Friday, December 31, 2010

Sprout Wish

Sprout Wish: noun. A wish a child makes to be older and/or reach a particular milestone that his peers and/or siblings have reached.

Yesterday, Philosopher Child lost his first tooth. (I'll wait while you applaud like you've never applauded before. Done? OK.) He took it out himself, no muss, no fuss, just out. So, in accordance to ancient tradition passed down from whoever thought this nonsense up, the Tooth Fairy, while tripping over toys and being generally grouchy but hoping not to wake up the child, removed the tooth and replaced it with a dollar, making sure to hide the tooth in the back of the child's mother's wardrobe, where the child would not find it.

This resulted in the child dancing around all morning with said dollar.

Of course, this whole situation is fascinating to Viking Toddler. He asked me this morning if I could take one of his teeth out.

"No," I replied. "You have to wait until you are a little older. They'll get wobbly, and then they'll come out."

Viking Toddler then shook his head around, "wobbling" it, in an effort to make his teeth wobbly.

Clearly, I've gotten through to him. *Eye roll*

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Sleep Myth

Sleep Myth: noun. The myth that after a certain age, kids (and adults, for that matter) almost always sleep through the night.

Uh, can we say false? Maybe it's just me, but sleeping through the night seems to be a luxury these days. Between sleep walkers/talkers, illnesses, general wakings, storms, weather changes, headaches... Pfft. What I want is a good night's sleep.

But of course, it's not all bad. The kids' sleep talking is actually pretty funny, even if it does wake me up. For instance, a few days ago we went to a birthday party, at which there was an indoor playground. Viking Toddler wanted to run and play in it like the other children, but in order to get up into it, you had to go up a serious of platforms that were as high as his chest. A few of Philosopher Child's classmates with some seriously heightened maternal senses helped Viking Toddler get up the platforms over and over, and seemed extremely happy to do so. Really cute.

Later that night, I heard Viking Toddler moving around and talking. I found him sitting up in his bed, saying, "I need to get up there. I need help to get up there." He was of course dreaming about the little girls helping him up to the platforms.

I said, "OK, I'll help you." I laid him down on his pillow. "Are you up there now?"


"OK. Go back to sleep."

Well, maybe having to get up at night every now and then and catch such adorableness isn't so bad.

Saturday, December 25, 2010

A Christmas without snow

OK, no snow on Christmas is not exactly surprising. We live in the south, and it has only snowed here a couple of times in the past few decades, and generally no more than flurries. Although, there was a very cold stretch last year and it sleeted one night. But, as is my standard, I digress.

The other day, Viking Toddler, who is three, asked if there will be snow on Christmas. I told him no. He then became concerned, as he had convinced himself that Santa can only fly if there is snow. That took a few minutes to correct. Although, thanks to the magic of webcams, Grandpa was kind enough to walk outside in the cold and show the boys the 8 inches of snow that had fallen where he was.

Philosopher Child asked me last night (Christmas Eve) how Santa will get in since our house doesn't have a chimney.

"You know, I remember asking my mom the same thing when I was young," I said. "She said he uses the front door."

"But it's locked. How does he get in?"

At this point I pulled out an old trick my mom used when she didn't know what to day or didn't feel like answering. "Magic."

"But he's supposed to go down the chimney!" Philosopher Child said.

I don't remember what I said here, but I think it was something like, "And he's magic. Do you think normal people go down chimneys?"

I hope everyone has a splendid and fantastic New Year. If you're into resolutions, make them, and don't forget to share them.

As an interesting little side note, Husband was kind enough to get me a laptop for Christmas. Not a new one, but there's a reason: this particular model is hard to break and is perfect for me. Love it.

But I've already digressed. I was silly enough to leave my laptop open on the table, with the edit page up. I had to walk away for a while, and when I came back, I was doing a quick read through of what was on the page. Hidden in the text were the words "I am a vandal." Husband apparently thinks he's funny. He mostly is. Good thing I proofread.

Friday, December 24, 2010

Merry Chirstmas to all, and to all... put a smile on, for goodness sake!

I haven't come up with a word for what I'm proposing yet, however I suppose it could go under the Holinsanity category.

Yesterday (that would be the day before Christmas Eve), Husband, the boys, and I all went out to the grocery store and Target for a couple of last minute items (uh, yeah, like all the stuff for Christmas dinner that we hadn't bought yet).

Anyway, the grocery store was packed. Not only was it full of people, it was full of angry people. I'm sure I would have found the same at Target if I had ventured out of the first aid/cleaning supplies section.

Why, for the love of all things, are people so darn angry at Christmas? It could be the extra money that people "need" to spend, but I don't think that's it. The crowds? I think that's more likely. Husband himself has said many times that he hates Christmas for that very reason.

But back to my story, which is more disjointed and rambling than usual. I was helping Husband gather the last minute things at the grocery store, and it's amazing how many people had scowls on their faces and acted like you are in their way. Like somehow, you, personally, have completely ruined their Christmas by the mere act of being in the same building as them. So while some of the people were happy to say, "Excuse me," and "I bet your pardon," and smile, most looked like they were about to hit you in the face with a baseball bat.

Crowds aren't fun. I get that. But consider this: everyone is just trying to do the same thing as everyone else. Everyone just wants to get in, get what they need, and go home. Anger over an uncontrollable situation just makes it worse.

So here's my proposal: This year, I will try to remain nice and cheery, even in the face of crowds. I will remember that we are all trying to do the same thing. I will smile, even when others look like they are about to pull out their bats.

As Proverbs 15:1 says, "A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger." Not to mention all the versus on encouraging each other.

Will you join me?

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Balloon Man/Woman part II

Part I
Balloon Man/Woman
: noun. A person that tries, at times repeatedly, to give your child something you don't want them to have.

Walking home from school with the boys. Tra-la-la-la-la. A grandmotherly woman, whom I have seen many times in my travels and never known to be anything but pleasant, stops on her way from the mailbox and watches us.

*Cue the Jaws music*

When we get to her, she asks, "Would the boys like some mechanical toys?"

"No," I politely say, "They tend to break mechanical things."

"Oh, they're just little mechanical dogs. They can't hurt them."

"Well, they're throwers, and--" (Here I was about to tell her about the remote control fire truck that broke the first day, but she interrupted by doing what happened next.)

