Originally posted 2/24/06
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I'm always amazed at the things kids say and the names they come up with for things that they don't know the real names for.
I remember my oldest coming up to me one day in the kitchen when he was about 4 or so and saying, "Can I have some...," and then he made this sound that is something akin to an angry Sleestack (if you're younger than 35, you probably have absolutely no idea what I'm talking about here; go Google Land of the Lost. Stupid show from the early 70's. Let it be said, though, that, if you were a young lady back in the day, you wanted nothing more to be chased by dinosaurs and rescued from Sleestack by Will. He was so hot!). I digress. So, my son makes this gargling/choking sound at me and I can't for the life of me figure it out. He just keeps repeating it. What I finally figure out is that he wants some whipped cream sprayed in his mouth. The choking sound being the sound that it makes when you spray the cream (God, that just didn't sound right).
There was also the night we were having homemade pizza. We like pineapple bits on our pepperoni pizza and, upon breaking out the container, Alex excitedly yells, "I know what those are! Those are pizza lemons!" Of course; what else would they be??
So, the other night, Ryan took his turn. The boys are getting ready for bed, doing the whole pj thing and, naturally, leaving their clothes wherever they see fit. It seems they believe that some magical vaccum comes and picks them up sometime within the next 24 hours and spits them out clean. In an effort to create children that are not complete and total slobs, though, we reminded them to pick them up and "take care of them". Ryan pipes up, "I know where they go; I know where they go! They go in the clothes toilet!" Exactly. Where else would you put clothing that your body has now defiled? The clothes toilet.
I'm so lucky. I've never heard anyone else say that they have a clothes toilet. I must be the first on my block. How rich am I?? I have three!!!
Thursday, April 2, 2009
A Smack In the Face
Originally posted 2/23/06; Ryan still won't play catch with anyone
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Don't know why I thought of this but this last summer Ryan did something that just cracked me up. My sister-in-law was over for dinner with her family and this is his very favorite aunt. Her name is Christina but Alex couldn't say that when he was little so she became Aunt Teenie and has been ever since. Well, Ryan loves Teenie almost more than me. He says he loves us both the same ("as big as the garage") but it is a pic of him as a baby with her that he has insisted on having in his room in a frame that says I ♥ My Mommy. Yes, a kick in the gut everytime I enter the room, but I'm learning to live with it.
So, she's here for dinner and we're bbq-ing and eating out on the back patio. While we're waiting for dinner to start, Ryan and Teenie go into the yard to play catch. He has a mitt that's just his size and she's using Barry's. He's done this before with other family members and did as well as most freshly turned (he'd let you know that, too; "freshly turned" he'd say after telling someone he was now 4) 4 year olds do. So, she is tossing the ball underhand to him and he does OK until about the third or fourth throw. Then it comes...the toss that he misses and hits him square in the face. This is a baseball, too. Not some twinky Nerf thing or a wiffleball or something.
It's worth noting here that Ryan is subject to fits of real anger. He's done it since before he could even say real words. He would scream at us in his babble and shake his finger at us and go on and on and then stomp out of the room. Just when you thought you were safe, he'd stick his head around the corner again and go at you again. Very much a "furthermore and another thing" type of deal. As he's gotten older, I swear the boy has been working on his arguing skills. He's got an argument for EVERYTHING.
So, he gets hit in the face and the sweet little boy that began playing catch with his beloved Teenie contorts into this evil little beast. Something akin to the movie Gremlins. His twisted little face looks at her and screams, "You hit me! You suck at this game!" And then he marches off. It was probably one of the most priceless moments in his little life. He hasn't played catch since.
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Don't know why I thought of this but this last summer Ryan did something that just cracked me up. My sister-in-law was over for dinner with her family and this is his very favorite aunt. Her name is Christina but Alex couldn't say that when he was little so she became Aunt Teenie and has been ever since. Well, Ryan loves Teenie almost more than me. He says he loves us both the same ("as big as the garage") but it is a pic of him as a baby with her that he has insisted on having in his room in a frame that says I ♥ My Mommy. Yes, a kick in the gut everytime I enter the room, but I'm learning to live with it.
