SoCal Mama

Calling It Quits (For Now)

2006-07-21T12:25:00.000-07:00

The blog thing has just not fit into my life lately. I have just been too busy, well, living. And right now I kind of like it that way, enjoying LIVING my life instead of WRITING about it. I imagine I might be back, but I am not sure. We'll see what the future holds for me. So tata for now, and I hope you are enjoying YOUR lives as well!

World Cup, Henry-style

2006-06-25T07:15:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I went and bought Henry some shinguards for his soccer camp. I returned home from the store with shinguards in hand at 12:45. Henry was so excited that he put them on immediately! I went to my students' graduation and returned home at 4 pm. The shinguards were still on. We went to a friend's house for dinner. Henry wore the shinguards in the car. At approximately 9:45 last night, we finally peeled them off his clammy calves.

That boy is SO excited about soccer camp! We have had some variant of this conversation every single day for the past week or so:

Henry: Mom, when is soccer camp?

Me: It starts on the Monday after my school is out.

Henry: So how many days is that? Is it a short time eeeyur (that is how he ALWAYS says "or" -- I love that) a long time?

Me: Pretty short. Just a few days.

Henry: So is it that we have tomorrow, and then it is the day after that. Eeeyur is it the next day after the next day?

Me: Three days, Henry.

Henry: So is it the next day after the next day after the next day, and THEN it is soccer camp??!!

Me: Sure.

Quinn: Mo-ohm, when ith MYYYYY thoccer ca-amp???

I think that Quinn thinks that I like Henry better because why else would Henry get to do soccer camps and museum camps, while HE gets to do nothing but hang out with Mom? He must think I am cruel. How do I explain the concept of age requirements to a two year-old?

School's Out!

2006-06-23T18:27:00.000-07:00

Today was the last day of school. Man did those seniors need to go! They had the worst case of senioritis that this world has ever seen.

Anyways, grades are due Tuesday, and then my summer officially starts, so I imagine that this here blog might actually start getting updated on a regular basis! I know, I know, you are peeing in your pants with eexcitement.

Why Does This Even Surprise Me Anymore?

2006-06-10T14:54:00.000-07:00

The #1 rule of remodeling is that anything that can go wrong WILL go wrong. Every fucking time.

We went to pick out a tree last week for our median. The city is very strict about the type and size of tree that you plant, and we have to have an appropriate tree to get our final inspection (and END this remodel, finally).

I went to a local nursery to pick out a tree. I took a tape measure with me to make sure that I picked one with all the right requirements. I spent a full hour measuring trees until I found a perfect one. Hooray! A perfect tree! Feeling victorious, I tagged the tree with the neon orange ribbon that the nursery had given me, and then I returned to the cashier.

This particular nursery is enormous, as in SO enormous that you have to drive around in it to find your plants. So I returned to the front desk and had a long conversation with the cashier about exactly where my tree was located. I wanted to make sure that when their delveries guys went to get it, they would know exactly where it was.

The cashier seemed to understand me, nodding along while I pointed to the map. So then I paid and tried to arrange the delivery. Well, it turns out that they can DELIVER the tree, but that they have no way of getting it off of their truck once they arrive at your house (and all of this service for only $100 -- I guess gas prices really ARE high!). It is a BYOF kind of deal (the "F" is for forklift). With this new, utterly ridculous information, I canceled the delivery.

We instead hired a guy to go pick the tree up and plant it. I called the nursery and explained that someone else would be getting the tree for me. They said no problem, so long as he had the paperwork. So I gave him the paperwork, sent him on his way, and went to my job.

When I came home on Friday, how excited I was! For there, in our median, was planted our new beautiful city-code-abiding magnolia! Yay!...Wait. Fucking mother fucker, that is NOT the tree that I picked out. NOT the tree that I sunburned my shoulders for while spending an hour measuring tree trunks with my trusty Stanley measuring tape. NOT the tree that I wrapped my orange neon ribbon around. And certainly NOT the tree that I paid $576 for and another $400 for someone to pick it up and plant it. Man was I pissed. Really fucking pissed.

It turns out that they just gave our guy some random tree. He told me that he had to trim a lot of branches off the bottom since the city wouldn't like that. I thought, well no duh the city wouldn't like it which is why I PICKED OUT A TREE WITH NO LOW BRANCHES!!!!!

So off my husband and I went to the nursery yesterday to find out what in the hell happened. We arrived, found our tree still sitting out there with the orange ribbon around it, and went to go talk to the cashier. She explained that they had a strict policy that they don't take returns if something has been planted. Okay, fine for most cases, but when your company fucks up, don't you think you should bend the rules? She explained that the receipt did not say "tagged" on it, which it should have, apparently. Okay, fine, so yet again YOUR company messed up because the cashier didn't type "tagged" on our receipt. She went and talked to the cashier who helped me the first time. That little blonde bitch said that, no, I never told her that I tagged a tree. No, no, she absolutely does NOT recall me pointing to the map, her nodding her head, etc. Fucking blonde bitch. She said there had been a "miscommunication." Miscommunication, my ass -- YOU fucked up.

After some talking back and forth, they said that they would take the tree back. I said that that was great, but that they ALSO needed to pay the $400 dollars that it would take to plant it AGAIN. No dice. So we got the manager's name (due to return on Wednesday) and walked out.

So what is my plan, you ask? First, I am having the city come out to see if the tree is okay, even though it does not quite meet code. If it is okay, I will leave it in, but I am still contesting the entire charge on my credit card. I will cancel my contesting if they discount the tree 50% for making us do all of this crap. If the city says it is NOT okay, then we will definitely be returning it and getting our REAL tree, but STILL contesting the charge. They have a choice as I see it: Lose $400 by paying us to re-plant it, OR lose $600 by not doing what they should do. And I definitey will be calling the Better Business Bureau if necessary.

But people, ALL we had to do was get a freakin' tree!!! Honestly, can't one, just ONE little thing about this remodel go right? How could planting a stupid tree turn into yet ANOTHER castastrophe? I'll tell you how -- because fucking up simple things is what remodeling is all about. It is the law of the universe.

