally at a variety of levels. some can get really extremist, start looting stores and shooting trespassers. i am your totally passive, friendly irrational. the irrational person wants to do something amid the crisis, but they aren't really sure what to do. for instance, i decided to logically start lighting about a dozen candles - because it was almost midnight and i really needed some good illumination?!?! well of course, how can you clean in the dark? that's right. i tidied up our disgusting house, because in the event of a blackout someone might need to stop by for a cup of sugar and i just can't have them think we live like pigs (my mother would be so proud). other more aggressive irrationals are going to aim a gun in your face - i just may shoot you with a spray of fresh linen febreeze.

so to recap - when in a catastrophe, you should probably not call on the thomas family, we are useless. gary will be busy setting the alarm for noon on his iphone and i will only be able to give you tips on how to clean house by candle light and a fisher price dinosaur flashlight that roars every time you turn it on....

oh and a shout out to the dog, Gunner, who after taking on 'go-getter' personality and waking up the family, promptly laid in the floor and slept the rest of the night (Gary may hate that dog, but they are brothers separated at birth when it comes down to it...)

Mark of Freedom

2010-07-07T21:59:00.000-04:00

This weekend was about independence, freedom, democracy...all the things that make this country such a wonderfully unique and blessed place to live.
Voltaire says, "Man is free at the moment he wishes to be." There is nothing better than witnessing people exercise their freedoms, especially on the day their country celebrates liberty. This is not something you have to go searching for in our nation's capitol or at picket lines or in the court room - I spent this weekend just hanging around small towns and watched as ordinary people declared their freedom everywhere.

Saturday morning I was met in the Dollar Store parking lot by a man who practiced his freedom to drive his personal vehicle sans shirt. This middle age man did so appropriately with his hard rock screaming through his speakers and his tats glistening in the sunlight. The beauty of this situation is watching someone exercise their freedom to be belly bare, despite a full gut and course body hair, with no ambivalence. I was further impressed by this proud citizen when he so dutifully observed the dress code of our fine country by digging in the back of his Bronco for a shirt in order complete that natural cause and effect where shirts and shoes yield service. Naturally, he produced a fine, white, tank-top; dare I say that it was airbrushed. Carry on, fearless American.

Later that same afternoon while in the parking lot of the ONLY place to be on our country's birthday weekend, Wal-Mart, I witnessed yet another taxpaying resident practicing her freedom to completely snub the law, and moreover the safety of her offspring. This brave woman crept into her handicap parking spot with her windows down and Lil' Wayne rattling the Supercenter doors. It was this loud announcement of her arrival that made me turn around to see a bold American flick her cigarette out one window, while her toddler stood in the front seat, hanging onto the door of the opposite window doing an impressive balancing act for her teeny tiny body. Now, if that is not quintessential life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness - I don't know what is.

Sunday, Americans paraded their biggest demonstrations of independence. And in the course of human events typical for this day it came time to light fireworks. What better way to mark freedom and the solemn, contemplative, sound words of our our country's forefathers than with unabashed recklessness in the presence of fire? I am proud to be married to a man that did not deny his unalienable right to blow up some really wicked pyrotechnics. And in this case NOT all men are created equal, because there are only a few folks out there daft enough to light heavy duty fireworks for their first time ever dressed in shorts. So kudos to my husband who practiced his right to bear calves while setting off fireworks. Like most freedoms, though, his was not totally "free" - there was a price to pay...

Because of the loud booms and no sight of her daddy, Charley freaked out over the fireworks and begged to go inside. Disappointed at my wimpy child, I went inside but not before Charley was appropriately scarred for life (or at least the evening). Just a few lightings into the show, Gary and his pyro partner, Kyle, lit a fairly large rocket that did not detonate in the air, but on the ground - more specifically onto Gary's calf. All Charley heard was an explosion and her dad yell, "Ow!" While there are bombs bursting in front of her she begins bursting into complete hysterics and we go inside. Meanwhile, I have no clue if Gary's leg is still in tact, but I still hear the blasts (and so does Charley as she buries her face deeper and deeper into the couch with each one) I assume, the patriot is safe. When silence resumed and my wound up toddler caught her breath, we ventured outside to check on daddy. In the darkness, with only his word to go on it seemed as if Gary was okay. It was not until next day the soldier would reveal his battle wounds - and it was gross.

