Let Me Tell Ya'll What it's Like Being Male, Middle Class and White

"Darwin, eat your potatoes and pork chop."

"I no like pork chop! I no like potatoes. I want vegetables. And corn. Big corn. More corn!"

"No, no more vegetables and corn until your eat your potatoes and pork chop."

"No Mommy! More vegetables!"

"You may have more vegetables and corn on the cob if you eat some of your potatoes and pork chop."

"No!"

"Would you rather go to bed?"

"Yes. But I no like the crib. I want a big boy bed."

"Huh?"

"I want a big boy bed. Like Griffin's bed."

Shit.


First the bottle fairy comes and now this? No more crib? What?

Aaron tried to strike a deal, Darwin goes pee pee in the potty, we'll buy you a big boy bed. Yeah, Darwin's not going for it. The diaper fairy may have to visit for that to happen.

But he still wants a big boy bed.


Where the hell did my baby go?


There's no baby left in there. ::sob::

And My Weakness is That I Care Too Much

On Saturday I got the worst haircut of my life.

Okay, maybe it doesn't beat that time in junior high, on picture day, when I decided to trim my bangs and I ended up scalping myself. But, IT COMES DAMN CLOSE.

My hairdresser and I have one firm rule: my hair must be able to be pulled into a ponytail. In the very least, piggy tails.

So when I told her to "lop it off" and "make it manageable," I most certainly didn't mean "make me look like William Sledd, BUT WITHOUT THE PRETTINESS."



But oh my hell, I can't do anything with it.


Me: Why can't I get a damn decent picture of myself? OH YEAH, RIGHT -- BAD HAIRCUT.

Aaron: It's not that bad.

Me: Yes, it is.

Aaron: No, it's not. Instead of being a ten, it's like a nine.

Me: You FORGOT TO ADD THE NEGATIVE.

Aaron: No really, it's not that much different.

Me: So, what your telling me is THAT MY HAIR ALWAYS LOOKS LIKE SHIT.

Griffin: Mommy, your hair is ugly now.

Darwin: I no like it Mommy! Put it back, put it back!


Oh my hell, it self feathers.

So, if anyone wonders? I'll be lying in bed listening to The Cure for the next six months while my hair grows out.

Down the Drain Like Molten Toothpaste

Is it possible to die from crafting? Like, the craft is killing you?


I guess I grossly underestimated how much time hand quilting the pillow top would take. I also underestimated how much I'd hate the damn project when I'm about half way down with it.

You know, if I put this much time into something I expect some sort of benefits when I'm done. Like, it should fart one hundred dollar bills. Or take me to Italy and find me countless Italian lovers. Or scrub my damn floors. You know, something extremely important like that.

I Don't Mind You Coming Here and Wasting All My Time (Time)

The fringe benefit to taking a ridiculous amount of medicine is the ridiculous amount of droppers and cups there is to have "science experiments" with.


Griffin's mouth is doing better. Not great but better.

And I'm saving you all from anymore photo-documentation of that because that last photo was nothin' compared to what it looked like in real life. Squeamish much?

The dentist claims he did not use any latex-y products on Griffin but, come on, there's no way that sore was caused "by biting his mouth" either.

I Still Don't Have the Reason

As my dad exited the bathroom, Darwin began yelling, "Grandpa! You're alive! You're alive!"

Dum, Dum, Dum it's the Sound of My Gun

After going to the chiropractor last night (which? I'm still fantastically amazed at how much getting adjusted helps my anxiety problems), I stopped by my friend's house to visit for awhile.

Shortly after I arrived, her new boyfriend called and decided to stop over for a few minutes.

He came in, sat down and pulled out a gun. My friend and I were listening to her four-year old son telling us a story. Next thing I know the crazy boyfriend is waving a gun around the room.

Now, I don't know what the fuck possessed him to pull a gun out of his back pocket but he scared the holy shit out of me.

Seriously? Seriously? Why in the fuck would someone pull a gun out? To show off? Seriously?

He unlocked the gun, counted his bullets and put it back together. Then he made a big stink about his supposed Super Awesomeness because he carries a gun with him where ever he goes and he? Does Not Have A Safety On His Gun.