BUT...yes there is a but. I am adopting a new life philosophy. Instead of getting angry about things like this (because they are just happening way too often around here and I am losing years off my life with all of the stress), I am going to LAUGH at everything bad that happens. HA HA HA! Isn't this so ridiculously FUNNY that even our TREE is messed up! Who could have known such a FUNNY thing could happen? HA HA HA ha ha...ha...ha.................ha. Ha.

Hmmmm, this might take a little more practice.

Not So Fun Times At The Doctor

2006-06-06T09:08:00.000-07:00

Henry needs surgery. I need a sedative.

We went to a urologist yesterday just "as a precaution," according to my doctor. It turns out that Henry has a birth defect where one of his testicles is filling with liquid. Apparently, there is a small hole at the top of the testicle that closes around the age of two, but when it does not close, liquid begins to seep in. The result is a swollen, liquid-filled testicle.

The surgery is apparently fairly minor, fairly common, and reasonably safe. What is really freaking me out is that they have to put him completely under. I just can't wrap my mind around that -- the image of my sweet little boy conked out on an operating table while someone cuts him open. I can't get past the fear that he will have a reaction to the anesthesia or will never wake up. Basically I am freaking out. But I am trying my best to NOT freak out in front of Henry.

Fortunately, Henry was born with a complete lack of awareness of other people's feelings, which up until now has been a rather annoying trait, but in this situation it is paying off. He doesn't even notice that my eyes are completely bloodshot and that I appear to be in a coma.

When the doctor told us about the surgery, Henry was fine. He had some questions but he was pretty calm. He was NOT fine when he heard me tell my husband that Henry would have to miss the last day of Kindergarten Camp for the surgery. THEN the tears came rolling. Welcome to the world of a five year-old.

The GOOD news is that there is no choice involved. He HAS to have the surgery, he HAS to be put under, the condition will NOT correct itself, and there are NO alternatives. So at least I don't have to rack myself with guilt about what to do. To me that would be much worse, such as if they told me it MIGHT correct itself and so did we WANT to do surgery.

The surgery is not until August, unfortunately, so I have lots and lots of time to dwell on it. I think I will be okay once the shock wears off. Hnery has already completely forgotten about it. I am trying to follow suit.

___________________________________

In other news, Quinn is sick AGAIN, so I was cleaning up vomit AGAIN on Friday night. For those of you keeping score, that makes THREE weekends in a row that have involved cleaning up vomit.

A Parenting Tip

2006-06-01T13:21:00.000-07:00

Henry saw something today that might have been a bit advanced for his young age. To help the rest of you avoid my mistake, here is a tip:

If you see a black bee in the garden and decide to look it up on the computer, just know that it is also the name for a sexual position. Soooooo, make sure your five year-old is NOT in your lap when you accidentally pull up a website with an animated demo of the position.

If this helps only one person, I have done my job.

My Brain Has Quit

2006-05-29T22:50:00.000-07:00

I am too tired to post much because it was a loooong 3 day weekend, but just to give you a quick summary, here goes:

A) My kitchen counter now has knife marks across it. It turns out that you can't cut bread directly on it with a very sharp knife (I knew this already, but apparently Ally did not).

B) My TV room floor is spotless because we scrubbed vomit off of it. Again.

C) My home office looks like it threw up all over our living room because we are pretending that THIS time we are REALLY going to clean the office and keep it that way (but really we move everything out, clean about 10% of it, and then cram everything else back in -- we do this about three times a year).

D) My brain officially decided that if this Mother Effin' house remodel is not over SOON, as in YESTERDAY, that I may actually cross the bridge into Crazytown. Our builder has started coming about, oh, NEVER, and I am pissed. I am not kidding when I say that I am on the verge of a nervous breakdown about the remodel. Really. I am not kidding. Ask my husband. Poor fella.

E) Upon being inspired by seeing a paddleboat race in which everyone looked buff as hell, I have decided to get back in shape (not that I am way out of shape, but I could use some serious toning up). To get healthier, I have decided to exercise more and cut back on (gulp) alcohol. This seemed like an awesome idea at the time, until A, B, C, and D happened. Now it just seems plain nuts. So maybe I already HAVE crossed the bridge into Crazytown. I mean, what sane person would attempt to cut back on drinking while raising young kids during a remodel?

I need a psychiatrist.

Why I Had Ten Loads Of Laundry This Weekend

2006-05-21T11:06:00.000-07:00

No I am not exaggerating. Ten loads. TEN.

(And you all know how much I hate laundry.)

Why ten loads, you may ask? One word. Vomit.

Seems Quinn caught a nice little stomach bug (which is no surprise since he has been known to lick trash cans) and he spent from 8:30 pm Friday night until 8:30 am Saturday morning throwing up roughly every ten minutes. Poor little guy.

We had my in-laws over for dinner Friday night. My husband was putting the finishing touches on our beautiful entree while Quinn and I danced to the Ipod. Quinn was happy and smiling and dancing when out of nowhere he erupted like Mount Vesuvius. I think he was just as surprised as we were.

The rest of the evening was spent changing his clothes, bathing him, changing my clothes, wiping up vomit, changing his clothes, bathing him, changing my clothes,... you get the idea. We tried putting him in his bed on a layer of towels. Within five minutes -- vomit. We tried putting him on the couch on yet another layer of towels. Within two minutes -- vomit. Finally, we put him in the bath and took turns staying with him while the rest of us ate. He continued to vomit in the bath, though he quickly caught onto the idea of getting it all to go in a bowl ( Is it just me or does every house have a Throw Up Bowl?).

I knew at this point that it would be a VERY long night. While my in-laws and husband ate dessert, I held Quinn on the couch and watched Dora with him. I didn't mind, since I had pretty much lost my appetite at that point. Every five minutes or so, he would wretch and I would aim him for the bowl. Of course, I was always a few seconds too slow, so I continued to wipe vomit off of me, him and the floor until 2 am, when we got a three hour break from Pukefest 2006. Pukefest resumed at 5 a.m., then finally ended at 8:30 a.m., and let me tell you it went out with a bang. Little Q managed to throw up at the TOP of the stairs. Over the bannister. Quite a waterfall. Bravo, Q. Well done. What an exit!