But the best part of all was that Gary's stamp of freedom, his patriotic mark of the BIRTH of our nation was in the single, blatant shape of a very specific cell that has a compact head attached to long flagella...

Nothing says, "Happy Birthday, America" like a limb branded by a recreation rocket made in China and in the shape of a sperm. Way to go, Gary! Thomas J and the crew would be proud.

So go forth citizens and celebrate your rights in all their glory - shirtless or careless - just don't take your rights for granted!

Flush-tered

2010-07-02T08:46:00.000-04:00

Just an update on the potty training...
Since we have started potty training, we have had many messes - including the BIG one that occurred when I thought she was taking a nap, but instead she pooped in her Pull-Up, removed the 'Dapper' (as she calls it) and proceeded to throw/smear/spread her mess. Only a mother can look at that filth and think, "Hey, at least she wanted the diaper off when it was dirty - that is a step in the right direction." All the while I was sobbing, FeBreezing, and Cloroxing simultaneously.

Despite the many, many messes - what is it about your tiny offspring peeing and pooping in the toilet that makes you get a little teary eyed, dance like a fool, shower them in praise, and toss stickers like rappers throw money? It is those FEW moments I feel like I am on to something and our hard work has paid off.

Unfortunately though, I am slowly realizing (and even more slowly admitting) that we may not be ready for potty training. When I mentioned the potty and she fell to her knees and cried, exhausted at the thought of sitting on the toilet again, it seems as if this is not her time. So I wasted a lot of time and energy for this transition/milestone just so some illiterate, illogical, immature being that has only been on this earth for 2 years could stop the whole process. I am getting shaken down by a diaper clad, 33 lb kid who smears her poop on the wall. Super. Apparently, I have a strong-willed kid that wants things on her terms. Awesome for her when she is in the board room refusing to give in, but not so easy when she is excusing herself from lunch table at McNabb Middle so her incompetent mother who works down the hall can change her diaper. Okay, okay - I know it won't get that bad and at the most I will probably be dealing with the diapers a just few more months. Man, this is tough. You don't want to coddle your child and set the tone for some Veruca Salt-"but-daddy--I-want-an-Oompa-Loompa-now" spoiled brat, but I am not sure I want to screw her up forever over bowel movements to the point she puffs an inhaler every time she hears a toilet flush (I think Freud has a whole chapter about that). I have heard over and over again that you have to wait until the kid is ready, but I really wanted to believe that I could work some mommy magic and do this thing on my terms - not so much, not this battle.

So I'm backing off, waving the white Clorox wipe,and putting the potty timer away for now. In all honestly my sanity and Swifter need a break anyway. Here is to trying a more "lax" approach.

2010-06-30T08:46:00.001-04:00

It has been a while since I've been on here. Today being the first official day of Charley's potty training - I can think of no better day to start blogging again. Just in case I am ever able to block this day from my mind (though I really doubt it) I thought I would preserve my thoughts at this time, though my sanity is hanging on by a tissue strand.

First of, this is the most trying thing I have done thus far as a parent mostly because there is absolutely no true standard by which to follow. Of all the parenting advice out there, potty training seems to come with the least amount of sure-fire, fool proof plans. I believe I could get better, more certain tips on how to raise my child as a perfect Christian; thereby getting all the denominations of the world to agree long before I could get mothers and experts to agree on how I can efficiently train my child to use the toilet. 2 years or 3 years old? Pull-ups or panties? Stickers or candy? Potty chair or toilet? Everyone has their own way - and so help me if I meet one more person that trained their kid in just one day - you are lying and I don't believe you. This includes my own mother, who swears I did trained myself and at the age of one. If my mom is telling the truth, we can rule out genetics as having any stake in this battle.

I chose to go semi-cold turkey with the diapers. I have removed all diapers and Pull-ups unless it is bed time. Then every 25 minutes a bell rings and we go trotting to the toilet. There she sits with me by her side. We talk and sing, I paint toe nails, we look at flashcards, and the laptop even makes one or two visits for some inspirational toilet appropriate youtube videos. After several, long minutes of waiting to hear a tinkle or a plop - nothing. I get nothing. No-thing.