She turned to my children and asked THEM.

Yeah, hi. Remember me? The mom? The mom that just TOLD YOU NO???

She ran off to get the dogs and brought them back to the kids and happily shows them how they work.

"I bought them for my dogs, but they know they're not real," she says. But I am also pretty stunned and say nothing. She tries to hug me and laughs an apology. Not a real apology, mind you. A fake, "ha-ha get over it, this is no big deal" sort of apology.

Why would you do that? Why would you listen to me tell you no, but be so blatant as to disrespect me in front of my children? Especially when I DON'T KNOW YOU?


So now I have these stupid toy dogs that have long leashes on them. Did I mention my kids like to wrap things around their necks? No? Let me tell you that now. My kids like to wrap things around their necks.

I've hid them. I'm hoping they will forget about them and I can donate them at the first available moment.

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Shatter Duty

Shatter Duty: noun. The responsibility of having to tell your child something hurtful for their own good.

Sound harsh? It is. And it sucks. Big time.

Viking Toddler asked for a Superman cape for his birthday last July. Being crafty and using any sort of excuse to add to my craftiness, I whipped one up. He's been playing with it on and off since. Lately, it's mostly been on.

When I first made him his cape, I was careful to remind him about the rules of reality, as in, a cape won't make him fly and Superman is just a movie and not real.

Today, a lady I knew was telling me about a child years ago in the Philippines (her home country) that *supposedly* tried to fly down the stairs and didn't survive. True story or not, I decided I ought to give our little guy a refresher in gravity.

"You know you can't fly, right? It's just a story. Some kids have tried it, and gotten very hurt."

See the bold part? That's the only part he heard. The next thing I knew, he said, "Can I try flying off the roof?"

All stop! Hold everything! What did my child just ask me???

So, while making breakfast, I had a conversation with my little guy in which I had to explain to him in no uncertain terms that people can't fly. I told him Superman and Batman aren't real, they're just stories, and those were just actors in the movies that were made to look super with camera tricks. I reiterated that people, including himself, can't fly.

"Oh," he said. "Not today?"

No, not just not today. Not at all. Not ever. Superheros aren't real, no one flies, and if he tried it he would get hurt.

I literally saw his heart shatter. His lip stuck out and he got all teary.

This wasn't in the manual.

Sunday, November 21, 2010


Marttration: (mart-tration) noun. Frustration felt from visiting a store or shopping center that you hate.

I don't exactly dig Wal-Mart. Our local one is crowded, dusty, and the shoppers there are generally rude at best. However, sometimes we need one particular item that Wal-Mart carries and our other stores don't. If we don't want to drive for half an hour or 45 minutes for that item, Wal-Mart is the only place we can go.

So there's the back story. Now that you know it, I can proceed. A few days ago, we were at Wal-Mart purchasing that one dreaded item that the other stores didn't have. We finished our shopping, got into the car, and were about to leave when a woman walking by with her cart just stopped right in front of our car (we had backed in and were facing out). Two men drove up to her, and while standing with her cart directly in front of our car, proceeded to load the other car that was now stopped in the roadway.

"She's going to leave that cart there, you know," I said to Husband. Not sure why I said it. I think Wal-Mart just puts me in a bad mood.

"No, she'll move it," he replied.

Well, she finished loading, left the cart in front of our car so we couldn't get out, and got into the other car. Of course, Husband was not having this nonsense and proceeded to honk his horn at her repeatedly. She and her two male friends turned around and gave us blank looks until they realized what happened. So the woman got back out of the car, took the cart and jumped it onto one of those curbed grassy areas (you know, the ones where the shopping places plant small trees and use the areas to separate the parking lots?), got back into her car, and left.

Oh, and let me tell you the best part. The cart return area was right across the aisle from where she stood, about 10 or 15 feet away.

Friday, November 12, 2010


Crafstake: noun. Mistake pertaining to crafting.

I've been sewing up a storm lately. My fabric stash is growing, as is my confidence. And on that line of thought, I branched out into something a bit new (and feared among some sewers): jersey knit.

Now, for you non-sewers, jersey knit is that mildly stretchy stuff that t-shirts are made out of. I found some on sale and proceeded to attempt to make some nice shirts.

First attempt: making a ruffled tee using an existing t-shirt as a pattern, using the instructions from a nifty little blog called Make It and Love It. I followed the instructions for the body of the t-shirt, but the sleeves didn't fit the armholes. I wanted a lower neck line, but cut it in the wrong spot and ended up with an off-the-shoulder number. I wasn't sure what happened, but chalked it up to user error. In the end, what I had was unwearable. (This is the part where I point out that NOW I know what I did and there were no problems with her instructions. Completely my fault.)

Second attempt: After a while away from stretchy shirt ideas, I tried again. This time, I took the seems out of an old, well-loved, and well-fitting t-shirt and used that as a pattern. Body was fine, sleeves, again, did not fit the armholes. I was angry and frustrated. I recut the sleeves a couple of times, which did not help my mood.

I was talking with Husband about my frustration with the project when he asked a question that I hadn't even considered: "Did you put the sleeves on backwards?"

"Of course not!" I was ready to say. "What kind of idiot...wait. Hang on."

I checked the original pattern pieces and guess what? I put the shoulder seam on the outer arm and the outer seam against the shoulder. (If you non-sewers don't know what I'm talking about, just know that it was wrong.) Out came the seam ripper, and after a little bit of extra effort, I found the original sleeves fit just fine and now I have a rather lovely shirt that I made myself.

Monday, November 1, 2010


Dafter: noun. The day after any sort of tiring event.

Today is the dafter of Halloween. Fun? Yes. Adorable? Certainly. Tiring? Oh-my-freaking-goodness-I-need-a-nap.

After I took the kids trick-or-treating, I stayed up late watching a movie and generally goofing off. I am so, so, SO sorry I did that. I have at this moment been up for 4 hours and have yet to actually wake up.

Chocolate didn't help.

Tea didn't help.

Maybe I can convince Viking Toddler to take a nap so I can, too.

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

And if meditation doesn't work...

Wood Block Relaxing: verb. Trying to relax but in no way getting there.

Recently I've seen a lot of articles about doing breathing exercises and meditating to help relax and destress. I've been feeling more anxious than is necessary lately, so I thought I would give it a go. Mind you, I'm not into the looking-for-enlightenment sort of thing, but just sitting quietly and breathing and just letting it all go for a moment.