The last two days have been spent on damage control, washing every smelly piece of clothing, every towel that we own, and every couch cushion cover. Yes, Whirlpool is earning its keep today.

I Need To Vent

2006-05-11T13:34:00.000-07:00

I am pissed. Really pissed. Overall, I have a good relationship with my husband's ex-wife, but she does this one thing that makes me want to pull my (or her) hair out. Which she just did again today.

Sharon is a good mom, truly, but she put my step-daughters in this ultracompetitive soccer league when they were 8 and 10. ULTRA-competitive. These girls could kick a grown man's ass. My husband and I do not agree with it, and because the games are usually an hour away (or more), we rarely go. We made it very clear that we would like to see any games nearby, but alas there are none. She thinks we hate sports and don't want to be involved in Carrie and Ally's life, but really we just think that a sport should not consume a child's life.

THEN, the other day we were in the grocery store and bumped into my husband's aunt. She told us how well Carrie did at her track meet. We did not even know about the meet, but it was far away, so whatever. So we emailed Sharon and said that we would love to see any track meets that were coming up. She emailed back and said that that was the last one. Oh and she was "surprised" that we never came to any other ones because, well, didn't we know that Carrie had been having track meets every Wednesday TWO BLOCKS AWAY FROM US???!!! NO, we did NOT know, because that passive aggresive bitch somehow neglected to TELL us about the meets. Bitch.

The thing is, Sharon is a little warped. If we approached her, she would say that she told us about the meets or she would twist the argument in some way to make us look bad. She DEFINES passive-aggression. So saying anything is out of the question. But I have noticed that we get absolutely bombarded with soccer emails, yet NEVER hear about any school function. Every time there has been an Open House, Science Fair Exhibit, or any other school activity (like track meets!), we find out about it two hours before or, more often, days later.* I don't even think she fully realizes that she does this, but it has happened too many times to be a coincidence.

The OTHER thing is that Sharon is a major gossip, so I have no doubt that she is sitting at those meets saying things to other parents like, "Gee I don't why her dad and step-mom aren't here. Probably because they don't support the girls being in sports." This does not bother my husband at all because he couldn't care less if people think he is the antichrist. But it bothers ME. And I am powerless, for now.

The OTHER other thing is that Sharon thinks she is not responsible for informing us of anything since we can call the school anytime. But she IS responsible since SHE is the one that receives stuff that the school sends home. And what are we supposed to do, call the school every week and say, "Oh I was just checking if there were any events this week? No? Oh okay thanks! Talk to you next week!" Don't you think that it is not too much to ask her to send an email saying, "Hey, Carrie has track meets Wednesday. Let me know if you want to go!" Of course, her fingers are probably tired little worn down nubs from all of the typing she does to email us about every fucking five-hours-away soccer meet. Bitch.

So here is my plan:

This school year is almost over so it is not worth the effort right now. But next year, I am going up to that school and I am giving every single teacher my phone number and email, and I am going to tell them to contact me for every single school event. And I will be calling Sharon a lot, too. Oh yes, a LOT. Like daily. "Any events today? No? Talk to you tomorrow!" She may define passive-aggression, but I am going to define annoying. And pestering. And very VERY involved. I will show up at school to help them wipe their asses if I have to.

The thing about me is that I am a nice person. A REALLY nice person. And very patient and all that good stuff -- UNTIL you cross my line. And then I am a cruel, vindictive, relentless bitch.

After seven years of dealing with this woman's mind games, my line has offically been crossed. Game ON, beeyatch.

_________________________________________________

*There was a school art auction that Sharon told us about recently, which we went to. But that was very much the exception to the rule.

Mini-Hawk

2006-05-03T19:58:00.000-07:00

Henry has taken to skateboarding. Here is how it went down:

The big kids in the neighborhood have skateboards. Ever since Henry learned to ride his bike without training wheels, he is ready to conquer the world. He kept trying to show off for those skateboarding big kids by doing bike jumps and screeching halts and such. They were not impressed, and so they ignored him. So Henry came to me and begged me for a skateboard.

I tried to convince him that he was not ready, that it would be too hard, too dangerous. He was unmoved. I then decided to take the laid-back-mom approach -- I figured that I would buy him the board, he would try it, decide it was too hard, and then we would put it away for a year or two. I went to Target, found a sweet ride with a black widow on it, and bought every body-pad imaginable to cover Henry with for his death ride. I knew it would take just one try on this new contraption for him to realize his mother's wisdom. But there was just one small glitch in my plan....

The kid can legitimately skateboard. Seriously. I was shocked. He is going down (small) ramps, doing trick turns, and impressing those big kids. The big kids even got out their tools and helped Henry adjust his wheels to turn better. Turns out that the skateboard is a Big Kid Magnet -- we can't go to a park without some 8 year-old coming up to Henry and helping him with his new hobby. Henry is VERY stoked.

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Allergy update:

After eliminating every food from my diet, I was able to conclude that my allergies are not linked to any particular food.

After two weeks of pill-popping, my allergy medicine seems to be kicking in. I still have ear pressure, but not ear pain.

After two weeks of wondering, I am still not sure if I am allergic to wine. This is because I cannot for the life of me go 48 hours without a glass of wine. But as long as my Singulair is working, I don't feel the need to eliminate wine. My children do, after all, need to SURVIVE the next 14 years or so.

Rice Rice Baby

2006-04-21T15:36:00.000-07:00

I have stumped modern medicine.

For 6 months now, I have had out of control allergies. Stuffy nose, pressure in the ears, itchy eyes -- NONSTOP. I hate it.

I have gone to the doctor again and again, each time trying new medicines. Nothing has worked. Finally, a few days ago, I arrived at a full-blown sinus infection. Whoohooo!

So here is the deal. I am now on steroids (prednisone) and I am supposed to only eat rice and fruits/veggies for several days (just in case it is another food allergy. Obviously, mold and pollen are the likely culprits, but there might be a wheat allergy hiding in there, too. Good stuff.

Here is what I have eaten the last three days:

apples
bananas
oranges
orange juice
banana chips
avocado
dried peas
rice
rice
rice
rice
rice

I have never wanted a bowl of cereal or a freakin' bagel with cream cheese so badly in my life. But it gets worse, far, far worse...