Now, okay, I get it. It's his right, blah-dee-fucking-dah, to carry a gun on himself. But without a safety? And to pull it out in front of a four year old child and count the bullets? Seriously?

I find it really fucking odd that in this day and age, with our personal freedoms being stripped from our government under the code of "protecting" us from "terrorism" dumbfucks like this one are allowed to carry a gun with them, a gun without a safety, and have the "personal right" to pull it out whenever they so choose and flash it around.

After he left my friend asked me what I thought about him.

I told her he seemed to be fucking psycho and I'd dump his ass. Oh my fuck.

Anxiety Was Bringing Me Down

Ever get so bogged down with the daily schematics of life that you wish you could just vomit all the anxiety out of yourself?

Unfortunately, THAT NEVER QUITE WORKS OUT FOR ME.

And don't think I have tried. Puking is a very cleansing ritual for me.

We are in the midst of some financial reconstruction over here. Dealing with the fallout of massive medical bills (nothing we aren't use to, they are just so much). Talking of new ways to making our finances grow, making our debts shrink, changing the way we spend money.

You know, dealing with the stuff in life that makes being an adult suck ass.

Hey, look! An actual zinnia!

In other news, Griffin has become obsessed with something new...

"Mommy? If I win? I want you to walk around in your underpants all day."

"Huh?"

"I want you to walk around in your underpants all day."

"Uh... why do you want me to walk around in my underpants all day?"

"Because I want you to."

Uh... is this part of the whole Oedipus complex thing? Because I just can't figure this shit out.

Also, am I the only damn person that didn't spend the weekend reading Potter? I went the slacker-nerdy way and read the whole damn synopsis over at Wikipedia on Saturday morning. I haven't read any of the other books (slacker!) but I was dying to know what happened (nerd!).

Storming Through the Party Like My Name Was El Niño

On Tuesday Griffin got three (three!) cavities filled at the dentist.

Yeah, dude, you can totally thank your father for that set of genetics.

After the appointment, he was a little puffy and sore. I indulged him in unlimited smoothies and popsicles.

Yesterday morning Griffin's lip was really fat. Fatter than it had been Tuesday. But, you know, oh well.

By the afternoon, though, it was totally disgusting. It was white in the center and you could see the swollenness from outer space. The Mars Rover was actually able to pick up pictures from it.

So, I called the dentist and heard a lot of it's totally normal and it takes one to two weeks for the swelling to go down and it's totally normal and that's the way it happens some time and it's totally normal.

And by this morning, ::sigh:: there's no way this is totally normal.


Dude, it's green in the center. Green. Gross. Even for me, dude, that's disgusting.

So I called the dentist again. You know what they said? Totally normal.

Ah, dude, I don't think so.

(Yes, antibiotics are being called in. And we usually don't even use antibiotics. But we sure as hell are using them today. Gah.)

I Got Some News to Tell Ya (Woahoho) About Some Wild, Wild Life

This week we have the boys enrolled in Harry Potter camp.

You got to love the Unitarian's answer to Vacation Bible School.

On Monday evening after shopping for all things wizard-y (including light up wands, YES, I SAID LIGHT UP WANDS) all the children who hadn't attended Hogwarts before had to be sorted into classes via The Sorting Hat.

(This would be a good time to mention that, duh, I'm taking pictures all week but because the photos mostly have faces of other people, I'm a little sparse in my photo-heavy-post-ability.

I guess we can say it adds to the mystery.)

Now, guess which house my children were selected to go to. Go ahead, GUESS.

Slytherin.

I can't decide if I'm really proud or really embarrassed.

And I'm assuming their house selection has absolutely nothing to do with how evil I made them sound on their information sheet. None. At. All.

After being sorted into their respective houses, the next step was for each house to come up with their house rules (such as no using wands as sword and no casting unforgivable spells and my constant asking of respect your elders) and work on decorating their robes.

Oh yeah, I said decorating their robes.

This means tie-dying t-shirts in your house colors.


Which for us, means green and black.

Last night, the children attended two class -- Fairy Class, where we learned all about fairies (did you know that gnomes are fairies?) (also, Darwin had great fun telling everyone how the Bottle Fairy came to our house and took away all his bottles this weekend. And yes, he yelled and his face turned red and he's still really upset at that damn Bottle Fairy. Which, turns out, isn't much a fairy at all and more of a Bogle; go figure) and Defense Against the Dark Arts Class, where we learned all about being safe (and watched a video that made me want to stab my eyes out, oh my Buddha).