So, early in the afternoon, I was anxious and perplexed. Bad weather has given me an ongoing headache for days. I got lost thinking and planning about something all morning, and before I knew it, I had forgotten to make myself lunch. The children, of course, had already eaten. Then those little pesky thoughts start to set in.

Scout meeting. There's a scout meeting tonight. Forgot. Bobcat badge. Oh, darn it, does he still remember the stuff he memorized for that? Camping trip coming up. No! The health form! I forgot to fill in the health form! Shirts. We're supposed to get those shirts from the lady at the meeting. Did I remind Husband to pick up cash for that? Wait. What time is it? I have to go get Philosopher child from school. How's our bread supply? WHY IS VIKING TODDLER CRYING THIS TIME???

Finally, returning home from the school, seeing how much I needed to accomplish today and how very lacking I had been, I decided to give that sitting quietly thing a go. I calmly told the boys to pick up the toys in the living room, and I was going to spend 5 minutes in my bedroom having just a few quiet moments.

I shut the door and sat down. Relaxing? No. This is what I immediately heard:

"Pick up the toys!"
"Get off of me!"

Relaxing. Riiiiiiight...

Friday, October 22, 2010

Wide Confinement

Wide Confinement: noun. State of having lots of space but nothing to really call your own.

Do you remember when you were a kid or a teen? How you couldn't wait to have your own house so your mom would stop telling you to put all your things in your room? Remember when you first had this dreaded conversation about the state of cleanliness of your room:

"It's MY room!" you scream.

"No it's not!" your mom yells. "It's MY room in MY house! You don't HAVE a room!"

OK, at least that's how it went between me and my mom. Maybe yours was one of those "give them space" types.


I'm a grown-up now. Supposedly. I have a house and my personal belongings are scattered through it (take that, Mom!). And yet, I really don't have a space that I can point to and say, "Mine!" Not a big deal in the grand scheme of things. I mean, at least I have a house to live in when so many people around us are losing theirs. There have been at least 3 foreclosures on our block this year.

The thing is that it's not just about having my own space. The problem lies with me. Me and this short dreaded word: crafts. In recent times, I've found out that crafty makes me happy, and crafty often involves a sewing machine. That's not the problem in and of itself, but the fact that I have no permanent place to set up my craftily craftiness. I set up a folding table in the living room, put my supplies on it, and put the supplies away when I'm done. Sometimes I even remember to put the folding table back.

In a small house, it is hard to find a permanent place to put these things. And then I got the wandering eye which fell upon (*scary music here*) Husband's work/hobby room. I bet I could reorganize that to make some extra space along that one wall...

Did you hear that? Husband, somewhere, just shuddered in terror.

Monday, October 18, 2010


Vantasm: noun. An object, person, or situation that clearly exists, but the children say otherwise.

10:30am, Monday morning. Philosopher Child was at school, Viking Toddler was playing quietly, and I was catching up on housework. After a quick pick-up of all the rooms in the house, a quick mop, doing the dishes, cleaning the bathrooms, and putting in a load of laundry, I was going through lunch options in my mind.

We had pizza a few days before, and the there was a slice left over. (Yeah, yeah, I know how bad pizza is for you, especially since I'm trying to shed a few pounds, but this place has epicly awesome pizza.) Viking Toddler started asking for it at about 8:30am.

"[Viking Toddler]! Are you hungry?" I asked at 10:30. "Do you still want that pizza? Or a sandwich?"

And then came the reply from my little guy. "[Viking Toddler]'s not here!"

Oh. Um, that's new.

"OK," I replied, not quite sure what else to say. "Let me know when he gets back."

Saturday, October 9, 2010

Kinda, sorta, but not quite MIA

I know, I know. I've been a bad, bad blogger. I haven't written for a few weeks and have even lost a few followers. All being my fault for my not making time.

But where have I been, you ask? Well, let's see here. Husband had to get his wisdom teeth taken out (all 4!), so I was nursemaid for a bit. The Boys were both sick at one time. Philosopher Child just started Cub Scouts. And of course, CRAFTING! There was some pumpkin pie from scratch (and I do mean scratch), some sewing of clothing for me and a pair of lounge pants for Viking Toddler, and I'm currently working on Halloween costumes. I'm desperately trying to get Philosopher Child's costume done before his teacher announces the date of the Halloween party, which should be coming up any time now.

But wait! You didn't come here to read about the inner workings of my day-to-day boring life.* You came here for me to tell you a ridiculous story and be entertained! So here you go!

Misapplique: verb. To take an understanding of one situation and mistakenly apply it to another.

When Philospher Child was smaller, he looked at a tree that had lost its leaves and announced, "That tree is naked!" The innocence and inherent truth in the statement was flooring, not to mention hilarious. I had completely forgotten about this situation until a few days ago when he saw a tree that lost its leaves and made the same statement, but more as a memory that he had once said it than a serious statement.

Viking Toddler, not to be outshone in an-y-thing, started calling every single tree "naked." And, because that clearly wasn't enough, he started saying the trees had *ahem* things that you see while naked. Way to go, Viking Toddler! You made a simple walk to school both funny and uncomfortable! We don't shout words like that in public.

*Husband asked me one day about Twitter. I told him that I don't Twitter because I'm simply not that interesting.

"What will I write about?" I said. "Doing laundry?"

"Apparently," he responded, "that's what Twitter is for."

Friday, September 17, 2010


Mundafit: noun. A fit thrown over something mundane and generic.

So, the morning was like any other morning. Tra-la-la-la-la, walking Philosopher Child to school with Viking Toddler in tow. Get the school, turn around, head home.

We get to the street and the ever-friendly (in a good way) crossing guard stops traffic so we can cross. As we are walking away, she calls out to Viking Toddler, "See you later, alligator!"

"Aren't you going to say good-bye?" I asked Viking Toddler.

"No," he replied, clearly rather angry. "She called me alligator."

I told the story to Husband. He patiently tried to explain to our little guy that you are supposed to say, "After while, crocodile!"

Well, he didn't like that. "I'm not a crocodile!"

Sunday, August 29, 2010

Funky and fresh apron giveaway

Yes, folks, it's that time again. The ladies over at TAG are giving away your choice of an awesome apron from Cupcake Provocateur! Pop on over an enter!