I can't begin to eat any wheat, dairy, etc until my allergy clears. That way, I can start with a clean slate, add foods, and be able to pinpoint any problem food. The problem is that after three days I have yet to have an allergy-free day. I am still congested, and HUNGRY. Sooooo hungry. But here is the worst, the absolute WORST part. I have contiued to drink wine through all of this, never imagining that it might be the culprit. Then I just read last night that some people are allergic to alcohol, mostly because of the yeasts and molds involved in the fermenting process. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

I am not a religious person by any means, but just to be safe, those of you who are please keep me in your prayers. Please add this to your nightly kneeling: "Dear (Higher Being That I Believe In), Please let Callie not be allergic to wine. She loves it oh so much, and her children have a much higher chance of living to see their teenage years if she can have an adult beverage in her hand while she listens to fights about who sits in which chair or who gets which toy. Amen"

The one funny thing about all of this is that most people gain weight when they get on steroids. The doctor told me to expect to gain at least a pound. The thing is, though, that I am losing weight instead. I mean, there is only so many bowls of rice that a girl can take, hungry or not.

Well, I am off to cook dinner. I assume that I don't need to tell you what I am cooking.

Cheers! Oh wait. Nevermind.

Things Are Exploding Around Here (In A Good Way)

2006-04-20T14:09:00.000-07:00

Henry is having a learning explosion. The child who was once my little barnacle of a baby is turning rapidly into an independent 5 year-old. Here is what he has done in the last three weeks:

Learned to ride his bike without training wheels (by his request)

Learned to (finally!) put his seatbelt on by himself (which is not easy with the armrest of his booster seat)

Learned to get things out of the oven and microwave with mitts (as mentioned in my last post)

Began learning to read (again, by his request)

Learned to get himself COMPLETELY dressed

Henry is also obssessed with learning Spanish and French, so we sing the French ABC's A LOT and look at our language picture dictionaries. It is hard to believe how quickly he is growing and changing.

He mastered the digital camera some time ago, but now wants to move on to the video camera (I am sure that is because of his sisters).

He has also begun setting and clearing the table, getting his own snacks, and cleaning up his toys without being asked !

Now if the kid will just learn to wipe himself....

Sweet Boys

2006-04-18T21:51:00.000-07:00

My life used to be hard. Two crazy boys. Hitting, fighting, testing, etc. That's why I started this blog. It was a way for me to vent. I needed an outlet.

But I am just NEVER here (meaning in my blog) anymore. Life has just gotten so good lately, almost too good to blog about. I'll be damned if my two little guys (my crazy, hyper, destructive little guys) are not just the sweetest little buggers lately. Obviously we have our bad moments, too, but everything is mostly gravy.

Two examples:

Quinn is obsessed wth saying, "I wuv you mo-ohm." Like fifity times a day. Do you hear my heart melting?

Henry got Quinn dinner tonight. Here is what happened:

I put a waffle in the toaster for Quinn, but then smelled that he had a dirty diaper. I took Quinn to change his diaper, and then I brought him back to the kitchen. And here is what I saw ....

Henry had scooted a chair over to the toaster, put on my oven mitts, and was very gingerly removing the waffle from the oven. He then went to the cabinets, selected a plate, put the waffle on it, and put in on the table for Quinn. ALL without being asked. Whoah.

I feel like I have hit cruise control until we hit the teens. Then I am pretty sure that the shit will hit the fan!

Why You Should Never Answer Your Phone On Your Day Off

2006-04-04T16:20:00.000-07:00

I am on Week 2 of my Spring Break. That's right, internet, my school has TWO weeks of Spring Break. Jealous much? I spent the last week in Texas with Henry, Quinn and my husband to see my little brother get hitched, so I have been looking forward to using this week to catch up on errands, relax and other such things.

I COULD keep the boys home with me all week (their Spring Break is next week), but I decided to send them to preschool/ daycare on MWF this week to allow me some time to run my errands WITHOUT CHILDREN and to just have some quiet time WITHOUT CHILDREN. I am keeping them home on Tuesday and Thursday to spend some quality mommy time with them.

I had some guilt about this, thinking that I should keep them home all week to spend time with them in order make up for the fact that I work (because even though I was going insane staying at home I still have tons of guilt about going back to work-- go figure), but ultimately I decided that MY time and my chance to get a few things done was important, too.

So on Monday morning I dropped both kids off at their schools and went home to bask in my whole morning at home WITHOUT CHILDREN. Do you notice how I keep emphasizing those two words "without children?" Can you guess what happened? Trust me, you can't. You may think you can, but you sooooo can't.

You MIGHT think that the school called and said that Henry was sick. Or that Quinn's school called. Or both. But, no, none of that happened. Instead, an acquaintance of ours called me as I returned from dropping off the boys. Let's call her Peg. I was going to call her Inconsiderate Woman Who Takes Way Too Much Advantage Of Me, but Peg seems nicer, no? Peg and her husband do tax returns for people, so they are really busy right now. Peg's boys are on Spring Break. Peg's boys are NOT nice boys. Actually the 5 year-old is okay, but the 9 year-old is a holy fucking terror. Their family is WAY dysfunctional. The parents yell, cuss and hit, and so do the kids. It is one ugly family to spend time with. They are not bad people, but they have no clue as to how to be good parents. I bet NOW you can begin to guess what happened, can't you?

Peg said that she couldn't get a sitter (gee, after a whole morning of trying to find a sitter ON THE DAY YOU NEEDED ONE -- shocking) and she was "desperate" to find somewhere for the boys to go so she could go to work. Oh, and what do you know, she was driving right by my house as she called. She had "no other options" and so wanted to know if she "could just drop them off for a couple of hours, just until lunch?" I was totally blindsided. And trapped. So the boys came in and I told Peg in no uncertain terms that I would help her this time, but that it is MY Spring Break and that I would NOT be available for the rest of the week. At all. I also told her that I would bring the boys to her office promptly at noon. Why? Well, because this same time last year she dropped the boys off for "a few hours" in the morning and did not return until 5:00 pm. Seriously.

