Friday, November 30, 2007
Nicole is still pregnant! She is now 29 weeks (which is so much greater than 28!) and holding on. The baby has received the steroids to develop his or her lungs, and this will definitely help. IF the baby has not come by Monday, the doctors will re-assess what needs to be done; induce if infection risk is high.
Let's hope for the best. Give us another week, baby!!
Thank you for your thoughts. KEEP THEM UP!!!!!!!
Thursday, November 29, 2007
So, my nephew and brother were eating dinner after the second night of the nephew working in 'the clothing room' while his father did his dental duties, and nephew asks;
"So Dad...picante? It means small, right?"
"Well, no, actually small is 'pequeño'. Why?"
"Oh. Well, because all day long, I have been offering '¿Los zapatos, los pantalones, grande o picante?'..and you know what? Almost every kid always chooses 'picante'!"
Best part? On the long flight home, my brother asked his son if the experience influenced his career path in any way.
He responded: I think I have a promising career in Spanish retail.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
I wish I had more details; I can't even remember what I was going to post about before I received this information this evening.
This is happening to a woman who is also an amazing photographer.
She came to visit me at the NICU (the very same one in which her baby will likely reside for some time) when I was practically living there with Elijah. (She would eat lunch with me in the hospital cafeteria so I didn't have to really 'leave'. That is a good friend.)
Please use your magical powers to make it all fine for Nicole and her family.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
The friends (I'll call them Ann and her family) were quite shocked to find that they (including their young sons) were sharing the resort with a very well-endowed porn star (is that redundant?) and her family. I promised not to use any real full names here, so I shall have to come up with a suitable and synonymous pseudonym...err...Lori Delight.
It seems that Lori Delight's sad plight was overheard in lunch conversation: The poor woman has to go out of the US just for a simple breast augmentation, simply because US plastic surgeons will not 'augment' any breast (or pair of breasts) larger than a doubleG. (this blog is full of valuable information, eh?) (because I am guessing you did not know that before...)
According to a very reliable source, it also seems that if one's six year old son sees Lori Delight romping down the beach in an ineffectual bikini, he will ask his mother what is wrong with that woman? And she will scarcely be able to hide the look of alarm on her own face as she stammers out an answer.
I take it to believe that, in spite of the daily close relations with strangers, there was only one remarkable but unfortunate coincidence involving: a scuba boat, a very naked Lori Delight, and Ann's very germophobic sister. Everything else went smoothly, and a fun time was had by all. (I am pretty sure I could make some of my own fun in Fiji, but I'm just sayin'...)
And they all went home to California and everything was as it was before.
Until Ann's father told Ann's mother that the 40 year marriage was just not working out anymore. And he was sorry, but he was leaving her. And thus, Ann's parents were divorcing.
And, before he set out on His Life Alone And Without Her, he was going to visit...Lori Delight and her husband for a week or so.
Because, he said,
"They are such nice people."
Monday, November 26, 2007
But the flying at Christmas? With small, impatient children and as much extra luggage as you can possibly fudge in there while trying to avoid extra baggage fees, since you just spent so much freaking money shipping what wouldn't fit in your airline baggage allowance. Not to mention what the expense was to order whatever gifts you possibly could online and have it all shipped there instead of here....which then should have been easy enough, right? Except that 'there' could have been his mom's house in PA, or my brother's house in PA - each house 2.5 hrs apart -so then there was the keeping track of and making sure that the correct side of the families' gifts were sent to the correct towns.
And the decorating of that tree! With the ornaments we have collected, and those given to me by my own mom - one each year of my childhood - and so on for my own babes...
Sunday, November 25, 2007
- Make simple syrup: 1c sugar+1c water cooked to boiling point; cooled.
- Crush about 1/2 bag of lemon drop hard candies (I use the food processor) and pick out the large bits; pour the finer lemon candy sugar into a dish.
- Squeeze as many lemons* as you can, and strain the juice. Measure the amount.
- Mix in an equal amount of chilled vodka,
- And an equal amount of simple syrup.
- Shake this in a cocktail shaker with ice,
- BUT, before you pour it into the glass...
- Run a lemon slice around a martini glass and
- Dip the rim into the lemon candy,
- Then fill with delicious lemon drop.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
2 packets yeast
8 - 12 oz. Natural (block) Swiss cheese, cubed into tiny (1/8-1/4 inch) pieces (though you could really use any type of cheese)
- prepare two loaf pans
- In a heavy and/or nonstick saucepan, heat the beer, American cheese, sugar, salt, and butter just until melted and blended.