Thursday, August 26, 2010

Mama Bear

Mama Bear: noun. When a mother gets very, very angrily protective of her children.

OK, I didn't exactly make this one up. Still, it goes with today's story.

Recently, a man who lives across the street from my son's school has been running his sprinklers when he *knows* that all the kids are going to be passing by. Now, to be fair, we are on water restriction, meaning you have an assigned day to water, and you must water before 10am or after 4pm. So, it's not like there aren't other times he could water.

Today I found out that the man was asked to move his times for the safety of the children. You see, you can't cross the street here and avoid the situation because across the street is where the bus entrance/exit is. The kids have almost gotten hit trying to avoid getting wet. Still, the guy refused to move the times and claimed that he couldn't, which of course is bull.

This morning, after another wet walk, I was standing just barely out of the spray with some other parents and we were expressing our frustration to each other over the situation. The man came out of the house and addressed us.

"Is that any better?"

Apparently, he had moved the times by a few minutes, but it didn't make a difference. He was still running them during the time the children are passing by.

"We're still getting kids veering into the street," the crossing guard said.

"Well," said the man, "I called the water department and they can't do anything about it." I kind of heard this as "The water department isn't going to make me change." Of course the guy has other times he can run his sprinklers that are still on his days in the prescribed times. *Eye roll*

"Couldn't you run them half an hour earlier?" asked one of the dads.

"No," said the man. "I need to walk my dogs in the backyard. No."

Finally, a frustrated dad said, "It's a safety issue, bud."

And then, are you ready for this? The man said, "Not my problem."

Are you kidding me? The guy KNOWS that kids are almost getting hit trying to avoid getting wet, but he still refuses to budge a little because it is not his problem? REALLY????

My inner Mama Bear was about to throw her own hissy fit. I excused myself because I was going to say something I was going to regret. I'm so frustrated because the guy knows this is a problem, but also knows that, legally, we can't do anything about it. Not at all. He will continue to completely soak a very LONG stretch of sidewalk (you didn't think I was talking just a few feet, did you?), parents, and kids, plus cause a safety hazard, because he technically doesn't have to do anything, and he knows it.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010


Parenmorph: verb. When you are suddenly standing in the same position your parents were in with you.

Let me tell you a story. Once upon a time, when I was in elementary school, I wasn't finishing my class or homework. Sometimes I was lazy, sometimes I was bored, sometimes I didn't see the point. I mean, if I understood the concept the first time, why do I have to do 15 more times? Family legend says that when my mother talked to the teacher about it, the teacher said, "Doesn't she have nice eyes, though?"

Fast forward to today. Waiting for Philosopher Child to come out of school, his teacher came up to me. She told me, for the 3rd time in the past week, that he is not finishing his classwork. I assured her we would be talking about it with him. Again. (I also took away some favorite activities until he is able to finish his work for a week straight, but that's beside the point.)

"I really want to tell you he had a great day," she said. "I really do. But he had plenty of time to finish, and he didn't. But he's so sweet and has such nice eyes."

Ladies and gentlemen, the Twilight Zone.

Friday, July 23, 2010

Misobject Part II and what's up with the pear bird over there

OK, this isn't quite a "part II" in the way I usually define it, but it is an update. I've been told by Husband that I have been remiss in updating the story. So here we go. About that slipper...

Here was my theory: since we left the dog in the care of a neighbor when we left on an unexpected and sudden trip, we also left our neighbor our house keys. We figured, if the dog becomes a problem, she could bring the dog to our house and just come in and feed her and let her out. I thought that perhaps she was cleaning up her house, saw the slipper, and decided if it didn't belong to her kids, it must belong to us. Then, she used the key to drop off the slipper in our house.

Makes perfect sense. I was rather proud of that theory.

And then, it turned out to not be true.

See, the slipper was not a slipper at all. That's right. Not. a. slipper. You see, Philosopher Child had just been upgraded from a 5-point-harness car seat to a big boy booster seat, and that "slipper" was...oh, I'm so armrest cover for the booster seat.


And, now what's up with the new background. I get my backgrounds from The Cutest Blog on the Block. There's a link in the upper left hand corner. I still love their backgrounds and everything, but the background that I was using has been removed and replaced by new ones. Sorry. The bird is a place holder until I find another one that I like. Maybe I'll have a vote on a new one or something.

Thursday, July 15, 2010


Misobject: noun. An object that you have no idea where it came from or how it came to be where you found it.

Did you miss me? I missed you! I was called out of town rather suddenly (everything is fine), and haven't had much time to write.

However, something unusual happened upon my return, which was yesterday, in case you were wondering. But again, I ramble.

I planned on making bread today. As I was cleaning off the table, I found a child's slipper. Just one. And although that is not remarkable in and of itself, what is odd is that it is not ours. I don't recognize it even a little bit. It certainly does not belong to my children, and since we have been away for almost 2 weeks, coming back to find it is a bit strange.

I thought, well, some companies send out samples of their wares in hopes that you will buy some. Maybe that's what this is. Unlikely, but not impossible. I asked Husband about it, since he's the one who brought in the mail, but he didn't know what I was talking about.

So here we have one odd mystery slipper.

I have a suspicion of where it came from. I'll have to do some more investigating.

Monday, June 28, 2010

Swear of Mispronunciation part III

Part I Part II
Swear of Mispronunciation:
noun. A word that a child mispronounces, and ends up coming out as a swear word.

OK, I'm trying to tread extremely careful with what I'm about to say. It's funny, but hard to write (or read) without blushing.

The other night, we had pizza and breadsticks for dinner. I know, I know. Bad mommy. But stay with me.

Viking Toddler comes up to me (and get ready to blush), and said, "I found my d*ck."

"What?" I asked, wondering where he heard such a word. I decided that surely I must be misunderstanding him.

"My d*ck," he repeated.

No, that can't possibly be what he's saying...could it?

He walked over to the table, picked up a breadstick and announced, "D*ck."


"No, honey. That's a stick. A stick."

Monday, June 21, 2010


Indirections: noun. Directions that make no sense.

So, the other day we left the monkeys with a sitter and took the fluffy one to get her yearly shots. All went well, except of course, she needed to be muzzled because she just doesn't dig the doctor's office.

Anyway, on the way out, I mentioned to the nurses that she had tear staining under her eye, and do they know what would cause that?