Then 3-5 minutes later, with her dry panties on (or nothing at all) a surprisingly large puddle forms in the floor.

(Let me interject here, upon seeing how much pee comes out of her body furthers how impressed I am with disposable diapers - they soak up all that and she is rarely wet? If Pampers and NASA ever combined forces...)

As she shyly steps away from it with little wet footprints, I say for the 1000th time, "Charley, pee goes in the potty." And she replies by pointing to some random object in the room and naming it, "Cheese."

"Good, glad we are on the same page, kid." We clean up the mess - something she enjoys a little too much.

I repeat this until 6 pm. This is when I commit the cardinal sin of a mommy - I meet two friends for dinner and leave Gary home to carry out the Potty Plan. I was very nervous and thought about canceling the outing when the bell rang for her to go and from his recliner Gary turned to Charley and said, "Charley, it is time to sit on the potty," expecting her to drop everything and obediently report to the toilet. Wow, I wish I had thought of that.

Gary eventually got the concept (after I compassionately and sweetly reminded him of our 'plan') and I left not knowing what was going to happen while I was out. Truly I didn't care, I was glad to get away from the ringing bell and bathroom. I later received a text message: "so far she has peed through two panties and tried to pee standing up...oh and she can climb on her table and into the crib...and OUT of it..geez." I smiled, closed my phone, reached out for another breadstick and proudly imagined my little naked banshee. At least she is consistent and I would be lying if I did not admit that it would have infuriated me had Charley peed in the toilet for Gary and not me! Judge all you want, but you'd think the same.

I came home to a daughter in Pull-ups and a slightly rattled husband snuggled in the bed eating waffles and watching iCarly. A tableau that doesn't exactly scream "Parents of the Year," but it is still very sweet. I made one last attempt to get her to pee in the potty before bed, but after spending 15 minutes on the toilet and even resorting to dipping her hands in hot/cold water slumber-party style I ended the day with no pee in the potty, an empty tube of Lysol wipes, a destroyed bathroom, more pee soaked laundry, and a feeling World Cup-sized defeat.

Meanwhile, Charley proudly put her Pull-up back on for the night, asked for a book and happily sang her ABC's.

So there it is - my first day of potty training. On paper it comes across humorous and not quite as exhausting (or wet), but to be sure it is a day that ranks with my other parenting firsts. I am frustrated and she is unfazed, but we go to bed and try again tomorrow.

I guess it is now more appropriate than ever we just put our big girl panties on and deal with it.

are you there blog? it's me, abby.

2009-07-25T00:18:00.000-04:00

i have not blogged in forever....first slow internet, then no internet...but now i have fast internet AND insomnia, so bring on the late night pecks at the keyboard against the soft glow the computer screen while i listened to my hubby and baby snore in the background. livin the dream.

how about a bulleted list of quick updates:

Charley is 15 months going on 13..she rolls her eyes at me and throws tantrums with every "no" i utter.
I spend my spare time looking into good boarding schools for girls.
Gary will soon be off every Saturday, Sunday, and Monday.
I spend my spare time looking into good marriage counselors. ;)
No move on the house yet. We have found a place in Mt. Sterling that we like but we are just waiting on SOMEONE/ANYONE to show remote interest in our home. I am one more month away from going door to door in random apartment buildings asking people if they are ready to get out of apartment life and move up to trailer park life....
gary, charley and i were blessed with a vacay in destin with the lee fam....it was a blast...pics are on facebook.
school starts in a few weeks and i didn't even scrape the surface on my reading list, take my GRE, which led to me not taking a single summer school class, i didn't lose an ounce of weight that i swore i would.....i can't decide if summer went too fast for if i just wasted a lot of time...
most recently, i have lost my contact in my eye --- excuse me for a bit---------

alright - now that we are squared away.... i will leave you with this...my next purchase....as is the first thing i do tomorrow when i wake up....

ladies and gentlemen....i give you a blend of something i love and something i should love a heck of a lot more than what i do.....