So, she's here for dinner and we're bbq-ing and eating out on the back patio. While we're waiting for dinner to start, Ryan and Teenie go into the yard to play catch. He has a mitt that's just his size and she's using Barry's. He's done this before with other family members and did as well as most freshly turned (he'd let you know that, too; "freshly turned" he'd say after telling someone he was now 4) 4 year olds do. So, she is tossing the ball underhand to him and he does OK until about the third or fourth throw. Then it comes...the toss that he misses and hits him square in the face. This is a baseball, too. Not some twinky Nerf thing or a wiffleball or something.
It's worth noting here that Ryan is subject to fits of real anger. He's done it since before he could even say real words. He would scream at us in his babble and shake his finger at us and go on and on and then stomp out of the room. Just when you thought you were safe, he'd stick his head around the corner again and go at you again. Very much a "furthermore and another thing" type of deal. As he's gotten older, I swear the boy has been working on his arguing skills. He's got an argument for EVERYTHING.
So, he gets hit in the face and the sweet little boy that began playing catch with his beloved Teenie contorts into this evil little beast. Something akin to the movie Gremlins. His twisted little face looks at her and screams, "You hit me! You suck at this game!" And then he marches off. It was probably one of the most priceless moments in his little life. He hasn't played catch since.
She's Gone
Originally posted 2/21/06
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At about 12:27 am eastern time this morning, my dear Gram passed away. I am totally fine and at peace knowing she finally is. Knowing that she is finally, once again looking into the face of her dear son, my dad, that she put in the ground 4 years and 6 days ago.
My Gram was so wonderful and I got the very best of her when I was there recently. That Wednesday when I was there when she was such a chatterbox was the last good day she had and I got it. Selfish? Maybe. I'm OK with being selfish in regards to my time with her. She told me then that she always wanted to be a bird. I told her to spread her wings and just fly. She finally has and I can only guess that the view is full of colors this world has never seen.
Once again, I realize how blessed I am to have had this beautiful bird fly into my life.
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At about 12:27 am eastern time this morning, my dear Gram passed away. I am totally fine and at peace knowing she finally is. Knowing that she is finally, once again looking into the face of her dear son, my dad, that she put in the ground 4 years and 6 days ago.
My Gram was so wonderful and I got the very best of her when I was there recently. That Wednesday when I was there when she was such a chatterbox was the last good day she had and I got it. Selfish? Maybe. I'm OK with being selfish in regards to my time with her. She told me then that she always wanted to be a bird. I told her to spread her wings and just fly. She finally has and I can only guess that the view is full of colors this world has never seen.
Once again, I realize how blessed I am to have had this beautiful bird fly into my life.
The Art of Shopping
Originally posted 2/15/06; I'm not so sure that Ryan understands shopping any better now.
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So, yesterday, Ryan and I are out at JoAnn Fabric picking up 50% Valentine's Day stuff for our Cupid's Cafe dinner at home (don't roll your eyes; it was fun and was done mostly for the kids). I was hoping to find some little dish to put my homemade pink butter in but didn't find anything so we went over to Tuesday Morning. We go in and walk every single aisle in the store but don't find anything so we leave. We aren't even off the sidewalk in front of the store and he says to me, rather indignantly, "That's it? We went in there and aren't going to buy anything? What is that about?" I just looked at him and told him, "You're a boy. You don't understand the art of shopping."
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So, yesterday, Ryan and I are out at JoAnn Fabric picking up 50% Valentine's Day stuff for our Cupid's Cafe dinner at home (don't roll your eyes; it was fun and was done mostly for the kids). I was hoping to find some little dish to put my homemade pink butter in but didn't find anything so we went over to Tuesday Morning. We go in and walk every single aisle in the store but don't find anything so we leave. We aren't even off the sidewalk in front of the store and he says to me, rather indignantly, "That's it? We went in there and aren't going to buy anything? What is that about?" I just looked at him and told him, "You're a boy. You don't understand the art of shopping."
My Gram Is Dying
Originally posted 1/26/06; Gram passed close to a month after this being written. She would've turned 94 a couple of weeks ago. Gosh, I miss her.
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Life can be a real bitch sometimes. Watching someone you love die is worse. My gram is dying and I have to go say goodbye. How do you do that??? It's been nearly a year since I've seen her. Was in NY for her 90th birthday last March. She always said she would live to be 100 and we never doubted her. Cancer sucks.