"We're just nurses," they replied. "We aren't allowed to give that kind of advice. You'll have to see the doctor."

OK, I wasn't sure it was THAT big of a deal, but... I understand that protocol is protocol.

A few minutes later, one of the nurses came to me and whispered conspiritorially, "While you are waiting to see the doctor, you can use an eyewash. It could be something in her eye." She proceeded to give me (give as in hand it to me. I had to buy it) a bottle of eyewash in a small box.

"It's like eyewash for people," she said, "but this one is for dogs." Remember that. It's important to the point of the story.

Sounds about right. While we are sitting there waiting for the results of the annual heartworm test, I glance at the instructions on the box. The first thing I see, I kid you not, is this:

Remove contact lenses before use.

Are you with me? And that wasn't the only instruction that didn't make sense. I was reading down the list and found that most of the instructions didn't actually apply. At least, not to dogs.

(By the way, it turns out it was probably dirt in her eye. All fixed, no vet visit necessary.)

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Night Confusion Part III

First off, you see the little follower tab on the right hand side, about a third of the way down? Do you see the number? 99. How awesome is that? Those of you who were here from early on remember when 10 was a huge deal. Now 99. You know what would be better? 100. Just saying.

Part I Part II
Night Confusion: noun. The state of mind of a child that wakes up only partially.

The other night, I was getting everything ready for Husband and I to go to bed. As I was sitting in the living room, finishing some last minute tasks, Philosopher Child, who had been asleep for a few hours at this point, appeared in the hallway. He stood there and just stared at me.

"Can I help you?" I said.


"What? I'm sorry, I can't hear you. You'll have to come here."

He ran up to me and said, "Can I go to bed now?"

Huh? Uh... "Yes. You can go to bed now."

That's a new one. Getting up to ask to go to bed.

Monday, May 24, 2010

Jellyroll Project

Jellyroll Project: noun. A project that starts as nothing at all, or even from something unrelated, but rolls up to be much bigger than anticipated.

Watching a baseball movie=reseeding the lawn. Did you know that? Me, either.

Husband and the Boys were watching an old movie about Lou Gehrig. This lead the boys to want to go out and play baseball, which Husband took care of while I did the dishes. A short time later, Husband poked his head inside and asked me to keep on eye on the Boys because he was working on something. I went out and found that Husband had pulled up a very roughly 1/3 of the yard. Apparently, being outside with the boys caused him to notice that a great deal of the backyard was nothing but sand and weeds.

So now, the grass seed has been chosen. The section of the yard we are going to reseed first is getting clearer and clearer. And on a class section of our door, written in dry erase marker, is a diagram of the yard with appropriate measurements that only an engineer could love.

Sunday, May 16, 2010


Ridiculcy: noun. Policies that make no sense but you must abide by them anyway.

Where I live, the school year is winding down to its last few days. With the end in sight, the principal of our school asked us to participate in the brand-new, shiny, incredibly awesome "Online Registration" for the upcoming year. Seems simple enough. Online registration=not having to hand carry the papers to the school. How awesome is that?

So, after following the trail of links you have to follow to get to the fabled registration form, I found out something...confusing. To me, and I'm sure to you, "online registration" means just that. Registering online. Turns out that is not this school's definition of the term. Then what is their definition, you may ask.

Are you ready for this?

According to this school, "online registration" is being able to download the form to print it out at home and bring it to school, as opposed to having to pick up a form at the school.

Last time I checked, that's not what that meant...

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Exhibit A

Exhibit A: noun. Any evidence or set of circumstances that show things didn't exactly happen the way your child says they did.

Aaaaaand...we're back. Sorry about the time away, folks. The family are all better, and I just have a bit of a cough and sore throat left, but nothing I can't work through. Much better than before when I had trouble just being up and didn't want to be awake, but couldn't sleep. So now, on with our story.

Husband's birthday was a couple of weeks ago. I made him is favorite: German Chocolate Cake. As a side note, this is odd because he likes neither chocolate nor coconut, but I guess in cake form...?

Anyway, in the early hours of the morning, Husband and I were in bed when we heard the clink of the metal bowl we used to cover the cake being moved. Husband jumped out of bed and caught Philosopher Child sitting on a bar stool suspiciously close to the cake. Husband told him to leave it alone.

When the morning started a short time later, Philosopher Child came to me and told me the dog had gotten on the stool, lifted the bowl with her nose, and licked the frosting off the cake.

Wait, which dog? You mean this dog? This overweight fur ball? You say this dog, this dog right here, got up on a bar stool 3 feet off the ground? Seriously?

He was adiment that his story was true. When I lifted the cover, the frosting was indeed missing from the cake. But of course, this not the way it happened. Friends, I present to you Exhibit A: He was found sitting on the stool the dog was supposedly on, the dog would have eaten the whole cake and not just the frosting, and come on. Look at her.

He later recanted his story.

Reminds me of another time...

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

I have not abandoned you...

I am sick. Really sick. Husband and Viking Toddler already had it and got over it a few days ago. I haven't stopped writing. But let's wait until I can see the computer screen a little better, OK?

Monday, April 19, 2010

Parentation part III

Philosopher Child just turned 6! He's growing so fast and I have no idea when he became so tall. But of course, this doesn't stop his questions.

On the way to school the other day, we saw a dog.

"Mommy, how do dog babies come out of the mommy?" he asked.

"Same way that people come out of their mommies," I replied.

"Oh. So, they come out of their butt?"


Thursday, April 8, 2010

Parentation Part II

Parentation: noun. A misunderstanding between parent and child.

There is a commercial that plays on PBS that says, "Everyday moments can become teaching moments." I do believe that to be true. When Philosopher Child was tiny and would ask for milk, I would say, "Milk starts with the letter 'M.' M says 'mmm.' It starts words like 'mommy' and 'monster'..."

One day I realized Viking Toddler didn't know his animal sounds. I thought I could teach him this in the same way I taught Philosopher Child the letter "M."

"Can I have milk?" he said.

"Sure. Milk comes from..."


"And cows say..."


Pretty simple. He's down with the mooing. So I tried to dabble in letters.

"Can I have milk?"

"Sure. Milk starts with the letter..."


Ok. We'll work on that.

Monday, March 29, 2010


Parentation: noun. A misunderstanding between parent and child.