So there was my day. I dropped off my OWN children to have a day WITHOUT CHILDREN, and ended up having a day WITH CHILDREN who are disgusting little booger eating ill-mannered children at that. Good times.

The good news is that after I spend any length of time around Peg's boys, all I want to do with my OWN boys is hug them and kiss then and tell them how wonderful they are for at least a solid week. So there's my silver lining.

And I am not answering my phone all week.

*Peg's boys have been mentioned here before. They were "Situation D."

The Weight State

2006-03-31T20:30:00.000-08:00

We spent the last week in Texas. We went out there for my little brother's wedding, which was great, by the way. They used the fool-proof fun wedding format -- ten minute cermony, six hour party. That WAY beats those horrific hour-long ceremonies.

Anyways, despite the fact that I grew up in Texas, going back to visit freaks the bejeezus out of me. One reason is that EVERY single conversation involves weight. Here are the rules for conversing with another female in Texas:

1. Start by saying "hi" (pronounced "Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii-iiiiiiii") and give a five-tap backpat/hug.

2. Now you must both spend the next five minutes talking about your size. Politics? No. Poverty? No. Current Events? No. Weight? YES.

3. The heavier person in the conversation should talk first. She should tell the thinner person that they look great.

4. Now the thinner person should deny this, and explain all of the flaws with her body. Then the thinner person should tell the larger person that she also looks great.

5. Now the larger person should say that they do NOT look great, and offer a myriad of reasons as to why not. This is when the larger person should say things like, "It has been hard exercising with the kids" or "I have been too busy at work to find the time to work out."

6. Now that both of you have bashed your own appearances, you are free to discuss the weight loss or gain of every single person that you know.

I can count on one hand the number of times that I have discussed my weight in a conversation since moving to California. I am a totally average size, by the way. Not fat, not skinny, just "normal," so there is not really much to discuss about my size. Unless I am in Texas. What is up with that??

Diaper Data

2006-03-12T13:23:00.000-08:00

I hate changing diapers. HATE IT. I didn't start out this way, but have I ever mentioned that my little guys are spirited? This means that every diaper change consists of my elbow in a child's chest, trying to get them to be still and not kick me long enough for me to use the 30 wipes necessary to clean the sewage spill that threatens to seep onto the furniture. It sucks.

Hnery was potty-trained at age 3, but we still have a few months to go with Quinn. I am so burned out that three months sounds like an eternity. I realized that I have been changing diapers for over five solid years WITH NO BREAK, which got me thinking about exactly how MANY diapers I have changed. Here is a rough estimate:

Henry = (365 days)*(3 years)*(5 diapers a day) = 5475 diapers

Quinn = (365 days)*(2.6 years)*(5 diapers a day) = 4745 diapers

Grand Total = 10,220 diapers

And that is only an estimate. Those numbers completely ignore the 10-diaper days of newborns, not to mention the 20-diaper days of stomach viruses. I guess that balances out the three diaper-free weekend vacations that I have taken, plus the diapers that I don't change when the boys are at school. Which leads me to the kicker....

Here is what happens when Quinn poops at home:

I see him squat. I see his face turn bright red. I hear noises. I smell odors. I say, "Quinn, are you pooping?" He says, "No, I not pooping. I just have gas." I say, "Come on, Quinn, let's go change that diaper." He says, "No I no want to change my diaper." I pick him up and say, "Let's get it off of you so you don't get a rash." He says, "No, I not get rash. I no want to change diaper. I not pooped." I lay him down to change him. This is the part where I USED to try to hand him a toy or book or other distraction, but I have since learned that the words "Quinn" and "distraction" do not belong in a sentence together, unless you are being ironic. I then begin wiping while trying to prevent his flailing feet from coming into contact with my face.

Here is what happened when I picked Quinn up at school the other day:

I picked him up right after his nap, and he had a poopy diaper. I said, "Do you have a poopy diaper?" He said, "Yes. My teacher will change it, Mo-om." Then I watched him walk VOLUNTARILY over to the changing table and GET IN LINE to have his diaper changed. While his teacher wiped him, he was as passive as a little lamb on painkillers. Does that boy play me like a fidddle or what?

The Phrase I Am Trying To Eliminate From Our Household

2006-03-08T22:09:00.000-08:00

I know this is a little ironic based on my last entry, but there is a phrase that my two little guys say at least 20 times a day that drives me up the fucking wall. "I win." Aaaarrrrggghhhhhh.

I am not some uber-hippie who believes that competition is the root of all evil or anything like that. I am all for a friendly race down the sidewalk. But this is more than that. I win to the table! I win to the swing! I win to the bath! I win getting dressed! I win brushing teeth! Seriously. I could go on, but I will spare you. Let's just say that I have solid evidence that my boys will be seeing who can pee the furthest once Quinn is out of diapers.

What is it about little boys that they feel the need to make everything into a competition or race of some sort? I tried to give them a warm and fuzzy story about how it is better to brush your teeth longer, so the real winners are the boys who brush teeth slowly, but it didn't fly. Ditto on my attempt to convince them that brothers should be friends and support each other, not try to beat each other. Just some blank stares and obligatory nods on that one.

There is some comfort in all of this. I did a little internet digging on the topic (as I do in every situation where I need info on something -- what's a library again?) and it turns out that the boys are textbook cases. So I am not alone. Furthermore, unlike little girls who typically compete to feel superior and/ or make some other little girl feel less superior (that is the website talking, not me, but having been a little girl myself I mostly agree with it), boys compete merely as a way of establishing their identities. In other words, they mean no ill will toward their competitor. So that is a relief.

This doesn't make the "I wins" any less grating, however. At what point does one consider duct tape as a parenting tool?

*******************************

On a side note, I think I have the all-time winner for the CREEPIEST Google search ever that someone used to find my blog. Chag, I know you have some good ones, but this one takes the cake. Brace yourself:

how to get into my stepdaughters pants what to say or do

What the fuck? Is this dude for real? That is just so sick. I wish I had some way of warning the stepdaughter, or better yet the police. Doesn't that just make you feel gross?