- Remove from heat, and allow the liquid to cool until it's warm. As Belinda says: "Too hot, and it will kill the yeast, too cool and the yeast won't activate."
- Keep this wise advice in mind when making bread or yeast sponges of any kind!
- Combine 2 cups of the bread flour with the 2 packets of yeast into your kitchenaid mixing bowl (or equivalent) and set aside. (This is also the point in which you will realize that you need a kitchenaid dough hook for christmas.)
- Once the liquid mixture has cooled, add it to the flour and yeast mixture; mix well. Gradually add the remaining 3 cups of flour, blending by hand or mixer until the dough cleans the sides of the bowl.
- Turn dough out on a lightly floured surface, working the Swiss cheese cubes into the dough as you knead the dough for several minutes.
- Roll into a nice big ball and turn into a buttered bowl, coating all sides, and then let rise for an hour.
- Turn the dough out (again) onto a lightly floured surface, divide into two portions, and then form into loaves or stretch out into a rectangle slightly bigger than the loaf pan, cut into 3 strips (leaving the top inch or so in-tact) and braid. Place these into sprayed or buttered loaf pans and let them rise again for another hour.
- After they have risen sufficiently, *bake the loaves at 350 degrees for approximately 35-40 minutes. Cover the tops with foil for the last 15 minutes so they don't brown too much.
- *I like to cover the top in an egg wash and sprinkle kosher salt on the top....extra yum.
Friday, November 23, 2007
My friends were driving through town today, and their five year old daughter got excited as she noticed - perhaps for the first time - that there is one very large and catholic steeple that stands out among the others in town.
No, Mommy! But WHY? Is it because it's the Jeeesiust Church?
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Usually. But he wasn't satisfied with yesterday's post. Partly, because we grieve quite differently and it's hard for him to remember those things, let alone understand why on earth I would feel compelled to write about it. (as if he somehow thinks I can just self-lobotomize and not remember things? like I said; we grieve differently.)
But in yesterday's post, it was not just that.
I didn't tell the end of the story. The real end.
"But that part's not funny at all," I said.
He answered, "But it is ironic."
That, it is.
So, for those of you that skim, the joke was true. Not the actual event. No flour scoop.
The truth of the ashes is that we never actually could go to the funeral home and get them.
I was seeing a therapist friend of mine for grief counseling at the time, after trying to get by without one for the first four months following Elijah's death, clearly wasn't really working. I was in a
Laura knew that I was not going to go pick up those ashes. She knew also that dh said he would, wanted to, intended to...but really couldn't. She said it was too much to bear. She would deal with it. She was friends with the director of the funeral home. She begged him to release Elijah's ashes to her, where she would keep them safely for us until we were ready to bring them home or scatter them. He was reluctant (something to do with the law?), but with our signatures and his own compassion, he finally relented.
At my next appointment, she told me very gently that she had picked up Elijah's ashes, and would I like to hear about it?
Umm...yes? I think so?
She told me that she had been rather surprised to receive just a plain plastic box, so she had placed him (she said 'him') in her home office on a shelf next to her old baby shoes and draped a small handkerchief over the box, and had allowed her ten year old son (I had been his teacher, and he was completely informed) to put some dried lavender and a few special crystals on the top ('because he knew Teacher Gwendomama would really like that').
I did. I did like that.
The next week, I brought Laura a light blue playsilk; one that matched Elijah's eyes, the best I could remember. I asked her to put this around the box too. And thanked her for taking care of...him. She hugged me.
It was only about two months after this, that on a sunny Friday morning, Laura wasn't feeling well. She had abdominal pain, and then she died. She was 45 years old, and suddenly, she was dead from an AAA.
Which totally sucked for a lot of people, most of all her son.
It was her office-mate, another therapist, who had called us with the horrifying news.
And it was this person who I called when I suddenly realized, a few days later, that...the ASHES! Were at...Laura's house! And Laura? Was dead. And I imagined her family needed to find a box mysterious box of ashes in her house almost as much as they needed a flaming meteor in their lives. So, the office-mate therapist had to arrange with Laura's neighbor to go in and...well...retrieve the cremains.
See? Not funny at all.
But you know, there was one more detail that remained.
I had to then, finally, be the one to pick up the ashes. But I figured, how bad could it be? I was sure the therapist would just make it go as smoothly as possible. Since she was, after all, a therapist. Right?
We arranged to meet at the office. I had to have Supergirl with me when I went for the pick-up.