My gram is a jewel. She is full of love and wrinkles. She is shorter than me and I love that. She holds your face with both hands when she kisses you. She rubs noses. She watches clouds and she's the best at it. She is full of mischief. She thinks she has a sister. She doesn't. She thinks the lady that takes care of her is nice. It's one of her own granddaughters and she doesn't remember her. She took me to Disneyworld when I was 12. Just me and her. She went on every ride with me and I still have the stuffed Thumper that she bought me. She is cool. Before Barry and I got married, she told me that we could live together as long as we wanted without getting married and even have babies and that was OK. My gram rocks. She tells the best stories. Even when she's talking nonsense. She helped me make my first snowman. I was 2 and it leaned to the side something awful but I have a picture of us with it just the same. When I was 2 she put a ball of yellow play-doh and a ball of blue play-doh in the can together and we closed it up tight right before I went to bed. In the morning there was a ball of green in there. My gram is magic, you know. My gram is dying and I have to say goodbye to her. My gram is the color pink when it is soft and and smells sweet. She is radiant when she wears that color. She is radiant even when she's wearing something else. My gram would fight tigers to protect her family. But she can't now. She loves ice cream. A lot. Me, too. She has the Hartman nose. So does my son Ryan. My gram loved my dad something fierce and misses him so much. So do I. She has grace and style like no woman I have ever met or heard of. She has a laugh that makes fairies giggle. She makes everyone that meets her fall in love with who she is. She's just that way. My gram is dying and I have to say goodbye to her. I don't even know if she'll know who I am.
Losing someone precious is like having your guts torn out. I leave on Sunday to fly east. I will have five days to tell her how much I love her and how much she means to me and how much I will miss her. How much I'm thankful for who she is and who she's made me. How do you say that to someone that doesn't even know you?
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Life can be a real bitch sometimes. Watching someone you love die is worse. My gram is dying and I have to go say goodbye. How do you do that??? It's been nearly a year since I've seen her. Was in NY for her 90th birthday last March. She always said she would live to be 100 and we never doubted her. Cancer sucks.
My gram is a jewel. She is full of love and wrinkles. She is shorter than me and I love that. She holds your face with both hands when she kisses you. She rubs noses. She watches clouds and she's the best at it. She is full of mischief. She thinks she has a sister. She doesn't. She thinks the lady that takes care of her is nice. It's one of her own granddaughters and she doesn't remember her. She took me to Disneyworld when I was 12. Just me and her. She went on every ride with me and I still have the stuffed Thumper that she bought me. She is cool. Before Barry and I got married, she told me that we could live together as long as we wanted without getting married and even have babies and that was OK. My gram rocks. She tells the best stories. Even when she's talking nonsense. She helped me make my first snowman. I was 2 and it leaned to the side something awful but I have a picture of us with it just the same. When I was 2 she put a ball of yellow play-doh and a ball of blue play-doh in the can together and we closed it up tight right before I went to bed. In the morning there was a ball of green in there. My gram is magic, you know. My gram is dying and I have to say goodbye to her. My gram is the color pink when it is soft and and smells sweet. She is radiant when she wears that color. She is radiant even when she's wearing something else. My gram would fight tigers to protect her family. But she can't now. She loves ice cream. A lot. Me, too. She has the Hartman nose. So does my son Ryan. My gram loved my dad something fierce and misses him so much. So do I. She has grace and style like no woman I have ever met or heard of. She has a laugh that makes fairies giggle. She makes everyone that meets her fall in love with who she is. She's just that way. My gram is dying and I have to say goodbye to her. I don't even know if she'll know who I am.
Losing someone precious is like having your guts torn out. I leave on Sunday to fly east. I will have five days to tell her how much I love her and how much she means to me and how much I will miss her. How much I'm thankful for who she is and who she's made me. How do you say that to someone that doesn't even know you?
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
We're So Spoiled
Originally posted 1/26/09 And we're still spoiled...
