Mission Impossible I

Your assignment, Mr. Husband:
Stop by Costco.

The Plan:
Procure steaks. No toys this time. No. Toys. The last time you went there, you got Mr. Preschool a 20 foot tall waterslide, although he already had an 18 foot tall waterslide. The excuse? It was better. And it had Shamu on it?!?!?!

Focus, Mr. Husband, focus. Enter door. Grab steaks. Check out. Exit.

See Plan Details:

Go!

beep-beep-beep-beeeeeeeeeeeeeeep!



MISSION FAILURE !

See actual execution of plan:

Key:
S = Superman Bike for 3 year old
A = Artichokes. Massive package of enormous artichokes.
P = Phonics. Huge Hooked on Phonics software package. Humongous. Huge.
I = Ipod. For Mommy. And Mommy gets the Ipod for real. For real, ya'll! For Mommy!

He did get the steaks though. And hamburger meat. And slabs of ribs. And pork chops. And prime rib, which he cooked last night.

Although this was all nice, I swear I'm going to have to ground him from his Costco card! Mr. Husband at Costco is like a Mommy at Target.

Even in My Fantasies, I'm Pathetic

My kids and I were waiting our turn in the doctor's lobby. Mr. Preschool was playing with another boy his age in the children's play area. The boy's Mom looked at me and asked me what I was thinking (as I was sitting there in the usual daze because I don't talk to anyone, I'm shy like that). I told her that I was thinking about going home to make jack-in-the-box cupcakes. She said that sounded fun and wanted to know if I needed help, because she wanted to learn how. I looked at her wearing just a t-shirt and shorts, really casual. Not a total Mrs. Perfectly Coifed and Dressed to the Nines just to go to the freaking doctor. She looked sweet and perky and she was nice and she wanted to make cupcakes with me! At my house! And bring her kiddo to play with mine. Lovely, just divine! I told her that my house was a mess, and she said, "Great, a real Mom, too, huh?" I was in heaven. My mind started looking forward to her sitting at the bar chair in my kitchen, where we'd talk and giggle and laugh and be the bestest of the bestest of friends.

"The sun woke up."

Oh great, it's The Sun Woke Up Police. Mr. Preschool is announcing that he needs juice and breakfast.

It was only a dream, and I am quite annoyed that I am being awakened from a really awesome dream. I really want to turn over and revel in the fantasy of that dream.

Darn.

I miss my best friend of 20++ years, who apparently, for whatever reason, decided that her life needed to to go on without me in it. And didn't bother to tell me.

Oh, the Things That You Will Google

Oh, the things that you will google as a parent. Like every color of poop imaginable. Or will a watermelon grow in my son's tummy if he swallows a seed? Really goofy stuff, half of which you probably know the answer to if you just listen to yourself. But, alas.

My latest parental surfing on the internet began with this on my shirt:
Is that a failed home craft project where most of the beads came off in the wash? Is it a failed tie-dye? Is it permanent marker made by Mr. Preschool on Mommy's favorite shirt? Did the baby sneeze food all over Mommy? Is it blood from Mommy biting her lip to keep her from muttering half of the things she is tempted to say?

If you guessed the baby sneezing, you were close. He has done that to me, too. But lately, he is into blowing raspberries during feeding time.....sometimes. Just when I thought he's wasn't going to do it again, without warning, I got sprayed with bananas/plums/grapes. While biting my lip, I started wondering what Moms without a washer in the house do - how long do they have to wait to get to the laundromat? And I started wondering what people in other countries do who don't have the same amenities? Then I drifted into wondering if babies blow raspberries in other cultures anyway, when exposed to any language?

So, I googled something like "babies raspberries all cultures". The first tip I got was that a raspberry was a bilabial trill, which perhaps was also the "Bronx Cheer". But I got confused because there were other trills. There was a coronal trill, a uvular trill, and an alveolar trill. There were symbols for the trill in the International Phonetic Alphabet. There were symbols for the trill in sheet music.

I was sure the answer was in there somewhere, but it had gone too far. Suddenly, I didn't care. The only thing that mattered was what I knew when I listened to myself. I knew that it didn't matter where or when or how many babies made raspberries or trills or spit-ups or sneezes because my babies did and do it all much cuter. So, off I went to watch the kids being cute. End of googling.

Now, from experience, if I had been googling green, brown, yellow, red-tinged, or orange poop, I'd still be surfing. Trust me, I've done it. I've never googled purple poop, though. But, I can tell you this:

I never saw purple poop,
I never hope to see it.
But I can tell you anyhow,
I'd rather not see it
Or google it.

Some Movies are Must-Sees

If you are a parent, or are thinking about becoming one, don't miss this movie, Parenthood.

It's about this fictional family:



It never ceases to surprise me, make me giggle, and make me cry. Hmmm, kind of like a roller coaster.

Be certain to listen to the wise advice from Grandma. She may be a little senile, but about life, she gets it. She just gets it.

I Bedded Johnny Depp!

And I took a picture to prove it.