I introduced Supergirl, saying, "This is Supergirl, she is three. And thank you so much for handling this," I said rather cryptically and pointedly at the same time, as I reached for the paper bag in her hand. I made eye contact with the woman and glanced exaggeratedly at Supergirl, the bag, and back.
Apparently I am not as good at those silent pleading eye-messages as I thought I was.
She handed me the bag as she said, not quietly, "Here are Elijah's ashes."
Yes, Supergirl heard.
I think I said something like, "HEY! WHO WANTS ICE CREAM?"
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
And she answers..."The ashes...oh...I forgot....umm....I forgot that we buried him!" and then cheerfully speeds off on her segway.
I am sick; because I laughed so hard it reminded me of a story that most of the internets wouldn't even find funny. But guess what? It's non-fiction, and it's (more of) my life, so if you think you won't like it, then go away now. Thank you and good-bye.
After Elijah died, we had to make a decision: burial or cremation?
Believe me, I hoped for another option, but alas! there were no other options.
That was pretty much it. We chose cremation.
(yes, it still hurts to say that. but no less than saying I have a grave to visit.)
But then there was the detail of...retrieving those ashes from the very generous funeral parlor who handled all the details. The director had been so very patient and kind with us, but after a few months, we began to get regular calls from the receptionist, who had an unfortunately grating New Jersey accent when she called us to remind us, once again (sigh), to "Puhlease come and retrieve yo-ah cremains."
Ohshit she called again, I would report to dh. And she wants me to retrieve things like a dog!
I'll deal with it, he would grumble back.
(date reminder: less than SIX months after death of child)
We would fuggettaboutit. For about three or four weeks. The she would call us again. Asking us to "Puhlease come and retrieve yo-ah cremains. Of one Elijah Brooklyn. Thankyou so much. BUH-BYE!"
Again, with the same messages. (read above; repeat a few times).
And then the messages got waaayyy more exasperated. Same words, but with attitude, and verrrry impatient.
"Ummmm....Hullos. Is this the parents of Elijah Brooklyn? Cause yous need ta come and pick up his umm...cremains...and yous really need to come and do that ASAP, ahright?? Thankz, and BUH-Bye!"
And we of course, being in a place where we felt completely competent ridiculing others but not so much 'retrieving our sons cremains', screamed in mock fear whenever their number showed up on the caller ID.
She called again. She meant business.
She said, "Hullo! I really need to hear from the parents of Elijah Brooklyn very soon, cuz they need to come and pick up they-ah cremains and they need to do it very very soon. BUH BYE!!"
My goodness, I guess our time had run out.
No more storage room at the funeral home for our son's approximately 11 ounces of ashes.
Whoops, on our part!! No,really! My bad!
I don't remember which one of us started it, but suddenly we were in the hot-tub acting out skits (a la SecondCity) in which one of us goes in to finally 'retrieve Elijah's ashes', and New Jersey Lady is there, and she is not happy! Not one bit!
So she says something like, "Oh, yo-ah finally heeyah to pick up the cremains? Oh that's nice fah you! Yah took so lowong comin in that we have yo-ah son's cremains stored right heeyah!"
And then she reaches down to her file drawer of her desk and opens it, revealing a drawer full of ashes. (err, cremains!) She says...about eleven ounces you think?...and then she grabs a flour scoop, a paper bag and a scale and goes to town.
You get what you came for.
Really? You didn't think that was funny?
Monday, November 19, 2007
The funniest thing I have read while attempting to have a shopping experience. I think I may have peed myself a tiny bit.
I cannot entirely steal their post, but if anything, my commentary on the list should send you bouncing along right over there immediately.
So, I have definitely seen (#19) the poo-flinging plastic toy toilet at Daiso*.
The poo jokes from Japan seem to get a bit stale, so I didn't pick one up when I saw it. But I wish I had seen the 'Benign Girl' cell phone. (#10) That is the one that had me giggling in my sleep. She sounds so friendly and obliging. And non-malignant.
Sadly, Bandai no longer makes #25, the God-Jesus Robot, which is a shame, because that really would have made my holiday shopping a snap (so many
# 23 and 24? They both just really scare me. 'nuf said.
#20 seems to be (read on through the comments section) the item that everyone wants. Including myself. Who wouldn't? If I ever see one, I will get a bushel and a peck.
#6 we have; the folkmanis fairy's expression has always stuck me as a bit dimwitted, but I hadn't really taken it that far...
#3 Please, seriously? I had heard about it but thought it had to be a joke. Errr...it is a joke, isn't it? Nope. I like how the stripper pole comes with two pink garters and fake bills. Slumber party material, that.