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I was doing laundry the other night. Alex had an entire drawer full of socks but none of the ones that he REALLY likes so I had promised to do a load of socks so that he'd have some of the right kind for the next morning. (sidebar - God, I'm whipped) So...I only remember this at something like 10 at night so I go through the house collecting all the socks and underwear and white t-shirts I can find and go throw them in the washer. No big thing; the washer takes something like a half hour or so to finish it's cycle and I'll still be up to switch the laundry to the dryer. So, dryer time comes and it's now nearly 11 at night and my washer/dryer is in my uninsulated garage. GADS!! It was cold out there!! And it's not like a typical load of laundry that has pants and shirts wrapping thier arms and legs around each other so that you can grab a handful of whatever and pull out a third of the load all at once. Oh, no, this is mainly socks. You know how it goes...you grab a handful, which really only amounts to about 4 socks if you're lucky, and then while trying to transfer it to the dryer, one will fall out of your little pile and land in the lint and crap that gathers on the floor in front of the machines.
Anyway, I'm standing there in the cold, throwing socks 2 at a time into the dryer and thinking to myself that it's just plain f-ing cold in there and that makes me think of Laura Ingalls Wilder. I know, "Where the hell is she going with this???" is what you're asking. It made me think of one of her books where she was talking about doing wash and Ma has put it out on the line to dry but it's so damn cold outside that the clothes all freeze and they have to bring in the frozen shirts and stuff and dry them by the fire. That sucks. Plus, if you know it's damn cold out, why are you putting the stuff out there on the line in the first place??? Duh? Do they not teach you that in pioneer school?
I digress...so, it gets me thinking about how spoiled we really are. Really, how long have we been living with microwaves? 20 years or so? That's really not that long. Can you imagine NOT having one, though? Answering machine? Cell phone? Email? Cable? VCR? Crap, vcr's are so "old" that they're almost obsolete now and I don't think I got my first one until something like '91! We are spoiled. My kids freak if I don't let them watch tv or play video games for a whole 4 hour stretch. "I'm so bored..." they whine. We're spoiled.
Imagine going on vacation to find that there was no blowdryer in the room, or, even worse, no little shampoos! Gasp!! We're spoiled. Imagine not turning on the computer everyday. Imagine only watching network tv for a whole week. Imagine cartoons only being on until 9 am on weekdays and 11 am on Saturday (don't even get me started on Sunday morning). Imagine having to watch re-runs of Star Trek, Adam 12, Emergency, Gilligan's Island and The Brady Bunch as your only after school entertainment...EVERYDAY. Imagine making dinner from scratch. Imagine no Kraft Macaroni & Cheese. Imagine having the only cool place to shop be The Squire Shop conveniently located in your local Fred Meyer store. Imagine spending your summer picking berries because that was the only job really out there and you didn't think twice about it because everyone did it? We're spoiled.
My garage isn't that cold. I have a dryer. I have the option of turning my thermostat up when I'm cold. I have lots of shoes. I have an automatic drip coffee maker. I have a toaster oven AND a regular oven AND a microwave oven. My car is paid for. I have a car. I don't stand in line to buy bread or produce. I have a great pediatrician. I can choose between at least 5 different stores to do my grocery shopping at and when I get there I'll have at least 5 different kinds of apples to choose from. I don't have to butcher my own meat. The government doesn't tell me what occupation I must have.
I'm spoiled. And so are you.
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I was doing laundry the other night. Alex had an entire drawer full of socks but none of the ones that he REALLY likes so I had promised to do a load of socks so that he'd have some of the right kind for the next morning. (sidebar - God, I'm whipped) So...I only remember this at something like 10 at night so I go through the house collecting all the socks and underwear and white t-shirts I can find and go throw them in the washer. No big thing; the washer takes something like a half hour or so to finish it's cycle and I'll still be up to switch the laundry to the dryer. So, dryer time comes and it's now nearly 11 at night and my washer/dryer is in my uninsulated garage. GADS!! It was cold out there!! And it's not like a typical load of laundry that has pants and shirts wrapping thier arms and legs around each other so that you can grab a handful of whatever and pull out a third of the load all at once. Oh, no, this is mainly socks. You know how it goes...you grab a handful, which really only amounts to about 4 socks if you're lucky, and then while trying to transfer it to the dryer, one will fall out of your little pile and land in the lint and crap that gathers on the floor in front of the machines.