All The Muck That's Fit To Blog

2006-03-07T21:55:00.000-08:00

I have been gone from the blogosphere for a while. Wow, have things been busy, but busy in a good way (mostly). Here is all the muck that's fit to blog from the past couple of weeks:

1. I am now allergic to lobster. I turned kind of blotchy the last two times I ate it, which I thought was weird since I have eaten it so many times before. I chalked it up as a minor allergy, but when I went to the doctor for a check-up on my horrific dust allergies (thanks to our remodel), I casually mentioned the lobster thing. I said, "By the way, I am allergic to lobster now, too. But it could be worse, I just get kind of blotchy. I don't swell up or anything." That is when he looked at me with utter terror in his eyes and told me to NEVER eat lobster again. Apparently, these types of things get worse each time, so if I keep eating it I will be one of those people clenching their throats in a restaurant and possibly dying. I asked if shrimp and crab were still okay -- nope, they're not! Darn. And he said never to let them use iodine on me for a cut, xray, cat scan, etc., and that for any medical procedure I need to say that I have a shellfish allergy. Great. I was already paranoid enough about death, so now I have one more way to kick the bucket. Speaking of paranoid, I found a dark spot on my back, so I am going BACK to the doctor YET AGAIN to have THAT checked out. They are going to think that I am a hypochondriac.

2. I win! I win! As you may or may not know, I had some conflict with a corporate sleazebag who built a house next to us strictly to turn it around and sell it. He wanted to make a quick buck, so he just slapped a cookie cutter house up with no regard for the lot, and because he put ZERO thought into the floorplan, he ended up having windows that align directly with ours. I should mention that our houses are 4 feet apart -- welcome to SoCal living! I talked to him about it and he didn't think it was a big deal, nor did he think he was at fault. Well guess what? He can't sell the house! Hooray! He wanted 1.975 million initially (again, we're in SoCal), but there were no takers. Then he lowered to 1.85, now 1.8, and still no takers. I have made it a point to have my blinds WIDE OPEN for every Open House that he has had. So he finally put up lattices in between the windows to try to fool potential buyers. But there are still no takers. And he has to sell two more just like it on the next block. I hope he majorly tanks.

3. I found a gray hair. I am not one bit happy about that. I will be 30 in July, so I thought I had a few more years before I had to deal with finding a gray hair! In all fairness, I look really young. Teaching high school, I am mistaken for a student at times, and I got carded to buy paint remover the other day (apparently, you have to be 18, and while I was flattered, I would think that having all 4 kids with me would have given the cashier enough info about me to know that I was older than 18!). But still! A gray hair! Blech. However, I am determined not to be one of "those" types of women. I will age gracefully, I will NOT have Botox or surgery, and I will be grateful for every year that I am alive and healthy. Still, I yanked the hair. I tried SO hard not to, but I couldn't NOT do it. Maybe after I am 30. Just give me until 30!

4. I am flying to Texas for my little bro's wedding. Seems he and his girl are in the "family way." Of course, he is really just copying me because I started that family tradition over 5 years ago. Ahhh, Texas, how I do not miss your mosquito serenade, nor your city-sized Wal-marts. But it will be good to see all of my family. Literally ALL of my family. I have about 200 relatives in Dallas. Family reunion, yee-haw!

5. Life has been pretty great lately since I went back to work. I am much more fulfilled, much calmer, and am really appreciating my kids a lot more now that I am not with them 24-7. Quality, not quantity, I guess. Plus the kids are getting older and so much easier (not that we don't have our bad moments, but lately it is only a few bad moments in a sea of good moments). But I realized that I have not been blogging BECAUSE life is so good. I COULD blog every day, but it would be so boring (not to imply that THIS entry is not boring as well). Who wants to read a blog about how great life is? Not me. I want the blogs with conflict, drama, tears, heartache. And lately I haven't had any of that. Great for me, but not great for my blog. Why is it that as humans we are so drawn to conflict as a form of entertainment? I find it so interesting.

That's it for now. Maybe we will have a broken leg or something to spice this blog up. Knock on wood.

How Drywall Can Organize Your Toys

2006-02-20T20:59:00.001-08:00

Have I ever mentioned that our contractor bailed on us a few months ago? Well, he did. So we have been taking a break from remodeling our house in order to find someone qualified to finish the job. We finally found someone who, unlike the last guy, is actually, oh what's the word, ... COMPETENT. The last guy was horrendous. He never showed, he made a rat's nest out of our backyard and garage, he damaged our NEW tub and our NEW shower, he did all kinds of crap just straight up wrong (like the plumbing) and he was a pathological liar to boot. Literally -- that is not an exaggeration. For instance, when he started coming only a few hours a day, I started logging his hours. When he asked to get paid, I gave him the old "I don't THINK so" speech. Because getting paid for 40 hours of work when he was only there for 10 hours seemed like a bit of a stretch. He was PISSED.

Then he started crying and told me that the reason that he wasn't coming was that his wife was divorcing him because she thought he spent too much time working on our house. Heart-wrenching, isn't it? Or at least it would have been if I had not known that he told the LAST person that he worked for that his wife was divorcing him for THAT job! Then there is The Back Door. Our back door that he "ordered" in April was still not there by October. He went to the door company "every week" for the entire six months and "spoke to the manager." Obviously we had paid him for the door back in April. SO we finally called the door place and they had no clue who he was! Or who we were! Nor did they have ANY record of that type of door being ordered! Bastard. So we decided that it was not worth a fight -- we just wanted him to finish the fucking job, already -- so we just told him that apparently the door company lost the door, but they had the exact one we needed in stock, so go there RIGHT NOW with this money and get it. So he did, but the stupid bastard thought that we really bought his lie, so he had the nerve the VERY NEXT DAY to tell me that our door we ordered in April came in, but that they would not refund him. I nearly clocked him right there. Looking back, I should have, but at the time we still thought he could actually finish the job and we knew how hard it would be to find a replacement, so we let it slide.