#2; A gun that shoots teddy bears. Wow. Goes into the 'wish I had thought of that' category.
Right up there with 'The Wild Swan', this was found in the toy section of * Daiso, a Japanese 'dollar' ($1.50+up) store.
This is a set of fake balloon breasts. They may not look like much in the box, but that is because the ladies are restricted by their packaging. IF you (according to the package):
- put them under your shirt,
- then squeeze them,
- then wow! what amazing fake breasts you have! WOW!
There are so many useless toys to give this year, it is really up to you.
A plushy soft 'Poop Hat', one-time giant latex boobies, or...............?
Sunday, November 18, 2007
I recently received a letter from you concerning Supergirl's attendance at school.
While I thank you for your concern, I not only dispute the accuracy of the statement, '6 days tardy', but also the validity of the classification as 'tardy', rather than 'excusable partial days'. Is there no such existence of an 'excusable partial day'?
On only one occasion, Supergirl was 'tardy' within the definition as shown below. On any other occasion that she arrived at school late (or missing more than 30 minutes of instruction), she came to school with a note from a parent, describing (what I would consider to be) an excusable absence.
"EC Section 48260 (a): Any pupil subject to compulsory full-time education or compulsory continuation education who is absent from school without a valid excuse three full days or tardy or absent more than any 30-minute period during the school day without a valid excuse on three occasions in one school year, or any combination thereof, is a truant and shall be reported to the attendance supervisor or the superintendent of the school district" [source]
Your letter states that I am, as her parent, responsible for her attendance in school. My daughter is six years old, and it is my first responsibility to see that she is healthy, well cared-for, and prepared in a physical and mental state that is appropriate for an educational setting. There have been many days when I have needed to make a decision as a responsible parent, whether or not my daughter meets this criteria for her attendance at school.
If she has had a mysterious fever on a Saturday, and by Monday morning I am not immediately sure of her recovery status and am concerned also about the spread of germs; but by 10:30am, she is 'acting fine' and clearly ready for school, then should I not send her to school with this information, but instead keep her home? If she has had any cause (common nightmares, screaming toddler-brother) for a notable disruption her sleep, and I am unwilling to reduce her necessary hours of sleep by waking her to send her to school on time but in a tired and compromised state, then should I keep her home and notify the school that she is unwell enough to attend school for the entire school day?
I am aware that, if any student has absences which are not considered 'excused absences' according to California Education Code, the school loses funding for that child.
While this is not something I am treating lightly, my obligation is to my child's well-being and in facilitating an appropriate state of mind for learning to occur.
If there is no appropriate label for an excusable partial-day absence, then it seems to me that the school serves itself first, while doing a disservice to a student that could otherwise be attending school.
I want you to reconsider my child's 'status of tardiness' and revise this in some manner that we will both find acceptable.
I would also appreciate a more concise policy on partial-day absences.
(can you say 'homeschooling' faster than 'bullshit'?)
Saturday, November 17, 2007
But this year, like most families, and like most mama-bloggers I know, the Without Fail, Number One Priority is: Safety.
As in: We would love to have some toys that the acts of 'playing with' or 'licking' (in some cases) don't cause long or short-term effects, such as:
"IQ deficits, learning disabilities.., behavioral problems, stunted or slowed growth, and impaired hearing. At increasingly high levels of exposure, a child may suffer kidney damage, become mentally retarded, fall into a coma, and even die from lead poisoning. Lead poisoning has been associated with a significantly increased high-school dropout rate, as well as increases in juvenile delinquency and criminal behavior."
HOLY BATSHIT, George and Thomas!
Yer aSendin Mah Babeez to Jooovey!
There are many rants I could take with this one, but other bloggers are doing a far better job researching and posting.
What I recommend EVERYONE do for themselves this holiday season, before you hand those toys over to the children you love, is to order a lead-test kit.
And test anything made in China.
That's the best advice I could possibly give.
This picture? Is of a piece of candy from Supergirl's Halloween stash. Looked cool. Too cool. Bones with lollipops on the ends of them? Made in? China.
So I tested the lollipop. I can't give conclusive results because it could have possibly been the food dye that turned the swab to it's yellowish, lead-readable indicator. But maybe not, right? I tested two lollies. They both turned yellow-brownish, which, according to the instructions, usually indicates the presence of lead.
Would I take a chance and let my kids suck on one of those?
Friday, November 16, 2007
Seeing that I was unofficially tagged by Tricia (who I love for her disclaimer among other worshipable qualities such as parenting eight children) for this '4 things' meme, and seeing that it is NaBloPoMo, well....