See! There he is. In MY bed. *Sigh*. What a gentle lovahhhhhhhhh. His caress, so light, I didn't feel it. He cuddled with me all night. He didn't snore. He didn't leave me with some sorry excuse about having to earn a hidden treasure in the morning. There are so many things that he didn't do. (Now, that's a bummer.) But, what a gentleman. He didn't even bother my husband. He didn't pirate his side of the bed, or mine.

Yeah, I'm a little desperate here. It's the closest I'll ever get, I'm thinking.

But wait, I'm not the only desperate member of this family! There are 3 others:

1. My three year old wants to get a shot at the doctor's office so that he can get a toy.

2. My husband desperately wants me to get over it already and trust someone to baby-sit the kids while we go to see "Pirates of the Caribbean - Dead Man's Chest". Probably because I'd be feeling a little amorous after we got home. Heh.

3. My 7 month old, well, he's desperate for something. And has been pretty much since he was born. He's been crying for it ever since. I still haven't figured it out. Arg, Matey! If I knew what treasure ye seek, by now, I would have plundered the Smithsonian for ye!

Wonder Woman Makes Robin

I made a Robin costume for my 3 year old identity-crisis-ridden, ever-changing SuperHero a couple of days ago.

I just pulled out his red t-shirt that he's outgrowing anyway and wrote on it with a yellow fabric pen that I just happened to possess and a black sharpie. Just went after it. And I drew the perfect circle, freehand:

Ok, so it's not mathematically, geometrically, architecturally, or whatever perfect. But my gosh, that was goooooood! I've never drawn a perfect circle in my whole damned life. Killer.

I followed-up with a yellow cape, etc., then Robin and I and baby went to town twice. Not only did Robin get a lot of attention, but many, many times, Mommy heard something like "Good going, Mom", "Great job, Mom", "Wow, that is so cute, Mom". And Robin told one such observer that I was Wonder Woman.

Awwwwwww. Not only was I SuperMom for a brief shiny moment, I was SuperHero Mom.

Robin, you so totally rock. I'm so glad I created you with my Super-Uterine Powers.

New House Rule

For now on.....

No matter who you are. No matter how old or what sex or how long you have known the family, or what amount of distance you live across the street when you fired-up your weed-eater, or what continent you live on across the phone wires when you called during naptime.......

If you wake up the baby.........

You will immediately grow lactating boobs, purge your system of any harmful medications or skin creams and certain foods that bother the baby, pick up the baby, and nurse him back to sleep. After 7 months of doing this myself, it's your turn. Immediately drop whatever you were in the middle of doing, you now have to figure out how to do that during the allotted time that you don't have to allot. Just like I do. You broke it, you fix it. I had that baby asleep.

And furthermore, depending on the severity of the the infraction incurred when you woke up said baby.....if you deserve it.....a three year old will SuperHero-jump-plunge himself into your chest, nailing you in the breast department. As a lactating beast, you will discover that this hurts like a mofo. And it has hurt like a mofo for seven. freaking. months.

Posted By:
Mommy During a Recent Meltdown

You Can't Change Film with a Kid on Your Back

Remember those Roger Miller lyrics from "You Can't Roller Skate in a Buffalo Herd"? Well, I used to think that all of those lyrics were just silly. The thing about not being able to do jack-crap with your kid hanging all over you, well, that wasn't wacky. That was the stone cold truth. Did he have kids before he wrote that? Just wondering, as I try to blog with a kid on my lap....

You can't type your blog with a kid on your lap....I'll be going now.

Friday Night Real Life Horror Picture Show: The Reunion

My thanks to the writers of The Friday Night Real Life Horror Picture Show for sparing my character, the wife, from cinematic harm.

I'm not quite sure who came home Saturday night. Perhaps someone akin to Lloyd's sister? (The one who couldn't decide to be in a good mood and just be in a good mood.) Or maybe it was my transitional person, the one that we gals seem to get involved with after we've left the bad guy that we knew was not good for us, the one we were seeing before we met Mr. Right. Y'know?

But, thankfully, I woke up once again with Lloyd Sunday morning. The one that let me sleep in as much as possible, paid bills, worked for 6 hours, took the oldest to the pool, cooked dinner, then made-up with Mommy. Or, to be more accurate, made-out. That Lloyd, he's a charmer.

Friday Night Real Life Horror Picture Show

Last night, Lloyd Dobler did not come home.













Instead, I was greeted by this:








In case I do not post in the next few days, you can just guess who walked through the door again and what happened next!

2 Little Ducks

Two little ducks that I do know
One's height high and one's height low.
The highest duck had swimming lessons today.
And both were great, yes I must say.

But the highest duck had nature call
And had to end class and that was all,
But not quite all, my arms must say......
'Cuz I had to hold all 20 pounds of the low one, wrigging in the air as I tried to get off the wet swimming trunks of the higher one who couldn't do it himself because they were stuck and decided he couldn't get on the potty wet and there I was wrestling them both, lifting the high one while holding the low one, without putting the low one on the nasty wet floor and my arms are killing me still now and that was quite a workout and I will be damned sure next time that all the peepee is gone before we leave the house again even though I thought I did the first time.........
And we all went home and got a snack, snack, snack!