BUT when he gave me the old "wife divorcing me" speech right before he quit, he mentioned the door again!!! This time, he said that we were so selfish and greedy and that he had to install it in his own house since he could not return it. Oh, and he still had the paperwork, too. I was DONE at that point. I said in my least nice voice ever that I would LOVE to see pictures of that door, and I would really love to see the papers. He cried and said that it was not right that I would make him do that, that I should just trust him. Holy hell was he an ass. He showed up for a few days after that and then we never saw him again.

The thing is, everyone talks about how bad remodeling is, so everything he did we just wrote off to a typical remodeling experience. But now that this new guy is here, we see just how bad the first guy was. Looking back, we should have fired him the first week. Sure the new guy doesn't show sometimes and stuff like that, but it is NOTHING compared to the old guy. He said he would build a gate, and he built it! He said he would clean out the hell-hole of a garage that the first guy left, and I nearly passed out when I saw how empty the garage was after he worked for only one day! We were so, so blind.

I think it is like my post-partum recovery with Henry. I had some internal scarring that I didn't know about and the prenatal vitamins were messing with my digestion something fierce, so I was in a LOT of pain. I had to take 800 mg of ibuprofen every 6 hours to avoid passing out. But since everyone always says that recovery is hard, I just assumed my pain was normal. Then they found the scar tissue that was causing my massive cramping, and I realized --- warning, this is gross -- that me having to bite my fist so as not to scream when doing #2's and bleeding out my ass was caused by the vitamins. So then all was well. My recovery with Quinn was a cinch. If I had had that experience first, I would have known instantly after having Henry that something was very wrong. Just like the remodel. You need to know what "normal" is in order to recognize when something is not.

But back to the title of this post. The new guy says he is drywalling the damaged walls (caused by the old guy) this week, and I believe him! So we had to clear out the entire Toy Room. I took this as an opportunity to get rid of every crap ass toy that we have. Anything that was slightly broken, that got on my nerves, that the boys never played with, or that I had some other ill will toward, I put in the alley. There were five large bags of toys sitting out there by the time I was done. They were gone the next day.* We are now down to only a few toys that they boys actually play with and enjoy (which should be how it was to begin with, but we all know that you can't make it through bdays and xmas without friends and relatives piling on the junk. Plus I have made some bad purchases myself.)

* That is one of the perks to living near Mexico, by the way. Putting Stuff In Alley = Instant Charitable Donation To Family In Mexico.

And the Toy Room is clean. This may all have been worth it just for that!

And So Comes MORE Laundry

2006-02-19T13:17:00.000-08:00

You know those shirts that say "Soccer is Life" or things of that nature? I want one that says "Laundry is Life." Because it seems to take up about 80% of MY life.

We already had plenty of clothes to wash. So we didn't necessarily NEED Henry to wet his bed last night. And we really would have been quite fine without Quinn throwing up in his bed 4 times the night before that. Does Tide have stock available?

The FANTASTIC news is that I have finally hired a housekeeper. Ever since we moved back into our 98% complete remodel, my allergies have been horrible. The boys seem to be sniffly all the time, too. So I finally threw in the towel and hired some help. Now that I am working, it seems we are all home just long enough to mess up the house, but not long enough to clean it, so having someone come weekly will be awesome. But the best part? SHE DOES LAUNDRY!!!! Can you sense how big the smile on my face is?

On a completely unrelated note, if you have two little boys who love money and love pirates, then have I got a game for you -- Pirate Money Hunt! The boys go sit in their "ships" (which are overturned kitchen chairs) and I hide tons of coins in one room of the house. Then the miniature mates go and search for their treasure. They love it! Of course Henry is so into video and computer games that he insists we have levels. So Level 1 is easy, Level 2 is trickier, Level 3 is where you hide the coins all in one place, etc. I should include two disclamiers, though:

Disclaimer 1: If your kids love this game as much as mine do, they will want to play it again and again and again until you are hating yourself for ever introducing it to them. So make sure you make the coins harder to find each time so that it takes them longer. Also, set a limit for the number of levels that you will do before you start. And be prepared to find coins later on, even days later, that you forgot about.

Disclaimer 2: Absolutely do NOT play this game if there is a child in your house who puts coins in his or her mouth. This is kind of a no-brainer, but I just want to avoid any potential lawsuits. Oh, and don't play this game while holding a blow dryer in the bath, either.

My Children, My Mirror

2006-02-12T16:49:00.000-08:00

Quinn has this weird habit of saying "I don't know" to questions and then immediately answering them. Here is a typical conversation with him:

Me: What is that you are holding, Quinn?

Quinn: I don't know. A ball.

Me: What are you going to do with it?

Quinn: I don't know. Bounce it.

Me: What color is it?

Quinn: I don't know. Red.

HERE is the conversation I had with my mother-in-law the other day:

MIL: Have you noticed how Quinn always say "I don't know" before he gives an answer? Do you think he really know what that means?

Me: I don't know. I think he knows what it means because he uses it correctly a lot, so maybe it is just a weird habit he somehow formed.

Did you catch what just happened there? HE GETS IT FROM ME!! My mother-in-law burst into laughter when she heard me do it, which is what brought it to my attention. I thought it might be a fluke, but no, I catch myself doing it about ten times a a day. For instance, Henry will ask where the crayons are, and I will say, "I don't know. In the toy room." It is like a disease. I can't stop doing it. How have I done this my whole life and never noticed? I don't know. I guess I just have.

So what say you people? Have you ever noticed your children doing something odd, only to discover they learned it from you? They learned it by watching you! (In case you missed it, that last line there was a reference to a very cheesy 80's anti-drug commercial. Does anyone else remember that commercial?)

Henry Is On To Me

2006-02-11T20:52:00.000-08:00

Ever since his birthday, Henry has been obsessed with money. He received a grand total of $65 from various relatives for his big 0-5, and he instantly fell in love with those green little presidents. I agreed to start giving him an allowance of $5 a week, with the understanding that he would buy any and all toys that he wanted with it. In other words, I would no longer buy him the newest version of Power Ranger crap, but if his heart desired it, he need only to dig into his tin of dough.