This past Friday was a busy day for Philosopher Child's kindergarten class. In one single day, they were planting a garden, having an Easter egg hunt, picnicing, and having a "Love of Reading" day.

On Thursday night, we stopped in at Home Depot to pick up a potted flower for his garden. As we were putting the boys back in the car and talking about his class's garden and the Easter egg hunt, Philosopher Child looked at his flower and declared, "This will attract a lot of eggs!"

Husband and I looked at each other and explained to him it doesn't work that way. His flower will not attract Easter eggs.

"No, not that kind of eggs," he said. "Butterfly eggs!"

Oh, right. They had been learning about bugs in school.

So all is well. We brought in his flower and assorted paraphernalia for the day. The kids would soon all be planting their little flowers in a patch outside of the classroom window. I was about to leave when the teacher told me in a hushed voice that one of the kids had brought in a bag of flour, instead of a flower. Oh, the poor thing! A little parentation going on there, I think.

Monday, March 22, 2010

Nocturnal Refusal part II

Nocturnal Refusal: noun. The behavior or set of behaviors employed by a child in order to delay bedtime as long as possible.

The other night I was putting the boys to bed. Bedtime isn't quite as hectic and frustrating as it used to be (see part 1), but that doesn't mean that the little monsters monkeys go straight to bed, either.

"Seven o'clock is bedtime for you," I reminded Philosopher Child. "And Mommy and Daddy go to bed around ten or eleven." Although it could be later if we are watching a movie or had caffeine.

"Wow!" he said. "You must be tired!"

Finally! He gets it! Staying up later=tired during the day, and that is why he should go to bed!

Only, he is right. I go to bed too late and find it hard to get up in the morning. Out of the mouths of babes, right?

Friday, March 19, 2010

Happy Little Bloggie Award

Natasha over at This 'N That gave me this cute little blog award. Thanks, Natasha! This award is apparently for people who blog honestly from the heart. (The quote from This 'N That was“for bloggers who put their heart on display as they write from the depths of their soul.") I think I'm supposed to write 7 random things about myself, so here ya go.

1. I don't have it together nearly as much as people who have never been to my house think I do.
2. I can wiggle my nose and ears. Strange, but true.
3. My mother once asked me why I can't speak correctly but can write just fine. (She didn't like statements such as "And he was like, 'No way,' and I was like, 'yes, way.'")
4. Once upon a time I wanted to be an archaeologist.
5. My eyes are gray.
6. For some reason, I love, love, love natural history museums.
7. I'm bad at cooking, but OK at baking.

Not real sure who else would be interested in a blog award, as some are strictly anti-award and some are staunchly pro. I'm supposed to come up with 7, but just one comes to mind. Here's to you, Jess, over at Banana Peel!

Monday, March 15, 2010

Appliphobia Part II

We did the unthinkable today. We bought the dishwasher. I didn't plan it. Husband didn't plan it. It just happened.

Today was a good day. I was in a great mood and got a ton of housework done. Yeah, I know, boring, but keep reading. Husband came home and we all had dinner, then went out to run some errands. While we were out, we stopped by Home Depot in order to look at a couple of models of dishwashers that I had researched and pick up a few plants for the garden.

It turns out that the 2 models I was looking at were, in fact, the same model, but in different colors. And we didn't buy either. The salesman came over to us and pointed out a completely different dishwasher by the same company that was black (hooray! I hate stainless steel), with a stainless steel interior (that's OK. It's on the inside) that retains heat better. Husband fell in love with it. Oooh and on sale, too. OK, all the models were on sale, but stay with me. The salesman could take a hint and vanished while Husband and I discussed. It was the same thing we had looked at except the interior was stainless and the controls were on the front, instead of integrated.

And we bought it. I mean, it had good reviews, nice features, and on sale. And our old one needs serious replacing.

Great, right? Stay with me for a minute. The salesman asked if there had been a new floor put in since the old dishwasher was put in. Read, is the floor the dishwasher on lower than the surrounding floor? Why, yes, it is. The former residents had put in tile, but not where the dishwasher sits. Do you know what that means? DO YOU??? It means, gentle readers, the floor must come up or we will have a heck of a time moving the old out and the new in. There's not room to move it.

Now, we know that floor underneath the tile was the same floor as the rest of the house, but what shape would it be in? Husband tested by taking up a tile that I had broken via gravity and a cast iron pan. To his surprise and delight, the tile came right up, and the floor underneath looked passable.

In about half an hour, we had half of the floor up. Tomorrow is the other half. Caffeine, please.

Sunday, March 14, 2010


Appliphobia: noun. The fear of appliance shopping.

Take a little time traveling trip with me to about 4 years ago. Husband and I bought our very first house and moved in with Philosopher Child. Viking Toddler was not around yet. I'm psyched because our house came with a dishwasher and washing machine, and for a small amount we got the dryer, too. The hot water heater was another story. It was a rental sort of deal that the previous owners had, and we could not convince the owning company that we didn't want the thing. We wanted to buy our own. But you know they kept billing us anyway? We, who never had a contract with them for an appliance we didn't want? But as usual, I digress. You've probably picked up by now that I do that. (Oh, by the way, we eventually won and they took the hot water heater back.)

Anyway, about two years in, the washing machine needed replacing, and we saw signs that the dryer wouldn't be far behind, so we bought a set. Front loaders. Pretty. We couldn't find too many reviews at the time, but we were pretty satisfied with what we chose.

And then the dryer arrived. Broken. Had to have a repairman come to fix it. But, ok, things happen, right? Nobody's fault. All fixed, no biggie.

But then we realized some things about the washer. Bad things. Horrible things. First off, do you remember the bleach incident? That's the tip of the iceberg with this out of warranty but still recently new washing machine. It is off balance constantly. It tumbles in a way that pant legs and sheets get all twisted and knotted. And it rips tiny holes in the clothes. That's right. And there's not a single thing we can do about it. We shelled out a pretty penny for that thing, and we are stuck with it for quite some time.

But now, we need a new dishwasher. I'm scared.

Friday, March 12, 2010

Apron giveaway

Those of you who have been here from the beginning know that I have a thing about aprons. Love them. Maybe some of you do, too. So let me tell you that the ladies over at TAG (the apron goddesses, not the body spray) are doing an apron giveaway with some funky retro-inspired aprons. Go check it out!