4 Jobs I’ve Had:
- receptionist for real estate company in Cambridge, MA.
- intern in the playroom at Dana-Farber Cancer Institute
4 Movies I Loved:
- The 40 Year Old Virgin
- Little Miss Sunshine
- Pan's Labyrinth
- Elvira Madigan
4 TV Shows I Watch:
- Arrested Development (no longer on)
- Sons and Daughters (ditto, boohoo)
- Big Love
4 Websites I visit Daily:
- Huffington Post
- Daily Kos
- NoAppropriateBehavior (makes me laugh almost every day)
- CelebrityBabyBlog (but only to find the always obvious and always-there typos and send them free editing tips) (not deserving of link)
4 Places I’ve Been:
- to hell and back
4 Foods I Love:
- homemade bread
- beer (does that count?)
- deep-fried artichoke hearts
4 Places I’d Rather Be:
- Big Island
4 Blogs, just cuz:
Thursday, November 15, 2007
So, I only told half of the story last year. It would have been too shocking to post it all at once.
If you're too lazy to follow the link to the actual story, then here is the short version:
- We had horrible experience with even more horrible Neurologist, Dr. Asshat.
- We decided to lie about Elijah's age so people would perhaps react to him with less shock and more love.
- We went to Kauai because we all needed a vacation from the
life-suckingvery stressful childrens hospital circuit of: Questions/Tests/No Answers/Repeat.
On one of our last days there, we were staying on the less-familiar south shore and the surf was too high to do anything beachy with the babies, so we decided to go check out the kabillion-acre pools and lagoons at the nearby legendary resort. As we were strolling the lovely gardens and drooling at the multi-level pools, I thought I recognized a friend-of-friend strolling towards us with her family (her husband and their two very lovely and typically-developing children). We both did a double-take and then exchanged hellos, reminding each other who our friend in common was (Marla!!) and why we recognized each other 3000 miles from home (how crazy is that?!), after we all got over the shock of the moment. We finished our walk around the gardens chatting together, and ended up taking the elevator up to the parking lot together as well. Another woman got in the elevator and asked Elijah's name and age - the usual tiny baby small talk.
And I quickly said, "Three months," as I had been lying for ten days already. Then I glanced over at the friend-of-friend; (ohshit) she was frowning slightly and counting months on her fingers, no doubt trying to remember when it was that Marla had made me that new baby meal and bragged to her neighbors (including, of course, f-o-f) about sniffing his new sweet head after he had finally come home from the NICU. (small town, this little mountain) DAMN!
After the stranger got off the elevator, the doors closed and it was just us again. I looked at f-o-f skeptically, and then for some reason began babbling like a brook;
"Umm...I know you know he is not three months. But we have been through so much...everyone asks....we...err....we all just needed a vacation...ummm....so we..ummm.....aren't telling anyone that he is actually eight months old right now." And I force-smiled, suddenly understanding the expression, 'smiled wanly'. And I kissed the top of my pretty little baby's head, which I kept within convenient reach with his baby carrier for those kissing emergencies.
And we said goodbye and that was that.
Because really, who needed any more? This was our vacation and these people were nearly strangers!
But wait! There is more.
Marla wanted to talk to me when we got home. Because her neighbor, f-o-f, had gotten home a couple of days before we had. And it seems they had talked.
(It was then, or it should have been and I would like to remember it this way; that I remembered why I myself was not friends with f-o-f- she was a notorious gossip and shit-stirrer on our small mountain.)
F-o-f had called her right away upon her return. She told Marla that she had run into us in Kauai - imagine! She also said that she was terribly concerned for our baby. Why? Well, it seems she did have a reason...it was that f-o-f felt that:
"There is something terribly wrong with their baby, and they don't even seem to be taking it seriously. I am terribly concerned. The parents are just not getting it. Was wondering what you know about them because I was considering calling Child Protective Services."
Again, I love a quick review:
- Terribly Concerned
- For our baby.
- That she had never met before this whole...incident...that seemed to have shaken her so badly.
- Parents (that's me!) 'not getting it'.
- Perhaps this warranted a call to CPS....(for what? They took their poor little retarded baby to Hawaii, lied about his age, and should be investigated for...neglect???)