Then, they ended the night with a fantastic game of Quidditch.

And yes, I think this whole ordeal is more exhausting for the adults than it is for the children.

Might Have Known What You Would Find

During dinner...

"Darwin, are you pooping?"

::Grunting::

"Darwin? Are you you pooping?"

::Grunting and turning red::

"Darwin? What you're doing right now? That's called GOING POOP."

::Sigh, silence:: "Pooooooooooooop!"

"Congratulations."

"Big poop! Big poop! BIIIIIIIIIIGGGG POOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOPPPP!"

"Where?"

"In my diaper! Big poop! Big Poop! In my diaper, big poop!"

"Yeah, maybe you'll start using the potty now."

"Run! Run! Run everybody! Poop in my diaper! Run! RUN! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! BIG POOP IN MY DIAPER!"

Some Postman is Grooving to All Our Love Letters

Before I announce the winner of my give away, isn't this pretty?


It's three meters of vintage Liberty fabric celebrating Suzie Sews' 100th post. Isn't it luscious? Puuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrr.

Okay, now to my give away.

I found a random number generator (because, you know, I have to do this in the laziest and nerdiest way possible) and entered had it pick one number from 1 - 39 (because I shamelessly left a comment begging Diana for some irises, so my comment doesn't count as a number) and the generator picked...


... number 16 who ended up being Lera!

Thank you, everyone, for reading and commenting!

I Would Walk Five Hundred Miles and I Would Walk Five Hundred More

Today is my 500th post.

::blink, blink::

Holy shit, that's a lot.

Summer is kicking my ass, so I'm not going to to a gushy-gushy here's all the stuff I've learned from doing this post. I'll save that for when I reach my two-year anniversary in August. Maybe. Did I mention summer is kicking my ass?

So, how about a give away instead?

Anyone fancy a give away?


I've got two thrifted... cups? Is that a good descriptive word for them? Tea cups? Beverage holders that certainly are not mugs? How's that?

Anyway, I've got two of those, a sweet little zippered pouch and three button magnets.


Rules... rules... rules... oh please, I've never been one to care for rules all that much. Leave a comment (hey, that's a pretty good rule)... I'll do a drawing on Monday morning. Oh! And you have to be willing to email me with your postal address. Yeah, that's enough rules.

Did I mention summer is kicking my ass? It's wiping the floor with it too.

Like Disco Lemonade

While we were at the craft store today, Darwin noticed some Finding Nemo fabric. Which he threw a hissy fit insisted he get.

Then Griffin found some Star Wars fabric that he had to have too.

"Why do you have to have it, Griffin?"

"Because I need it."

"Whatcha gonna do with it?"

"I don't know yet."

"So then why do you need it?"

"It's for my stash."

Ahem. Spoken like a true fabric junkie.


I will not comment about my reason being at the craft store having anything to do with finding more buttons. Or buying more magnets. Furthermore, I will not comment about whether or not I purchased all the magnets in the size I like and inquired when they would get more in.

She Pretended Not to Notice She Was Caught Up in the Race

You know, if one person in this damn house gets sick you're guaranteed at least one more person is going to get it. But it is the same? Oh, hell to the no. It has to be different. Like exploding diarrhea. Where you're chasing a three year old around the house screaming leaky diaper! leaky diaper! must change the diaper! and does that three year old listen?

NO. He giggles instead.

And then you're forced to clean up piddles all over the floor and then people wonder why you don't have a dog and you're wondering why in the fuck you haven't pulled up all the carpet already to expose hardwood floors because in situations such as these, who really gives a fuck if the hardwoods aren't perfect? They are hardwood floors and not piddled-stained carpet that requires foamy chemicals to get clean instead of a damn damp cloth.

::clearing throat::

Anyway. Yesterday I decided I had to do something. You know what something is, right? That feeling of making something that is nearly instantaneous but functional and pretty because there's got to be something good in this miserable life of having your home smell like poo.

Right? Right.

So I got out my hot glue gun (actually, I had to buy a new one because I couldn't find my other ones; I swear, my house feeds on hot glue guns) and some magnets and dumped out my jar of miscellaneous buttons.