Sunday, March 7, 2010

Night Confusion Part II

Night Confusion: noun. The state of mind of a child that wakes up only partially.

Read part I here.

12:45 am. I felt like I had just fallen asleep, and actually, that wasn't too far from the truth. I was woken up by the sound of Philosopher Child making his way to the living room. Understand, Philosopher Child doesn't have that great of a concept of time if the sun is not up, and so will get up in the middle of the night and think it is morning, or get up while it is morning but still dark and think it is night.

I popped out of bed, saying, "No, no, no, no," meaning, of course, that it is the middle of the night and he should go back to bed. I met him in the hall.

"But I had a scary dream!" he said. "There was a polka-dot alien ship!"

Excuse me? Polka-dot alien ship? Did I hear that right? And something about the window.

Exhausted, I told him to go back to bed, but then he said something that surprised me and I'm sure freaked him out.

"You just said the same thing you said in my dream! The 'No, no, no, no.'"

Great. Now I'm having to tell them no so much it is getting in their dreams.

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Shark Call

Shark Call: noun. A phone call that you know won't be good news.

So, you're phone rings in the middle of the day. The caller ID says that it is your child's school calling. Like seeing a shark fin pop out of the water a bit too close to you, you know something bad is about to happen.

The school nurse called me the other day. Apparently Philosopher Child was refilling his water bottle when another child bumped him. Splash. He needed a new set of clothes. I can't say that I was super excited about having to run up to the school, especially since we walk, but accidents will happen. I packed a pair of pants and a shirt, grabbed Viking Toddler, and headed to the school.

Half way there, I realized that I forgot to pack Philosopher Child some undies. I thought, well, he can't be THAT wet, can he?

See where I'm going with this?

He was, in fact, THAT wet. Which meant after I got to school, I had to turn around, go back home, get him some undies, go back to school, come home for half an hour, then go pick him up to take him home. I was at his school a total of four, count them, four times in one day. I was exhausted. But, like I said, accidents will happen.

Why can't the nurse ever call with good news?

Incidentally, I am love, love, loving the comments. You all are just so sweet!

Thursday, February 25, 2010


Momsolete: adjective. Describes a part of the mom job that has become obsolete with the children getting older.

First off, let me say a little something here. You may have noticed there are a lot of "Comment deleted by blog administrator" stuff lately. No, I'm not happily and randomly deleting comments from my dear readers. I've just been deleting spam messages.

Now, on with our story.

Philosopher Child's school has an account with a certain book company. This book company has a great multitude of their books available on their website for children to view. The books are even read to them by actors with the words on the screen so they can follow along. Personally, I think that's fantastic. I've used it a few times to entertain the kids when I am just trying to get the dishes/laundry/cleaning done.

Coming home from an errand today, Philosopher Child said, "Can we listen to a story on the computer for story time before bed?" Wait, what? Don't I do story time? Isn't that my job?

"I thought you wouldn't want to do it," Philosopher Child continued.

"Did you think to ask me?" I said.

Clearly, he didn't understand what I meant, because then he asked, "Mom, can we listen to a story on the computer?" Not exactly the question I meant.

"I'll think about it," I said grudgingly, acknowledging that I was in danger of being replaced by a computer program.


"She said she'll think about it," Husband said with a smile, seeing much more humor in it than I did.

In the end, I simply grabbed a book off the fresh stack from the library. There were no complaints. In fact, Viking Toddler kept running off to get more books, and Philosopher Child constantly wanted just one more story. Comforting. I guess I'm not quite obsolete yet.

Saturday, February 20, 2010

Peanut Picasso

Peanut Picasso: noun. A child that uses art tools and supplies in a way that is not intended by the manufacturer(s).

Behind on the housework. Again. That's kind of typical for me. Therefore, anything that will keep Viking Toddler in one place and not throwing things is a plus. Well, I happened to have some watercolor paints. Non-toxic AND washable. My kind of stuff.

I cut a Styrofoam cup down to make it less tall, filled it with a bit of water, pre-wet the paints, and put Viking Toddler in his high chair with some paper. We're set. I got to work on the chores.

A short time later, I checked on Viking Toddler's progress. He was painting his fingers with great globs of purple. Mind you, he wasn't actually putting his fingers in the paints. He was using the brush to paint his fingers. Not quite what I had in mind, but OK...

He looked up at me and exclaimed, "Mommy! I messy!"

"Yes, you are," I replied. I then showed him how to make fingerprints on the paper with his pre-painted fingers.

His reaction at first confused me. He went about the same activities as before, but there seemed to be an almost unnoticeable change in his mood. It took me a while before I realized what it was.

My little Peanut Picasso wanted a different reaction. When he spills a drink, there is an, "Oh, no!" as I rush to get a towel. When he knocks something over, there is an, "Oh, no!" as I scramble to catch it or pick it up. And when he draws on something he is not supposed to, there is a, "Not there! Draw on paper only!" as I hurry to get him some blank sheets. But when he merrily sat there painting his fingers, and at one point his face, he barely got a, "Look at that. You're so silly." He was a bit disappointed. I guess next time I should throw some confetti or something.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010


Little things excite me. Like knowing someone out there actually reads my nonsense. So let me say a great big thank you to my followers! In the past week or so I've gained an extra 12 people, which is the fastest the Mom-tionary has grown ever. You all encourage me to write more.

The other day, when my numbers had jumped to 25, I sat discussing my bewildered excitement to Husband.

"Twenty-five! Twenty-five followers!" I said.

"Twenty-six," he corrected.

"No, twenty-five," I said, and wondered why he was arguing with me.

"Twenty-six," he insisted. "Not everyone who reads is a follower."


Then he advised me that I should post more often.

"Sometimes nothing funny happens," I said. Do you want to read about me washing towels or how I am almost out of bread? Didn't think so.

"Well, something funny is about to happen," he said, and called my attention to the Boys, who were using a chair in a way that I'm pretty sure is not recommended by the manufacturer. Of course I had to put a stop to it. I don't really want to do a post about spending the night in the emergency room. I've already done that. Not that fun.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Balloon Man/Woman

Balloon Man/Woman: noun. A person that tries, at times repeatedly, to give your child something you don't want them to have.