Anyway, I'm standing there in the cold, throwing socks 2 at a time into the dryer and thinking to myself that it's just plain f-ing cold in there and that makes me think of Laura Ingalls Wilder. I know, "Where the hell is she going with this???" is what you're asking. It made me think of one of her books where she was talking about doing wash and Ma has put it out on the line to dry but it's so damn cold outside that the clothes all freeze and they have to bring in the frozen shirts and stuff and dry them by the fire. That sucks. Plus, if you know it's damn cold out, why are you putting the stuff out there on the line in the first place??? Duh? Do they not teach you that in pioneer school?
I digress...so, it gets me thinking about how spoiled we really are. Really, how long have we been living with microwaves? 20 years or so? That's really not that long. Can you imagine NOT having one, though? Answering machine? Cell phone? Email? Cable? VCR? Crap, vcr's are so "old" that they're almost obsolete now and I don't think I got my first one until something like '91! We are spoiled. My kids freak if I don't let them watch tv or play video games for a whole 4 hour stretch. "I'm so bored..." they whine. We're spoiled.
Imagine going on vacation to find that there was no blowdryer in the room, or, even worse, no little shampoos! Gasp!! We're spoiled. Imagine not turning on the computer everyday. Imagine only watching network tv for a whole week. Imagine cartoons only being on until 9 am on weekdays and 11 am on Saturday (don't even get me started on Sunday morning). Imagine having to watch re-runs of Star Trek, Adam 12, Emergency, Gilligan's Island and The Brady Bunch as your only after school entertainment...EVERYDAY. Imagine making dinner from scratch. Imagine no Kraft Macaroni & Cheese. Imagine having the only cool place to shop be The Squire Shop conveniently located in your local Fred Meyer store. Imagine spending your summer picking berries because that was the only job really out there and you didn't think twice about it because everyone did it? We're spoiled.
My garage isn't that cold. I have a dryer. I have the option of turning my thermostat up when I'm cold. I have lots of shoes. I have an automatic drip coffee maker. I have a toaster oven AND a regular oven AND a microwave oven. My car is paid for. I have a car. I don't stand in line to buy bread or produce. I have a great pediatrician. I can choose between at least 5 different stores to do my grocery shopping at and when I get there I'll have at least 5 different kinds of apples to choose from. I don't have to butcher my own meat. The government doesn't tell me what occupation I must have.
I'm spoiled. And so are you.
Deaf, Dumb or Blind
Originally posted 1/13/06
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Am getting over a cold that left with pretty much no voice for close to 4 days. It completely sucked. It prompted discussions with the kids, though, regarding sign language. When our middle boy (Alex) was a baby we taught him sign, not because he had any impairment but based on the belief (and the Berkley study) that babies have the cognitive ability to communicate long before they develop the verbal skills to do so. Well, he took to it quite well and we were "talking" with him regularly by the time he was only a few months old. He was stubborn, though, and refused to speak for real until he was almost 3.
Anyway, I wouldn't say that we were ever fluent in sign but we did OK and I found myself falling back into wanting to use it more while I had no voice. Made me think, though...if you had to be one - deaf, dumb or blind - having had all the abilities before, which would you choose and why?
I think I would choose to lose my hearing. I don't know if I could stand to not see. It would break my heart to not see the faces of my children. Watching their faces when they are learning new things is amazing. I think we communicate a lot more with our faces and bodies than with our voices. Watching deaf people talk to each other is lyrical. It's fluid and mesmerizing to me. More people should learn sign in my opinion.
So, I've got my voice back now, though, and the signing thing has kind of passed at our house. Nothing beats a reminder of what you've got, though.
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Am getting over a cold that left with pretty much no voice for close to 4 days. It completely sucked. It prompted discussions with the kids, though, regarding sign language. When our middle boy (Alex) was a baby we taught him sign, not because he had any impairment but based on the belief (and the Berkley study) that babies have the cognitive ability to communicate long before they develop the verbal skills to do so. Well, he took to it quite well and we were "talking" with him regularly by the time he was only a few months old. He was stubborn, though, and refused to speak for real until he was almost 3.
Anyway, I wouldn't say that we were ever fluent in sign but we did OK and I found myself falling back into wanting to use it more while I had no voice. Made me think, though...if you had to be one - deaf, dumb or blind - having had all the abilities before, which would you choose and why?