THE FITFLOP.... www.fitflop.com

it seems as if the angels themselves have conspired together to create a shoe just for abby adams thomas. many are aware of my affection for the flip flop, but now there is the lil magic shoe called the fitflop that is quote, "biochemically enginered" to tone your legs when you walk. it is like the hybrid car of footwear...it is both comfy and good for you. the fitflop, somehow in its infinite magical wonder, allows you to get a workout as you walk around....that's it...put the lil sucker on and walk.....how cool is that....i'm sold. i'm in. running shoes? no thank you. i've got my flops. i will express mail a pair and keep you posted.

in the meantime, dear jesus thank you for giving me the fitflop. could you please turn your attention to ice cream that burns calories as you eat it? just wondering. when you get time. after world peace, maybe? thanks. hugs and amen, abby.

mr. mom

2009-05-16T21:20:00.000-04:00

today i got to play with charley just about all day - she took a HUGE nap at my moms which allowed me to run out and grab a way overdue haircut. i love playing with her and spending saturdays with her...i am going to MISS HER LIKE CRAZY when i am in DC. :( i decided to go to DC a while ago and i am beginning to regret this decision. four days away from my baby girl is A LOT, but at the same time I don't want to be so overly attached that i can 'never' leave'her...honestly i know she will not be affected in any way by my absence, even though i'd like to think otherwise! :) i am lucky that my husband can step up and is really a good involved daddy...I truly trust my husband and his ability to care for her ---HOWEVER i totally want to get a nanny cam to watch the antics of our version of 'daddy daycare' ---

here's what i know:
1. any time i have left the two of them alone, i always come back to a house that is destroyed. i'm talking toys spread from kitchen to bathroom. food and cups all over the place. there has even been a case where the sunday paper was involved (not pretty)
2. gary doesn't dress charley. i leave clothes out for him to put on her. if the outfit is not 'simple' enough he improvises (which is always interesting) sometimes he pulls out clothes that i didn't know she had... mostly when he is in charge charley is sporting only a diaper and there are 2-3 food covered shirts in the floor.
3. gary still gags when he has to change a poopy diaper. i mean he dry heaves and struggles through the whole ordeal. he will have at least 2 a day...sooooo...
4. gary has only bathed charley 2-3 times by himself. i bet the bath will be thrown out altogether and he just tries to spritz her with some body spray each day -- kinda like he handles his own personal hygiene.
5. gary feeds and gives charley whatever she wants to eat, or whatever he is eating. so unless gary becomes a vegan over the next 48 hours, charley will be addicted to big macs and beef jerky by next saturday.
6. apparently only the person who carried the baby in her womb is capable of hearing the child's every movement throughout the night. i'll probably be 7 hours away and still be able to hear charley cry before he does...
7. Gary has never done daycare 'drop off' - this is where your heart breaks for a few minutes everday...she'll be unenrolled by next week and he'll have quit his job to take care of her.

feel free to check in with gary this week..i know that quote says 'it takes a village to raise a child"...i'm pretty sure they never intended for the village idiot to help out (by himself at least)

2009-05-12T21:54:00.000-04:00

so i have discovered that the best way to kick off a diet is with a hardcore stomach bug...it's cheaper than laxatives! (but equally as unpleasant) :)

in the meantime, my daughter is eating healthy. she weighed in yesterday at a whopping 25lbs. 10 oz .... 31 1/4 inches height!

we are trying to give up the bottle and transitioning pretty well to cow's milk! bye bye similac!!

as you tell she mostly favors her kool-aid (sugar free, of course) though you wouldn't have known it y the way she clutched her sippy cup and ran through the house!