Whew. Isn't that better?

I mean, it's not as great as not wiping a poopy butt 83 times in a day but hey, it's something, right?

She's an Easy Lover, She'll Get a Hold on You Believe it, Like No Other, Before You Know it You'll be on Your Knees

I spent the entire weekend sleeping. With intermittent puking.

There's something about being sick that makes me want to constantly have sex.

"Seeeeeeeeeeeeeeexxxxxx. Lllllllaaaaaaassaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiddddd. Oooooooorrrrrrrgggggaaassssssssmmmmm."

Of course, Aaron never wants to oblige. He's all ewwww, you're sick, noooooooo. Which really? Is quite rude. I mean, after all, it is his Husbandly Duty to, you know, do that.

And besides, the rush of adrenaline makes me feel better.

Of course, he claims it's the germs taking hold of me and trying to infest him. Which? Pshaw, as if I care about that.

Summer, Summer, Summertime (Ooooh, Summertime) Time to Sit Back and Unwind

Hey, remember when I planted 200 zinnia seeds on the side bed of my house? Remember?

Wanna see what it looks like now?


Hey! Where's my fucking zinnias? Oh, wait... one... two... three... THREE?! Three? That's all I got? Three motherfucking zinnias and an assload of weedy grass?

Well, let's see the back garden where I planted 150 zinnia seeds back there...


What. The. Fuck? None? Zero? Zilch.

I guess I shouldn't complain as much, since I don't have to weed it either. But holy shit, this sucks some major donkey balls.

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"Hey, Mommy?"

"Yes, Griffin?"

"Daddy is the Golden Parent.... and you're the Mud Parent."

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When Aaron was on his big ass three week business trip, I made him go to the Lego store. Yes, made him. Everyday I was hounding him, "Did you go today? Why didn't you go today? You're not coming home without Legos and no, Legos from any old store will not do."

So, on the day before coming home he finally went to the Lego store to get us presents.

For the boys...


... an airplane (six dollars! SIX DOLLARS!) and a dragon (a buck fiftty! ONE DOLLAR AND FIFTY CENTS!).

And for me...


... a magnetic notepad, Lego magnets and two pull-them-apart-tools (to help you pull stuck tiny Legos apart).

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I have been diligently working on hand-quilting my pillow top. I now totally understand why the people at the quilt store freaked out. It is taking forever. But I am really enjoying it, even though I'm not making as much progress as I'd like.

Turns out I don't sit on my ass all that much anymore.


It took a while to figure out stitching technique, so there's a wide variety of stitch lengths and what-not.


But I finally found my groove.

I seriously doubt that I'm even half-way done with my quilting. Gah. I really thought this would be an easy-peasy project.

Careless in Our Summer Clothes, Splashing Around in the Muck and the Mire

What's that saying? The road to hell is paved with good intentions?


Yesterday we intended on taking the boys to see the fireworks. For the first time ever.


And I intended on barbequeing a huge meal.


But Mother Nature had a completely different idea.


Gah.


So we rolled with it.


Which? I'm actually not so good with that.


But the boys had a blast.


Of course, it cleared up to a beautiful, cool evening. And the children completely passed out before we could even discuss seeing the fireworks.

Oh well. Next year, perhaps.

I Wish Uncle Sam Would Give a Damn About the Man Who's Collar's Blue

On this July 4th, I thought I would try to find something nice to say about my country, find some reason why I should be proud to be an American given how our government has been behaving the past few years.

So... um... hem... ::drumming fingers:: um... yeah... give me a moment... I'm thinking... um... um... think, Laura, think.... um... um... um...

I heart Obama.

And I'm really looking forward to elections next year.

And we should impeach Bush.

And I Could Purge My Soul Perhaps for the Imminent Collapse

I need a nap.

Whew, I'm exhausted.

Birthday party: good.


Gluten-free vanilla cupcakes with vanilla buttercream: awesome.

Additionally three pounds: not-so-awesome.

Visit with the in-laws: amazingly enjoyable.

Having Aaron home: TOTALLY ROCKS.

Not getting breakfast in bed: SUCKS ASS.

Finally having the full-fledge party for Darwin's birthday: great.


Having a tent in our living room now: meh.