I think I would choose to lose my hearing. I don't know if I could stand to not see. It would break my heart to not see the faces of my children. Watching their faces when they are learning new things is amazing. I think we communicate a lot more with our faces and bodies than with our voices. Watching deaf people talk to each other is lyrical. It's fluid and mesmerizing to me. More people should learn sign in my opinion.
So, I've got my voice back now, though, and the signing thing has kind of passed at our house. Nothing beats a reminder of what you've got, though.
Behind Every Good Man...
Originally posted 1/5/06 Ryan is still a child that renders me speechless more than I care to admit.
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Another fascinating glimpse into the mind of a 4 year old at my expense...
Ryan looks at me the other day and asks why I have green eyes (they're actually hazel but I've always wished they were green) and he has blue eyes. I told him that he got his blue eyes from Daddy and that, someday, when he is a grownup and has a wife and they have babies, his children might have blue eyes like him or the color of eyes that his wife has. He looks at my a bit puzzled and says, "What's a wife?" My mind reeled. This was it. This was my opportunity to tell him what to look for. This was my opportunity to begin molding what my daughter-in-law would be like!
I bit my tongue and began with simply, "You know, I'm Daddy's wife and he is my husband because we are married." Once again, the look comes over his face that says, "Oh, you silly, silly woman. How sad that you are so much older than I but know so little." And then it comes. He says to me, enunciating the appropriate parts of the word in an attempt to make me understand the first time, "The word isn't 'wi-fuh', it's 'wi-puh'."
"What? Wipe?" I say, knowing that I've already stepped off into the darkness of wherever this is going.
"Yeah, you know, like a (diaper) wipe but different," he says matter of factly, still giving me that patronizing stare."I see" is all I can muster in response.
So, I'm a wipe. Hmm...don't know how I feel about that but it does make sense; behind every good man is a good wipe.
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Another fascinating glimpse into the mind of a 4 year old at my expense...
Ryan looks at me the other day and asks why I have green eyes (they're actually hazel but I've always wished they were green) and he has blue eyes. I told him that he got his blue eyes from Daddy and that, someday, when he is a grownup and has a wife and they have babies, his children might have blue eyes like him or the color of eyes that his wife has. He looks at my a bit puzzled and says, "What's a wife?" My mind reeled. This was it. This was my opportunity to tell him what to look for. This was my opportunity to begin molding what my daughter-in-law would be like!
I bit my tongue and began with simply, "You know, I'm Daddy's wife and he is my husband because we are married." Once again, the look comes over his face that says, "Oh, you silly, silly woman. How sad that you are so much older than I but know so little." And then it comes. He says to me, enunciating the appropriate parts of the word in an attempt to make me understand the first time, "The word isn't 'wi-fuh', it's 'wi-puh'."
"What? Wipe?" I say, knowing that I've already stepped off into the darkness of wherever this is going.
"Yeah, you know, like a (diaper) wipe but different," he says matter of factly, still giving me that patronizing stare."I see" is all I can muster in response.
So, I'm a wipe. Hmm...don't know how I feel about that but it does make sense; behind every good man is a good wipe.
Buckle Up!
Reposted from MySpace blog...originally dated 1/1/06
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If you have small-ish children, you have probably been at the grocery store and had to listen to the pleadings of such innocents for the chance to get one of the special grocery carts that has a front that looks like a car. While these carts ARE rather cool looking, I have a few misgivings about them.First of all, if you have a family of more than 3 and you plan on buying more than a box of cheap wine, some frozen peas and a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, forget it. You won't be able to fit much more than that. However, if you opt for the larger, more traditional style cart, you still won't be able to get much more because your toddler will be laying in the large part of said vehicle throwing a fit because he/she didn't get the car cart while you have the little passenger area for your groceries.
Then there's the size of the overall piece of machinery. Good God!! If you want to turn one of these babies around in an aisle, forget it. You can't even do a 3-point turn with one of them. Maybe a 5-8 - point turn but I've got a ribbon for anyone that can do a three. Worse yet is when you encounter oncoming traffic in an aisle. Thank goodness there are no side mirrors to deal with is all I have to say about that. Come to think of it, though, they probably wouldn't be a bad idea. You might as well forget about navigating the bakery section in any Safeway, too. You'll have to leave your child out there on the perimeter while you weave your way through the croissants and turnovers on foot.