Yes, this is what I lived for real. FOR REAL, PEOPLE.What did I do? Well, I ranted and raved a whole hellofalot about it. Which was: Very Useful, as anyone could imagine. And I wanted so badly to invite this
These days, I actually have to deal with this woman almost daily. She is still a notorious shit-stirrer. I have kept my distance over the years, but it has been hard. Very hard to not go with my impulse to want to 'fuck her up' (verbally, of course! I am non-violent in my revenge fantasies!), especially considering that this is the very same person who was overheard by a friend of mine stirring up some shit at a party just a few months after Elijah died (I will give her six, but I think it was less). Someone mentioned my name...and shit-stirrer drunkenly blurted out:
"She's so depressing! That chick can bring you the fuck down! Stay away from her!"
small fucking mountain.
Yeah, I know it was four years ago, but what do you think I am, some sort of benevolent saint? No, man:
I will bring you the fuck down.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Reading, writing, math? 3 or 3+, and some E's (for EXCELLENT)
I nearly wept. In the good way.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Supergirl answered, "That is Elijah."
Her friend responded sensitively, "Oh, I'm sorry. It is probably too sad to talk about it. Is it too sad to talk about it? I'm sorry."
Supergirl said, "Well, of course it makes us sad. Because he died and that is sad. But talking about him makes us happy because we like to remember him too."
(If you had asked me? What would I want her to be able to say in that situation? She broke the mold of perfection on that one.)
Monday, November 12, 2007
('Wow! Is that for me?'...I said when I saw that you came!)
('Rooaarr!!!!! Thanks for the gift! I Love It!')
TO-Kay! Nuzzhjhah dsay.
('Okay! I think it's awesome that you could come and celebrate my birthday with me this year, hope you liked the cake, and it was rare jamming with you! Let's do it again next year!') (yes, I am pretty damn sure that's what he said, and if you don't believe me then ask him yourself)
y, Tay Oh!
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Back in July, Supergirl decided that she was done with Polly forever and moving on to Playmobil. Which was largely inspired by the dawn of Playmobil Fantasy - ::UNICORNS!!!:: So I ordered her a set for her birthday. From Kazoo Toys. And someone from that company called my phone number and left a message that they were out of stock of that particular toy. I assumed that was that. But that is because I did not pay close attention to my credit card bill. When I did, I noticed that I was still charged for the toy (that they didn't actually have in stock to send me). I called and was assured that I would be credited. In October, a full three months after I had placed this order, imagine my surprise when I received a Playmobil Unicorn Fantasy Land in the mail!
And the credit? Had never been issued.
I emailed the customer service, and received no response.
I called Kazoo Toys again, and told them the story. The woman with whom I spoke (Kiff was her name, if you care) told me that they would send me a label to send it back, but until they received the item, they would not issue me a refund (for a toy that I had ordered THREE MONTHS AGO and OF WHICH THEY WERE OUT OF STOCK).
After they had received the package, then I would need to call them back and give them my credit card number again so that they could credit me.
What? Fuckwit? What was that? Let's review:
- You didn't have what I ordered
- Even though your website did not mention that little 'out of stock' fact
- But you charged me for it anyway
- You sent it 3 months later
- You now want me to go to UPS and mail it
- And then call you back AGAIN!
- And give you my credit card number again? After you were so careful with it the first time??
- Ummm, NO!
And then, after WEEKS of waiting for your stupid shipping label that you never actually sent, and after sending emails back and forth that defy the actual PHRASE, 'Customer Service', you told me to, AND I QUOTE, "Take it up with your credit card company."You, my dear
And YOU, my dear readers, should take this as a good 'DON'T LET THIS HAPPEN TO YOU' warning when you are shopping for toys this season. Go somewhere else.
Friday, November 09, 2007
Bubbles is my second son, but Elijah never made it to two, and if he had, I seriously doubt there would have been much that was terrible about his behavior!
When Supergirl was this age, she was, well...incredibly well behaved?? The kind of thing you just don't brag about, really. It doesn't help make mommy-friends, but it will get you a table in a restaurant. When she acted naughty or extra-curious in an inappropriate setting, she was almost always responsive to the first course of discipline - remove from situation. And in the case of my brother's wedding, when she kept whining for 'juuuuice, juuuuuuuice, juuuuuuuuuice!' at the most quiet moments during their
Bubs. He is two. Very two. He has been practicing for his role 'in' Two for a few months, so he is really more than ready to take it on, but there are some things I just don't get. They are special little things that make him himself, and I am afraid I am not riding the same train as that boy.