So, your child wants a specific toy. You tell them no for whatever reason (too dangerous, too expensive, not their birthday, not appropriate...), but, despite you not wanting your child to have that toy, a well-meaning but misguided relative or friend gets it for them anyway. You, understandably, are miffed.

Which brings me to today's story. You see, at our grocery store, they occasionally give out latex balloons to small children. That's a problem for us. With Viking Toddler being so young and still sometimes putting things in his mouth (latex balloons are huge choking hazards), we really don't want to have this particular kind of balloon around. Besides that, there is the problem of them waving them around in the car and fighting over them when they get home. Sometimes we let them have those multi-colored inflatable problems, but mostly not.

On Friday, we were standing together while an older gentleman bagged our groceries. He looked at Viking Toddler and asked, "Would you like a balloon? Ask your Daddy."

"No, thanks," Husband said.

"Are you sure?" the man pressed.

"No, that's OK," Husband replied.

And then the man, who seemed a bit irritated and confused by Husband's refusal, said, "He'll hate you later."

Or, maybe as his parents, we have a reason we are saying no, and next time you should ask US if you can give our child something.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010


Keyser: noun. A person who through clumsiness or carelessness breaks or loses objects, particularly, but not limited to keys.

You guessed it. This morning, my keys were unaccounted for. I checked my purse. The table. The kitchen counter. My jacket. I even shook out the sheets looking for them...which reminds me. I should probably make the bed. I eventually found them in my raincoat. I had forgotten that it had been raining yesterday.

But my haplessness with small objects is not limited to keys. I've lost my wedding ring in the washing machine. Twice. (Although that doesn't happen any more since we now have a front loader, and I wear my engagement ring, which holds my wedding band where it should be: on my finger, not tumbling around in the towels.)

The other day, I was cleaning out the boys' humidifier. I planned to wash it out, dry it, and put it away. As you may have guessed it, yes. Crash. I dropped the water reservoir, full of water, into the tub. Now we need a new humidifier.

Last night, I sat with Husband watching TV. I was drinking a cup of truly fantastic tea in a clear glass mug that Husband bought me for my birthday, along with a new tea pot and quite a bit of tea. Now, I usually don't wear my wedding and engagement rings in the house because I'm generally doing housework and I don't want to damage or lose them. But last night I was. I was absently toying with the handle of the cup when I felt my engagement ring slide across the surface of the side of the cup. Now, for those of you who don't know, diamonds and glass are not friends. Though the diamond on my heirloom engagement ring is pretty small, it is no less of a real diamond. I had gouged a chip out of the side of the cup. Oh-freaking-darn-it. I liked that cup.

At this point, you may be wondering how I function every day with two kids, a dog, and a husband. I'll tell you...I have no idea. But apparently my particular brand of nonsense is hereditary. The school nurse called about an hour ago to tell me Philosopher Child shut his finger in a door. Well, he is his mommy's child.

Thursday, February 4, 2010


Momliment: noun. A compliment specifically for moms.

You know the ones I'm talking about. "You're baby is so cute!" or, "Look how good s/he is being!" Recently I started to got Momliments on Philosopher Child's reading ability.

But tonight, my friends, was the most hilarious momliment ever. A man came to the door and I foolishly answered it, thinking it was my neighbor. Well, the man on the other side told me he was doing a power usage survey. And then it happened.

He asked me if my parents were home.

Dumbfounded, I replied, "I am the parent."

He was just as confused. "Oh. don't look...OK..."

I'm going to be laughing about this for a long, long time.

Monday, February 1, 2010

Shopping Shark

Shopping Shark: noun. A person who is a salesperson's worst nightmare because they will argue to get what the want, or a person who has the uncanny ability to make salespeople just go away.

I've learned two things about my family members in the past few years. First, if you want a deal, you shop with Younger Sister. She knows how to double up coupons, talk the salespeople into selling the display model, and knows exactly where to go and when to get the best sales. But if you don't want to buy anything and frankly want those door-to-door salesmen to just go away, you hang around Husband.

The other day, someone that works for a window company came to our door. Husband answered and the woman started on her spiel about who she works for and what she does. At the end, Husband simply said, "No, thank you. Not interested." But instead of the woman just thanking him and walking away, she said, "Why?" Big mistake.

"Just not in the budget," Husband said. "Not interested."

"You're not interested in saving money?" she asked.

At this point, Husband was a bit annoyed. Now, understand, we love, love, love small businesses. What we don't love is people showing up at our door while we're trying to have a relaxing weekend, so it's not surprising when the next thing out of Husband's mouth was, "Do you have a licence?"

The woman said that she did and handed him one, but it was a contractor's licence. He wanted to see her peddler's licence, which he knew by this point she didn't have and wasn't really sure what he was talking about. He calmly informed her that in our town you need a special permit to peddle from door to door, to which she said the funniest words of the day: "I'm not peddling."

Personally, I'd like to know what she would call it if going door to door selling windows isn't peddling.

Regardless, Husband had made his point, and after saying no multiple times, it took explaining the law make her go away.

Friday, January 1, 2010

Holinsanity Part II

Part I here.

noun. The particular type of insanity people, especially parents, get around the holidays.

Christmas Eve at the grocery store. It was a surprisingly smooth shopping trip all things considered. I expected there to be a bit more holinsanity than there was, but we've seen worse on other non-holiday related days (parking carts in the middle of aisles, rude people acting like everyone else is in their way and they should be first in everything...)

In short, everything was fine until we got to the check out line. I stood by the back of the cart with the kids, while Husband stood at the front and unloaded groceries onto the belt. There was a woman in front of us with just a couple of items. Husband took one of those plastic dividers and placed it behind her items, and then started putting ours on the other side of the divider.

OK, no problem so far.

I was staring off into space when I heard Husband say something that sounded both friendly and annoyed.

I looked up. He was smiling a big, warm smile at the woman and I was absolutely confused. The words didn't match the face. What just happened?

I drifted back into waiting mode. A few moments later, all of our items were on the belt, and I heard the woman say, "See, you got them all on after all."


When we got out to the car, I asked Husband about what had happened between him and the woman in front of us. Apparently, she thought our items were too close to hers and repeatedly forced ours backwards to increase the distance and had only made the situation worse by making rude comments to Husband, thus the friendly-yet-annoyed comment.

I've been trying to figure out what would be the purpose in doing this repeatedly. Have yet to come up with a good answer.