Third, these things are a pain in my post pregnancy ass to "drive". Personally, I think there should be a manual, written and driving test before anyone should be able to get behind the the handlebar of one of these things. I suggest setting up a small study/testing area near the bakery area. I myself study better when I have a snack so they could make a few extra bucks off me while I'm there. Throw in a coffee bar right there and I may even purposely fail my test a few times just to hang out with the other moms for muffins and lattes in the morning. We could giggle and talk about boys and the clothing we used to be able to wear. Then it's off for practice on a course in the parking lot with those screaming orange traffic cones and obstacles that one must manuever around. You would have an instructor with you, of course, that would have a handlebar of his/her own and would bark instructions at you.
Finally, the main thing to remember about these behemoths is that they are rear-wheel drive rather than all-wheel like we're used to - something no one ever tells you until you crash into an endcap display of the place setting of the week right in front of the store manager (God save you if your little one's hands or arms are outside of the vehicle at the time because you may have to have something amputated). The only problem being is that, when sitting around by themselves with no one in them, you will notice that not all wheels rest solidly on the ground! The center set of wheels are actually lower so that, when you place your darling little Richard Petty in the driver's seat, the REAR wheels come off the ground rendering you and your steering ability completely hopeless. Honestly, I think they do this on purpose and then watch us from their little bubble cams in the ceiling and laugh.
So, there you have it. Probably better off spending money on a babysitter and going to the store alone really. If you do venture into the wide open world of grocery store Nascar, do remember this...if you've done your job right and buckled up your child everytime you get into your real vehicle, you WILL be yelled at by your angel if you dare to take off into the produce section without first letting him/her buckle up. At first I thought that was cute - he wanted to follow the safety rules he had been taught. Then I experienced all of the above and realized the beansprout was probably smarter than I was. "The fruit zone is for loading and unloading only. Please keep all hands and arms inside the vehicle at all times. Should we experience a water landing..."
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If you have small-ish children, you have probably been at the grocery store and had to listen to the pleadings of such innocents for the chance to get one of the special grocery carts that has a front that looks like a car. While these carts ARE rather cool looking, I have a few misgivings about them.First of all, if you have a family of more than 3 and you plan on buying more than a box of cheap wine, some frozen peas and a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, forget it. You won't be able to fit much more than that. However, if you opt for the larger, more traditional style cart, you still won't be able to get much more because your toddler will be laying in the large part of said vehicle throwing a fit because he/she didn't get the car cart while you have the little passenger area for your groceries.
Then there's the size of the overall piece of machinery. Good God!! If you want to turn one of these babies around in an aisle, forget it. You can't even do a 3-point turn with one of them. Maybe a 5-8 - point turn but I've got a ribbon for anyone that can do a three. Worse yet is when you encounter oncoming traffic in an aisle. Thank goodness there are no side mirrors to deal with is all I have to say about that. Come to think of it, though, they probably wouldn't be a bad idea. You might as well forget about navigating the bakery section in any Safeway, too. You'll have to leave your child out there on the perimeter while you weave your way through the croissants and turnovers on foot.
Third, these things are a pain in my post pregnancy ass to "drive". Personally, I think there should be a manual, written and driving test before anyone should be able to get behind the the handlebar of one of these things. I suggest setting up a small study/testing area near the bakery area. I myself study better when I have a snack so they could make a few extra bucks off me while I'm there. Throw in a coffee bar right there and I may even purposely fail my test a few times just to hang out with the other moms for muffins and lattes in the morning. We could giggle and talk about boys and the clothing we used to be able to wear. Then it's off for practice on a course in the parking lot with those screaming orange traffic cones and obstacles that one must manuever around. You would have an instructor with you, of course, that would have a handlebar of his/her own and would bark instructions at you.
Finally, the main thing to remember about these behemoths is that they are rear-wheel drive rather than all-wheel like we're used to - something no one ever tells you until you crash into an endcap display of the place setting of the week right in front of the store manager (God save you if your little one's hands or arms are outside of the vehicle at the time because you may have to have something amputated). The only problem being is that, when sitting around by themselves with no one in them, you will notice that not all wheels rest solidly on the ground! The center set of wheels are actually lower so that, when you place your darling little Richard Petty in the driver's seat, the REAR wheels come off the ground rendering you and your steering ability completely hopeless. Honestly, I think they do this on purpose and then watch us from their little bubble cams in the ceiling and laugh.