diet RIGHT

2009-05-11T06:00:00.000-04:00

today, gary and i have committed to start a weight loss-get fit plan. it has beena long time coming. no more excuses, ridiculous rationales, or blatant avoidance. i have to lose weight! i figured that going public with this may motivate me a little more than just having my personal, private stare down with the scale behind the locked bathroom door.
i have a lot of bad habits to break and a lot of obstacles in the way. having a one year old and a time consuming job does not make a regular exercise regiment easy - but i am going to change the way i think about exercise - it no longer has to be 2 solids hours in a gym...i'm just to take what i can get when i can get it! at the same time i am going to have to stretch my daily schedule even thinner by regularly planning and preparing healthy meals. no more grabbing whatever the lunch ladies slop on my plate and i am going to have to break away from the apparent gravitational pull that McDonalds and Dairy Queen have on my fat butt! The biggest problem will be ending my emotional relationship with food. I eat when i am happy, when i am sad, when i am angry, when i am bored, if i am celebrating something, if i am stressed...you name it and i can find a reason to eat! but i read something that stated, stomachs are not trash can...so that is my underlying philosphy - i will stop mindlessly throwing junk into my body.

motivations? i owe this to the 20 year old version of myself that worked her butt off to lose a ton of weight, only to be sabotaged 7 years later. my 10 year high school reunion, i am not going to lie and say that i don't care what those people think of me...I do, it's natural. my daughter...i want to be more active for her and i don't want to go to her tball games on a rascal in a moomoo.

so here goes...the trek to lose 60 lbs. - i will keep you posted...

round and roud it goes, where it stops nobody knows...

2009-05-05T20:37:00.000-04:00

what a difference a year makes.

really though, what a difference a baby makes.

it is incredible to digest that a year ago today i was checking into the hospital completely naive to the role I was stepping into. neither gary nor i could have guessed this is what parenthood is. i can't help but think about that scene in the movie Parenthood where steve martin realizes the truth behind metaphor that 'life is rollercoaster' and he envisions the room around him spinning as though he was buckled down into a whirling roller coaster car...it's absolutely true...this whole parenthood ride is a roller coaster.

during pregnancy i slowly climbed that scary hill completely blind to the track that lay before me. tons of anticipation built inside of me and sometimes if i strained i could kind of see what was ahead --- even so it always scared me to death. then suddenly, with little warning on may6, 2008 i hurdled down a hill, screaming, hands flying wildly above my head and my face making a god awful expression that was inevitably caught in a unsuspecting snapshot that i could buy for 25.99. since that day i have been thrown side to side, up and down, jerked and pulled, sometimes with overwhelming joy and sometimes with indescribable fear. at times i could sit back and enjoy the ride, while other times it was all i could do to not to throw myself from car. all the while, i've been strapped down in a filthy, germy car covered in some other person's puke and urine (admittedly my own urine too), with food crumbs all over the place...not to mention my hands clutching a bar that doesn't let me steer.

i am still in the car waiting for the next turn or loop or 150 foot drop that shoves my stomach into my throat...but i somehow how know in the back of my mind that it is all worth it and, just like riding a roller coaster, i will LOVE the experience when it is all over with..... and who knows i might someday jump back in line to do it all over again (depends on how long that line is...i'm getting old, you know). but if i don't get back in line when i get off this ride, i'll just amble around the amusement park dressed in an air brushed t-shirt, plastic visor, and a fanny pack carrying a coffee in one hand and an oversized bag full of useless crap in the other --trying to find the bathroom.
happy birthday charley anne.

MSU Game/Potential Home Buyers

2009-03-20T07:42:00.000-04:00

GO EAGLES!!!

Well, if Charley were to become a cheerleader I think she would definately be the 'base' - God bless her. Thighs like that have a tendency to keep one planted on the ground and aren't aren't made to be thrown in the air. So, I guess it is settled ...no cheerleading!

We are excited about the game tonight. I brought about 20 MSU shirsts to school today to outfit all my kids. Hopefully, I will get to watch some of the game, but someone (thank goodness) is coming to look at our house tomorrow and I HAVE to clean...the bananas smashed in the floor and pet hair covered carpet are apparently not selling points according to HGTV standards.

However, if this showing doesn't work out, I think I may start to advertise our house as a home/small business inorder to be more marketable...maybe this would attract those young couples who want to start their own meth lab business, but stay close to home...you know, for their children's sake.

Charley and the Chocolate Cake

2009-02-19T13:03:00.000-05:00

Pic of Charley eating the CAKE mentioned in a past blog.

