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!

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.

Parenmorph

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.

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 embarrassed...an armrest cover for the booster seat.

ANYWAY...

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.

Misobject

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.

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."

Oh.

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

Indirections

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.)