So, there you have it. Probably better off spending money on a babysitter and going to the store alone really. If you do venture into the wide open world of grocery store Nascar, do remember this...if you've done your job right and buckled up your child everytime you get into your real vehicle, you WILL be yelled at by your angel if you dare to take off into the produce section without first letting him/her buckle up. At first I thought that was cute - he wanted to follow the safety rules he had been taught. Then I experienced all of the above and realized the beansprout was probably smarter than I was. "The fruit zone is for loading and unloading only. Please keep all hands and arms inside the vehicle at all times. Should we experience a water landing..."
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Can you guess...
One of these things is not like the other; one of these things just doesn't belong. Can you guess which one is not like the other (and, no, it's not the woman) before I finsh this song?
It's the Grammys! One night in the year when music's "royalty" comes out to pay their respects. Here we see Herbie Hancock (legend), Natalie Cole (legend) and the artist (and I use the term loosely) formerly known as HR Puff 'n Stuff.
Now, for someone that claims to be such a bigshot, and for someone who knows he's going to be presenting with such greats, don't you think he'd show up in something other than blue jeans, an oversized tee, a Franklin Mint commemmorative coin necklace and a Members Only jacket?
One more reason why I loathe this man.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Puberty
Wow, it's been a long time since I last blogged. Not for lack of subject matter, that's for sure. There was the shoe being thrown at Bush, more issues with toilet paper, the evolution game, the Mayan temple of PEZ and so much more. I'll get to it, I promise. Today, though, we're on a different tangent. Won't you join me?
So, a couple of nights ago, Barry and I are in the kitchen, the kids are in the process of finishing up their dinner and Ryan is still sitting at the breakfast bar. Mitch is nowhere to be found (not sure where he was) and Alex was about ready to exit the kitchen. I'm not even sure why now, but Alex was in a really, and I do mean really, pissy mood. He was stomping about and clanking things around and finally trudged off to his room while the three of us just looked on without saying a word. When we heard his door get shoved shut, I turned to Barry and said, "What's his problem?" At which point Ryan interjected his reply...
Now, mind you, this child is 7. 7 going on 45. 7 going on 45 with no front teeth. He looks at us with a completely blank expression and very matter-of-factly says, "Puberty. Ya can't avoid it." Barry and I just look at each other and try not to laugh. The kind of look that reminds me of how Ferris looks at the camera when his sister covers for him with Mr. Rooney at their back door. And then, Ryan continues, "It's gonna happen to me someday and that's why I'm tryin' to learn as much about it as possible now 'cause I've got that anger management problem..." Seriously, I could not make this up if I tried. This child just renders me speechless sometimes (which makes it rather ironic that I'm retelling the story, right?).
Mmmm, so there; there's your blog about puberty. I'll be a more faithful blogger in the future and share all my other weird stories that I've been saving up.
So, a couple of nights ago, Barry and I are in the kitchen, the kids are in the process of finishing up their dinner and Ryan is still sitting at the breakfast bar. Mitch is nowhere to be found (not sure where he was) and Alex was about ready to exit the kitchen. I'm not even sure why now, but Alex was in a really, and I do mean really, pissy mood. He was stomping about and clanking things around and finally trudged off to his room while the three of us just looked on without saying a word. When we heard his door get shoved shut, I turned to Barry and said, "What's his problem?" At which point Ryan interjected his reply...
Now, mind you, this child is 7. 7 going on 45. 7 going on 45 with no front teeth. He looks at us with a completely blank expression and very matter-of-factly says, "Puberty. Ya can't avoid it." Barry and I just look at each other and try not to laugh. The kind of look that reminds me of how Ferris looks at the camera when his sister covers for him with Mr. Rooney at their back door. And then, Ryan continues, "It's gonna happen to me someday and that's why I'm tryin' to learn as much about it as possible now 'cause I've got that anger management problem..." Seriously, I could not make this up if I tried. This child just renders me speechless sometimes (which makes it rather ironic that I'm retelling the story, right?).
Mmmm, so there; there's your blog about puberty. I'll be a more faithful blogger in the future and share all my other weird stories that I've been saving up.
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