I mentioned that, a few weeks ago, he pushed a little girl in music class (I am the teacher; this is not ideal), and I held him firmly and said in a sing-song voice (am teaching music class, right?) "Hands are not for hurting, you can't push Lilac!", and went back to leading the class. Bubbles stood there crying so hard; I mean really like those cartoon tears you see spraying out of the corners of eyes. And I was slightly annoyed (at his logic? hello?) and slightly interrupted, but the parents handled it with gracious tolerance, but I could tell that his crying was coming from a place I had not heard in this situation before....he sounded wounded, somehow. But I was ticked off at him for hitting Lilac and then being so disruptive, so I ignored it. (****Another Great Mothering Moment****)
Then, we whisked Jen away on a fun-filled Redwood City adventure; one in which neither of us knew exactly where we were going, and I swear we drove around in a spiral before we came to our lunch destination, the diner. Which was perfect for cheeseburgers and that's what I was after. We even swooped right into a free parking spot right across the street!
Thursday, November 08, 2007
What? You want what? I don't think so, no chocolate right now.
No, Sweetie. No chocolate.
Hi, Sweetie you. No. Chocolate. Now.
What? That? No. No vitamins either.
Get off the cat right now, and take that straw out of your ear!
Don't you tell me NOnononono! Bubbles - get back here! take the straw OUT OF YOUR EAR BEFORE YOU PUT YOUR EYE OUT WITH THAT THING!!!!
yes, I just said that.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
A friend was out of town at a gathering, talking with some other moms, the subject of mothers' groups came up, and of course it seems everyone has something to add to that topic (for instance, my mothers' group when Supergirl was an infant, had 10 girls and one little boy -see?).
Some mothers' groups are professionally organized and are fond of things like guest speakers. Others are more low-key, calling themselves 'baby group', meeting for shared muffins, coffee and toys at rotating houses. Mine was one of the latter type.
So, one of the mothers at this gathering mentioned that she had arranged for a plastic surgeon to come and speak at her mothers' group.
It was at this point in the story that I became incredulous and demanded to know if my friend was making this up. She was not. So then I just laughed. And felt uncomfortable. You know the rest of the cycle.
Ummm....why? I had to ask.
"Well, there was a lot of talk of tummy tucks...boob jobs...the usual, I guess."
Okay, I live in an affluent area, I am surrounded by mothers who are able to live far more extravagant lives than my family, but I know I am not alone within the women of this area, of my mothers/babies group, in finding that a little bit....well...shocking? insulting? degrading? unbelievable? inappropriate? demeaning? and yes, laughable.
I can not think of one mom in my group that would ever have
A) invited a plastic surgeon to our group, or
B) tolerated the invitation of one by another mother in the group.
Actually, I know that the area of California in which I live is a bit of a liberal bubble, and where these moms live is...well...different...but seriously? That would have been a sure fire way to get your ass (tightened and lifted ass, of course) kicked right out of baby group. Right after we angrily shook our fists at our babies for cursing us with such saggy breasts and muffin tops!
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
One bright child answered, "Chaos!"
I agreed, thanked him for sharing that very useful vocabulary word, and then I taught them all a word for 'noise chaos': Caucauphony.
By the end of class, I asked them, "What do we want?"
"KEYBOARDS!", they shouted (as they are apparently incapable of using lower decibels in this after-school class).
"What do we NOT want?"
"A CAUCAUPHONY!!!!", they shouted, even more loudly (noted irony).
In two weeks, I will let them loose on the keyboards. If they can stop banging their
So today, after a particularly fabulous drumming session, after which I praised them highly for their great attentiveness and rhythm skills, I asked them;
"What do we want?"
"KEYBOARDS!", they, of course, shouted.
"What do we NOT want?"
"...mmaaa...aaa...mmm..ccrsssssssss....ummm....crss..umm....", I heard......
"A SARCOPHAGUS!!!!!!!!!!!!!" shouted Jason.
"Ummm...well...we certainly DON'T want a SARCOPHAGUS, so I guess that's right....but umm...well...anyone?"
I'm alone in a big world of smart kids out there, dudes.
I am scared.
And not just of the caucauphony. Or the damn sarcophagus.
Okay, maybe a little bit of each.
Monday, November 05, 2007
After a few hours in the ER, including tests and x-rays that showed nothing to be apparently wrong with him, they were sent back home. But not before a long, heartwarming talk with the attending physician, who filled The Boss in on a variety of fatal illness that her son could have had (but didn't!), and named a number of horribly painful ways he could have died (but didnt!), and then basically finally got to her point, which was that she was extremely glad that The Boss had brought her son in to the ER, as his mysterious symptoms could have pointed to something serious. But luckily and thank goodness, they didn't and it wasn't.