So we have made it through several weeks now where I give him $5 every Friday. He asks EVERY single day if it is the day he gets money! And so far I have been good about handing over the 5-spot every Friday. Flash forward to today. He asked if today was the day he got money from me, and I said that I meant to give it to him yesterday but forgot. I said that I was not sure if I had money in the house, but I would look and see if I could find any. I couldn't find any, so I quite cleverly (I THOUGHT) snuck into his money tin and retrieved a $5 bill. When I gave it to Henry, he looked me right in the eye and said, "Did you just go get this from my money bank?" I said, "Oh no, I just found it in my purse!" He bought it, but honestly, how did it even occur to him that I would do that??!! I am in bigtime trouble when he is a little older if he is already onto my piggy bank break-in! I don't know whether to be ashamed of myself, proud of him, or just plain terrified. Probably a little bit of all three.

Why Working Rocks

2006-02-06T21:15:00.000-08:00

Why Working Rocks:

I am so glad that I stayed home for five years with my children. You know why? Because now I realize just how easy working is!!! Sure, teaching high school involve tons of paperwork and grading and lots of time trying to figure out the best way to communicate with and motivate a group of rebellious teens. BUT I still say it is far easier than spending all day with two little active boys. AND the best part is that my kids seem much cuter now! Something about not spending EVERY waking moment of every day with two whipper-snappers who are great BUT whine and hit and destroy and ask 20,000 questions ALL DAY LONG makes them much more tolerable. Even adorable. Not that they can't still make me lose my mind, but I can take a lot more whining and crying before I get to that point. I think after five years at home I just could no longer "see the forest for the trees." Of course, in that analogy, Henry and Quinn would be the forest and all of the whining and such would be the trees, but it seems H and Q make better trees than a forest, so maybe I should say that I couldn't see the trees for the forest. Is this making sense to anyone besides me? If not, here is the bottom line: Working makes me appreciate my kiddos so much more, and my kiddos make me appreciate working so much more. Yin and Yang.

STILL sick

2006-02-01T20:40:00.000-08:00

Quinn is sick. Still. Today he had a 102 fever, a cough, and the neverending runny nose is still around, too. So I took him to work with me this morning, set my classroom up with an independent activity for the students, and promptly got the hell out of there before he infected the entire campus. He was so hot that he was radiating heat. He was standing about four inches from me while I knelt beside him and I could literally feel heat surrounding him. So sad. But as I have mentioned before, the one good thing about a kid with a high fever is that they are SO easy! And mellow! Despite the fact that I stayed home from work with a sick child, it was such an easy day! Did I mention the 3 hour nap? Obviously, I feel awful for the little guy, but it was so nice to have a whole day of quiet!

Henry is the only one in the family that is not sick. The rest of us have been fighting this damn bug for two weeks. Henry has changed so much in the last few days. It is almost as if turning 5 has biologically changed him. He listens better, he helps out more, he is somewhat calmer, and even put his PJ's on by himself without a fight! THAT is huge! I am hoping this is a permanent change and not a fluke, but part of me knows better. Still, one can dream.

But back to Q. He is now on antibiotics. Again. Didn't we just finish the last round of the orange stuff like three seconds ago? With everything I've read, I REALLY hate putting him on that stuff again, but when your kid has been sick for two weeks and gets WORSE all of a sudden, what can you do? So ten long days of Zithromax AGAIN. Thank goodness Q is good about taking it. Those baby days of medicine when I had to pin the boys down and force-feed it down their throats were so not cool. Now, lo and behold, they can drink their medicine all by themselves! It's the little things that count.

HALF a Decade???!!!

2006-01-31T21:21:00.000-08:00

Henry is officially 5. I am officially freaked. That is half a decade, people. How did this happen? Don't get me wrong. Five is WAY better than three. But he is so big. No baby fat, no chubby cheeks, no missed syllables in words. I love it though, I really do. He is such a PERSON now. We can have such great conversations. Yesterday, he became fascinated with the human heart and the skeleton, and we talked a lot about all of the bones of the body and all of the parts of the heart. Also, the past few days we have been playing Gobblet Jr. and Blokus (both are fun board games) and he is good! And in some cases actually has a strategy. What really freaked me out was when QUINN won at Gobblet Jr. I am sure(?) that that was just a coincidence.

But as a tribute to Henry, my darling, crazy, handsome, affectionate, nutty, silly, sweet boy, here is a list of the wonderful things about him. The things that I should focus on every day (read "I actually focus a lot of energy on the other things he does that annoy the shit out of me and make me want to do a WWF wrestling maneuver on his sorry, whiny ass, but since this is his tribute I am going to stay positive"):

Henry is affectionate to a fault. He would make out with me if I let him (I don't, obviously).

Henry is very concerned about moving out of our house as an adult. When he was upset yesterday because his teacher never taught him about skeletons and hearts ( which is the reason we looked them up and studied them), he proclaimed that he wanted to be a teacher when he grew up. But that he still wanted to live with me. He has told me quite often that he wants to live with me forever, but up until now his career choice was to be a chef. Regardless of his career choice, that boy loves his mama!

Henry honest to goodness let Quinn help open all of his birthday presents and blow out his candles. And it was his own suggestion.

Henry is HANDSOME. Gorgeous, truly. I would post a picture, but I am too terrified of kiddie porn sites, plus you would all be so transfixed by his beauty that you would spend the rest of your day mesmerized by his Zeus-like image on your screen.

Henry is NOT a victim of peer pressure. Sometimes this works against us because I can never pull the whole, "Kenny gets himself dressed so you can, too" thing, but I am hoping that when Kenny passes Henry a Marlboro ten years from now Henry will be like, "No dude, I don't want that cancer stick. You're so lame."

Henry keeps me on my toes. He questions everything. He never, not once, takes "Just because" or "Because I said so" as an answer. He wants to know every single thing that he can about this world.

Henry is so amazing. Despite my wanting to wring his persistent little neck 20 times a day, he truly is a wonderful child. He has such confidence about himself with adults and children alike. His questions and observations amaze me on a daily basis.

Henry made me a mom. Before him, I was just me. Not Mommy, just Callie. I raised him, but he also raised me. He forever changed me.

Happy birthday Henry! You re loved!

Tomorrow: A post on all of the things that annoy the shit out of me and make me want to do a WWF wrestling maneuver on Henry's sorry, whiny ass. Kidding.