I am recanting my position on babies having cake --- how can something be bad for you that makes you look THIS HAPPY??????

So, "Let them eat cake!!"

9 month appt.

2009-02-10T07:08:00.000-05:00

the stats are in...

Charley visited the doctor yesterday for her 9 month appointment.

All reports were super healthy...despite neurotic mommy's belief that she was adversely affected for life by the piece of chocolate cake she was given earlier in the week at daycare. :)

Her numbers: 29.5 inches (95 percentile) & 22.6lbs. (93 percentile)

I think it is time to start ballhandling. With numbers like these I think cheerleading is already ot of the picture! darn....

four steps + 5 teeth = 9 months old!

2009-02-07T21:43:00.000-05:00

yesterday was the 9 month milestone for miss Charley ---wow, I just wished the 9 months i was pregnant with her went by as fast as these past 9 months have!

she took about 4 steps by herself Friday - she let go of gary's leg, her hands all in the air, a few unstable waddles, mommy, daddy, and aunt amy holding their breath --- then SPLAT! face plant! followed by roaring applause, of course! it was sweet. people run marathons, climb up enormous mounains, walk on the moon, and Jesus walked on water -- but my little girl toddled a foot or so across filthy carpet and i wanted to cry (maybe i did a little when i put her to bed that night, what of it?) kids.

and if that wasn't enough for me to process, i looked in her little mouth today to discover a 5th tooth! this one was sneaky...we hadn't noticed it, but should have been more wise to it given the last week of nasty earaches! oh well, someone get this girl a steak and some potatoes!

so that is the big news from our household...petty i guess, but it's all that we've got to talk about...now i see how my parents got so lame...a couple kids and the coolness is sucked right out of you....i mean, we ate at arby's tonight for dinner...how cool is that?

so i'm off to bed...it's almost 'double digits'....

snow days

2009-02-05T09:53:00.000-05:00

snow day 443.

i am passionate about my snow days...there is just something about seeing my school name scroll across the bottom of the screen that thrills me...even if i know sometime around june i will be cursing these frivolous days. but i have not allowed these moments to go in vain - miss charley and i have had a blast chillin at home, immersed in floor time and naps together. she is growing up so fast so i am very glad to have these few lazy days together. granted my papers don't get graded and the laundry is still growing up the side of the wall, but i'm slowly letting go of my obession with trying to do EVERTYTHING....it's impossible.

which this leads to this thought about my stay-at-home mom pals---how in the world do you do it? you are amazing ladies - i think i understood your true strength when last week (we were off everyday) i realized that not only did i not know what day it was, but i couldn't quite recall my last shower...

pics of my snow days with charley...she helped do laundry, discovered the window (her new fav place to hang out) and wallered gunner...

for the record, i think my dog curses the SnoGo report and he will be more than happy when the two-legged terror goes back to daycare!

chickens, rabbits, and dogs - oh my!

2008-10-17T20:34:00.000-04:00

I am fresh from my first visit to Preston Court Days. Amy stopped by to pick up Charley for the night, so Gary and I took in a little Bath County culture-Preston Court Days! I have lived in Owingsville for 5 years and have yet to visit the oh-so-interesting Preston. It is a down scaled version of Mt. Sterling Courts Days with more antiques (junk) and local vendors (Amish and white trash). I LOVED IT!
After walking a mile from our parking spot, Gary and I bought some marshmellow guns for our nephew Tabor and his cousin's boys. These simple little toys are great - although I have about 90 marshmellows scattered about my house right now - the one thing my dog apparently does not eat, he'll lap up toilet water and dirty diapers but turns his nose at fluffy sweet candies...anyway, we also bought Charley a handmade UK dress (pink with white bows), some candles and WAY TOO much food! After gawking at the chickens, rabbits, mini horse, and dogs (warning - I am pretty sure the animal Humane Society would frown upon the caging conditions of these animals) we headed back to the house with no Charley --- very weird.
Should I nap or catch up on laundry??
After a hamburger and funnel cake, I think the couch is calling my name.

Tomorrow I may tackle Mt. Sterling Court Days --I have yet to buy my traditional pair of knock-off-too-big-for-my-head sunglasses ---