Before they went home, The Boss offered to the doctor, her own diagnosis:
"I think it's a severe case of candyitis."
The doctor thoughtfully agreed. (it wasn't that hard; there was a lot of it going around last week).
Tonight, The Boss's son wants nothing to do with the rest of his halloween candy. He did, however, eat some chard with his dinner.
Sunday, November 04, 2007
The reactions were hilarious. Some were surprised. Some were wishing they had been invited, and some were taking notes for their toddler's next shindig.
I continued, "We mountain people don't understand you city folk with your renting of bounce houses and barney appearances! I've got a lot of crayons, two swingsets, a zip line and some juice boxes - come on over and party!"
This got a few laughs, but truthfully? The 'cultural differences' between these communities (where I often work and where I live) only 60 miles apart are astonishing, if not always funny. I could go on and on about how many families I see that have an air about them (if not mantra with which they are raising their children) that oozes entitlement; seriously believing that money can and will buy them (their child) anything. But I'll stop there with my gross generalizations and keep this nice.
There is a part of me that believes (and also shared with these mommies) that, until a child is old enough to actually make requests about his party, then it is pretty much a celebration of survival for the parents, and should be arranged as such.
This does not mean that I did not want to celebrate my son's birthday for him. Of course we did! And we had all of his favorite things there - he doesn't give a crap about having a birthday party with pony rides or hired entertainment. The cake was chocolate, with chocolate frosting. He generally loves (though did not eat one bite last night of) steak. Daddy set up a pumpkin patch with haybales and giant pumpkins in the yard (one truck + party after halloween + abandoned pumpkin patch = party decorations!), dumped new sand in the sand pile (bad kitty!) for the new construction vehicles, and we invited our friends (with whom we like to spend time) with Bubbles' favorite toddlers in tow. We were fortunate enough to have two talented guitar players present, and they played the most engaging repertoire of folksongs, velvet underground and grateful dead while the kids jammed along with drums and other percussion instruments that my career enables me to have on hand in great amounts!
Bubbles loves a good jam session. He would actually stop in between songs and look up at the guitar player and wait for his cue, then he would join in, carefully seeking out the rhythm, and would almost always find it right away! He has definitely benefited from the 'over-exposure' to music classes as mama's tagalong. I suppose I may have to start preparing for life as the mama of a 'moody musician'...
Do we know how to throw a party? I would say it was the perfect commingling of adult fun and childrens' fun.
Saturday, November 03, 2007
Friday, November 02, 2007
So this year, again, there we were with the vacation coinciding with 'picture day', and I'll be damned if I am going to let them omit my daughter, even in name, from their cheesy little yearbook.
This year, Supergirl was in the photo. Her friend Poppy held her proudly.
Thursday, November 01, 2007
These are your most favorite words. They are the ones used most frequently and with the most soul. You use them interchangeably for things like -'I want to nurse' or 'Outside!!! Let's go there!' or 'Lift me up so I can point to my current demand. Yes, it be some piratey booty! No, I want vitamins, I don't care if I have already had twice my daily allowance!' or 'Are you done with that beer, wink wink?'.
It took us about three months to figure out that, when you were saying 'HI, Djeedee!!', you were
really saying 'HI, Sweetie!', which is what we say to you about 39x per day. Glad we cleared that up.
You are the most mellow about so many things (you can hang out in the car, marveling at the scenery for hours...you love to read books and will sit and snuggle for an endless amount, you putter about the sandpits and logs in the yard making busy 'work' for yourself for hours if allowed, etc...), yet you freak me out sometimes when you freak out. For instance: During class, with our other 26 members present, you had a hard time taking no for an answer when I told you that those shaker eggs cannot come out this instant. So you pushed a nearby little girl. (naturally) And when I hugged you gently but very very firmly and told you that hands are not for hurting, you stood there and cried animated crocodile tears and whaaaah'd until you had disrupted our entire class. Dude, that was just not cool. I know, I know - you are two, and you have a reputation to uphold. But seriously. You want to keep coming to sing the happy music with the mama? You shape it up.
I am fine with the speech (delay) thing if you want to just hang out behind the veil for a little while longer. We really do get what you are saying...err...communicating...but I would like to see a bit more effort in the enunciation department. In English.
You take up all my energy and Daddy's and some of your sister's too. But we manage to somehow, between the three of us, keep you alive each day. You are a hurricane, a tornado, an incredible force with which to be reckoned. You are, in a nutshell, perfect. You are healthy, you are hellion, you are two.